Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ I Know What Lies Beneath the Snowfields ❯ Chapter 42 ( Chapter 42 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

"I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields"
Chapter 42

Time itself stopped. The black woods held its breath to contain the
shock. Vincent stared back at the gunman in horrified disbelief, his
senses struck dumb by the news. He pulled his gun back an inch, but kept it
aimed on its mark.

Davoren pushed back his snow-white hair before resuming coldly,
"The Professor somehow got hold of Sephiroth...the *real* one....still
trapped in that cocoon. He wants to bring him back."

Absolute, dead silence.

"..you and I...that little girl..he's planning on using our spiritual
energies to breathe life back into the body...sacrifice us for him. And
it's all to complete Sephiroth's ultimate dream: Planet annihilation."

When thus finished, Davoren gazed at his captor with perfectly stoic
pink eyes. He seemed to expect some reply or reaction. However, words failed
Vincent. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, thereby redoubling the
pain in his hot chest. He could only stare down at the gunman, stunned and
shocked.

Sephiroth's death alone had saved the Planet. Life, the precious
lifestream itself, had been spared by killing that murderous madman.
But if through some miracle (or experiment), Sephiroth returned, what would
happen? Bloody carnages wherever he drifted; chaos and destruction with
every footstep, until he'd wipe the Planet clean from existance. To
Sephiroth, it would be so easy, hardly worth the flick of his finger.

So, what should...what COULD be done? Hundreds of ideas raced around,
all crashing into dead-ends. In truth, Vincent was overwhelmed. Against the
frightening possibility of a Sephiroth revival, unleashing all that
terror once again, the man couldn't settle on one thought.

On noticing his friend's apparent anxiety, Davoren released an annoyed
sigh, as teachers do when students don't grasp a subject.

"Aw geez, Vincent! You're so damn serious all the time!" exclaimed the
gunman with friendly reproach, "You actually believed all that corny
Sephiroth bit?! That was supposed to be a joke! Joke as in funny ha-ha!"

For a moment, Vincent did not understand. He gaped blankly at this
carefree prisoner, completely dumbstruck by his good-humour.
A "joke"? Held at gunpoint, and Davoren could still "joke"? And about
*Sephiroth* no less!

Suddenly, Vincent's whole face darkened to an angry scowl.

With full force, he ruthlessly struck the butt of his gun right
against Davoren's head. The violent blow knocked the prisoner to the side,
where he clumsily crashed onto his elbow. His head almost touched the ground;
some white hair strands even dangled against the dirty snow. He did not
speak.

Vincent's piercing eyes narrowed in icy contempt as he watched the man
slowly steady himself again. Davoren slumped against the knotted tree. A
cold, hard visage had replaced that good-humoured expresson. His eyes
remained shut, even with the gun only an inch away from his forehead.

"You've tried my patience long enough for one night, Mr.Davoren,"
stated Vincent restrainedly, "What is the 'experiment'? Tell me, *now*!"

"And what'll you do if I refuse, Vincent?" the gunman challenged, more
sad than daring, "What, you're gonna blow my brains out like last time?"

No answer.

Davoren forced his eyes open again. He slowly ran them over the black,
shadow-infested surroundings until at last, he met Vincent's cool gaze.

"Heh...your face...it looks exactly like it did that night..," the
gunman noted humourlessly, "..and now that I mention it, this place.. looks a
bit like that apple orchard..."

A heavy pause lingered in the chilly air. Both men gazed fixedly at
each other, neither moving a muscle.

"What is the 'experiment', Davoren?" Vincent insisted again, his voice
strangely softer this time.

"I'll never tell you. If you think I'll just blab it out, then think
again. The disclosure of confidential material to unauthorised
personnel is an unforgivable act of treason, namely to my superiors."

In other words, he would not reveal anything unless the Professor
himself ordered him to. Davoren would not turn traitor on any account.

"You're awfully loyal to someone who has ruined your body for his own
purposes," remarked Vincent under his breath.

"Not loyal...slavish."

Another long, painful silence.

Much to his annoyance, Vincent noticed himself gasping very softly
for a whiff of air. The fever seemed to grow more intense with each agonising
minute. Though Vincent stiffled many coughs, and fought valiantly to
dispell the nauseating dizziness, he knew he couldn't resist forever.

But he couldn't afford a fit right now. He must somehow hold the
illness back, at least until he escaped this crazy deathtrap.

"However, you'll find me fair man," conceded the gunman suddenly, his
face brightening with a mysterious smile, "I won't bertay my master, but
for old times' sake, I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm being
serious now, I swear!"

Vincent nevertheless gazed very, very mistrustfully down at this man,
but did not interrupt. The gun stood ready between them.

"You've been having terrible coughing fits for a while, right?"
Davoren began as he eyed his captor curiously, "What do you suppose they are,
anyway?"

Vincent only tensed at the mention of the dreaded illness.

"Well, I'll tell you. It's not a disease, it's the brain device."

"....'brain device'?"

"Yes. When he...Professor Hojo altered our bodies thirty-one years
ago, he surgically implanted this tiny deivce in our brains. It's a small
thing, really....flat, about the size of a pea."

Davoren took in a deep breath before continuing, "When it's inactive,
nothing happens to you. But when it's activated, ah! It sends out all
these crazy 'impulses' that mess around with your body, especially your lungs.
Please don't ask for a technical explanation. I haven't a clue about all
the neurology and electric jargon involved."

Vincent reflected a moment then asked coolly, "And Professor Hojo is
the person who activates this device, I presume?"

"Correct. He's implanted the activator...or 'remote' into his own
brain. So, he activates our brain devices mentally....with just one thought,
completely at whim."

No reply.

"If you get out of line, he just cranks it up a notch, and you get a
nasty fit. You splutter out blood, get a fever, throw up, or plunge
into a coma. It all depends on how bad he makes the attack. If he makes it
strong enough (I mean STRONG), you get severe brain fever."

Davoren paused to note the effect this news had on his silent captor.
His bright pink eyes gleamed mockingly back at Vincent's icy, mistrustful
gaze.

"See, the Professor wanted to make sure we all remained somehow yoked
under his command, no matter where we went, no matter how much time
passed. He wanted to make sure when it was time to complete the experiment,
we'd be in his control (or at least under his thumb). We all have some brain
device in our heads, but each serves a different function."

"What do you mean 'different function'?"

"You and I got one. It's to keep us under his control . A-25...that's
the girl's specimen codename, she has one too in her brain. Not for the
lungs, of course. It would have killed her instantly. She's not...abnormal like
us. Hers actually is a kind of tracking device. The Professor can track
her down mentally, but not everywhere. She has to be really close by, or
out in the open, like here."

Davoren tiredly rubbed his temples as he concluded at last, "The boy
has a brain device too, but it's activated with a damn brain scanner, not
mentally like the rest of us. He's a rather....special case. See, we all
have a little brain device inside our heads, each for a different
purpose. It's a really complicated web, but everything adds up to the experiment
in the end, just like a jigsaw puzzle."

Silence once more.

Vincent brooded over this new information: it all became so clear
now. As long as Aeris had remained safe in the apartment, the signal could not
be received; so they had no idea where to find her. Yet the minute she had
stepped outside, Hojo had picked up her signal, and pin-pointed her
location. Davoren wasn't phsychic. The Professor had merely informed
him of the girl's location. That explained how he had discovered her that
miserable day, and how he found her again tonight.

"So, what you're saying, is that the Professor has been mentally
causing my fits...to bring me under his control?" Vincent inquired, wearied of
the lengthy interrogation as well as his illness.

"Hmmm...I suppose you could say that. He knows you'd never just give
in to him like I did. The plan was he'd weaken you with coughing
fits....make you so sick and helpless, so that when I found you, you'd be an easy target."

Vincent made no comment about the underhanded scheme, at least not aloud.

"Well, easy for *HIM* to say! I'm the one who does all the hard work
here. But I didn't find you that quickly, and when I did, you beat me.
Yes, your resistance and endurance have both FAR exceeded the Professor's
expectations. You certainly got the old coot fuming around, screaming
for your head. Heh heh..you two never got along that well, did you?"

Vincent frowned at Davoren's pleasantry, but remained morosely silent.
His thoughts searched for a proper meaning to this madness: the
interrogation had certainly enlightened him to many truths, yet had also
created more questions without any answers. It all centered around an
"experiment", into which all the puzzle pieces fitted to form a whole
picture.

But what was this picture? None of the pieces made sense, just
confusing, irregular shapes.

So brutally, so suddenly, the fit cut off his train of thoughts: it
would no longer be suppressed.

A most violent, sudden surge of pain ripped clean through Vincent's
lungs. The ruthless attack had completely caught him off guard, being
ten times stronger and indescribably fierce.

In the worst possible timing, Vincent had finally lost control over
the brutal illness. He staggered heavily to the side, coughing the life out
of his ravaged chest while fighting for air. Hot blood gargled up his
throat. The fever and dizziness instantly drowned his senses. He could not
breathe, see, or steady himself anymore.

With a vicious sneer, Davoren embraced the opportunity.

The gunman immediately sprang to his feet, at the same time yanking
out his grey gun from its holster. With one ruthless swing, he struck the
butt of his weapon right under Vincent's chin. The savage blow sent Vincent
sprawling onto the stony ground, where he tumbled over a few times,
still coughing violently.

He had no strength to wrestle this fit or repress the pain. They both
wreaked vengence against his battered body. He lay there so helplessly
on the ground, hacking and heaving in coarse, loud gasps.

The agony stretched into an eternity. Chaos swam around his numb
head. He wondered why he was still alive; the gunman should have killed him by
now.

At long last, the attack eased off a step to gloat over its success.
Vincent found himself writhing weakly on his back, each gasp a stab to
his bleeding lungs. The gun had somehow slipped out of his fingers, probably
when he had been knocked down. His sore, wounded limbs burned in
feverish flames. He felt faint to the point of nausea.

When his eyesight finally returned, Vincent found Davoren looking back
down at him.

The triumphant gunman stood tall, vindictively watching his fallen
enemy struggle in misery. His cold face expressed nothing but cruel delight.
His shiny grey gun hung tightly by his side.

Indeed, the tables had turned most cruelly against poor Vincent once
again. He lay at Davoren's complete mercy; a word which held no meaning
to that man whatsoever.

A heavy silence.

"A few days ago, you had this murder of a fever, huh? Bet it even
knocked you out cold for a while," Davoren remarked amusedly, "That was the
Professor's way of helping me out. He gave you that nasty attack...just
messed you up right to the point of brain fever. He wanted to make sure
*next* time we met, you'd be in really, really BAD shape, like you are
right now. I got...additional back-up this time."

Vincent only forced his head away in contempt.

"Aw, don't be so mad just because I fight dirty. Heh heh...well, I'd
say I pretty much have you cornered: the girl from one side, those
mercenaries from another, me another, and then the Professor hanging like a plauge
on top of you. Tonight just isn't your night, is it Mr. Valentine?"

No reply; Davoren didn't expect any.

A stampede of loud footsteps quickly rushed towards the scene. Though
they had most certainly retreated, the three mercenaries hadn't
abandonned their leader just yet (not with such a generous reward at stake).
Instead, they had fallen back some distance, and anxiously awaited a gunshot, a
cry for help, or any sound in fact. On hearing the loud skirmish, they had
instantly raced over again, guns out and ready.

They found their leader standing tall over the fallen enemy, his back
fully turned to them. The three men gaped a moment at the sight, then
instantly thronged behind Davoren. They howled out rowty cheers and
relieved swears: victory had chosen their side! What mattered their dead
comrades? The reward would compensate the loss!

Their joyous excitement, however, quickly died down with one wave of
Davoren's hand. The three silent men lingered behind like hunrgy wolves,
turning from Davoren's stubborn back then down to Vincent, who lay
heaving in pain on the ground. None of them spoke a word, but anticipated the
command to kill this prize prey.

All this time, Davoren had kept his eyes fixed down on Vincent, who in
return, kept his diverted to the side. Both their faces maintained a
hard, unnaturally stoic expression.

"Where is the girl, Mr. Valentine?" demanded the gunman icily.

Vincent understood why his life had been prolonged: Davoren still
hadn't captured Aeris. No one except himself knew for sure where she had
disappeared.

However, he remained silent.

"Where is she, Mr. Valentine?" repeated Davoren.

Still no answer.

The brutal kick came right into Vincent's side, just below his rib
cage. He rolled sharply to the side as he fought to suppress the violent
pain. He gnashed his teeth, and squeezed his eyes so tightly. Davoren watched on
a moment or two before delivering another powerful kick, this time against
Vincent's head.

With a sharp grunt, poor Vincent unresistingly rolled onto his
stomach. He writhed on the ground, one hand clutching his injuired side as
though he could perhaps tear the pain away. His gasps grew coarse again. A
stinging numbness buzzed around his head.

Davoren stood emotionlessly over the suffering man, while the three
uneasy mercenaries fidgetted behind. When Vincent still insisted on his
silence, the gunman squatted down beside him. Very callously, he lifted
Vincent's head up by the hair, then twisted it up so that they could see
each other.

"I'll ask you one last time, Vincent: where is she?" Davoren whispered
softly. A vicious pink fire lit up his eyes.

Nevertheless, Vincent would not speak.

Scoffing contemptuously, the ruthless gunman flung Vincent's head back
against the stony ground. The battered man lay flat on his stomach. His
limbs trembled from fever and illness. He could hardly breathe.

Davoren stood up again. He forcefully implanted one foot against
Vincent's back, taking no heed of the man's irregular gasps.

"Alright, girl! I know you can hear me!" he ordered in a loud, clear
voice, "Mr. Valentine has done a marvellous job protecting you, and
that's to say the very least. I truely am impressed! Unfortunately for him,
he's fallen under my shoe, and here's my gun, pointed right at his head!"

In saying that, Davoren aimed the deadly weapon at its intended mark.
Vincent had no strength to move.

"It's make no difference to the Professor," Davoren assured with a
sneer, "He doesn't care if I bring back Vincent dead or alive, and sure as
Hell, I don't care either. However, *IF* you'd prefer him alive, then come out
and we'll....negotiate his life."

A long, dead silence answered the proposition.

Vincent kept his scornful eyes lowered to the very ground. His chest
heaved up and down, trying to sqeeze in a breath under Davoren's heavy
foot. The terrible gunman scanned the black surroundings suspicously. He
kept his gun rigidly fixed on his victim's head without wavering.

No one appeared; not a sound stirred.

"Uh...Mr. Davoren, s-sir?" suggested one of the mercenaries
hesitantly, "...maybe she ain't here...maybe..she ran away..."

"Yeah! She probably did!" voiced another mercenary, rather stupidly,
"This bastard sure kept us busy long enough for..."

"Run away?" snorted Davoren in a spiteful but calm voice. A most
sinister smile curled his lips, "Run away, and leave her precious guardian angel
alone in the hands of a devil like me? I think not. She's here, no doubt
about it."

The mercenaries fidgetted in an uncomfortable silence, casting nervous
glances at each other then at their leader.

"I...I don't think she's here, Sir," ventured one of the men, trying
his best to sound brave, "We all got caught up with chasing this freak
around. The girl must've taken off by herself in the middle of the fight..."

Davoren gave all three men one sharp look behind his back to strike
them silent again. Frightened by the malicious stare, they fumbled awkwardly
in their spots, but dared not open their mouths anymore.

Vincent hadn't lifted his vaccant eyes from the ground during this
entire time. His face, haggard from illness and exhaustion, remained
expressionless.

The gunman glanced around one last time, then announced sternly, "I'll
give you to the count of three to come out, my dear, then I'll shoot
him."

Vincent shut his eyes. He knew the threat would go unanswered. The
mercenaries spoke the truth: Aeris had fled the park long ago. She would
never return. To be sure, Davoren was mistaken in his notion. He was
only talking to the empty woods.

"One," began the countdown.

Nothing.

"Two."

Still nothing.

"Three!"

Tense apprehension, anxious expectaion, but no gunshot.

Strange, a heavy silence had followed instead of a loud bullet.
Vincent slowly re-opened his eyes, confused by this unnatural stillness. He
still lay pinned under Davoren's foot; the gun still pointed at his head. Then
why hadn't there been an ear-splitting gunshot? What did this silence
mean?

His eyes happened to stray over to one of the trees right across the
road. Vincent stared in absolute shock, as if struck by lightening. He
had found the reason.

There stood Aeris, breathless and on the verge of tears. She hadn't
run away after all.