Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ I Remember ❯ Chapter the First ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: colichemarde 
Yazoo comes out of cryogenation.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Post-apocalyptic | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.30.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 238 | Status: Completed
Yazoo comes out of cryogenation.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Post-apocalyptic | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.30.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 238 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer:
Copyright Square-Enix
-------------------------------------------------------------
<i>...or cryogenically frozen until they needed someone for a suicide mission.</i>
A hydraulic hiss erupted from behind the cell. A rotation wheel squeaked, projecting the cell outward into existence. White-coated scientists in a drowning blue light accepted the cell with unlikely and cruel hands, with fingers like greedy, pleading peasants. The red LED lights that lit up the train disappeared, one by one, like fading memories, when the wheel squeaked the tray back into place. The soulless scientists in blue hoisted the cell onto the metal ground. They turned away to synchronise certain hateful events, and the cell stood in lonely azure light.
The cold formaldehyde encased a shadow, lost in time, this grain and that grain forgotten, and the yellow sand encasing what was lost and will be forever. Each grain falling makes the unforgettable sound of forgetting. One less memory to recall, one less instance to pain over, one less reason to need foolish human feelings.
Hydraulics murmured in the shadows of the blue room and ten and twenty black, metallic arms shot forward with haste, grasping what it could of the icy cage. The arms tore chunks of solid encasement off, and the shadow came into being, leaving its timeless illahe and reigning again pretenses and falsities that all humans know. The arms seized the shadow, now all one blue colour, and lowered it to the ground. As the arms slithered back into hubs of mechanical non-existence, tubes came forth, with barbed ends. They viewed the shadow; they felt the lack of soul. They knew it not a being with a heat, with a glow, or with a mind. It was dead while it was alive. The tubes slid up the cobalt shadow's orifices: nose, mouth, ears, perennial areas, as many as they could find. It sucked the cage from within, taking the slime of the eyes of the shadow, and the heart, and the soul. The shadow awoke, screaming, a rage, in pain. It saw only blue; no shapes, no shadows, no point of reference. Lost in a confusing sea of solid navy, all it knew was chaos. It tried to move, and couldn't. It tried to fight the invisible monsters, but it couldn't. The monsters took him, and his sight came to form but mere outlines; a tiny thread aligning the outlines and crevices and details of the monsters.
"ShinRa Two!" one cried in an obstructed language, something unclear to the sad shadow. They detained it and it fought. It fought with a vigor far forgotten. It struck out its sickening limbs and one of the monster's faces disappeared from view with a ribbon of red flying through the blue screen in the shadow's eyes. It felt a prick in its side, and with a grievous sadness, it ceased to fight and accepted the hated black sleep it had known for years and years.
------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
The shadow awoke. Another blue room. It already hated this colour. But it loathed another colour far more. A soulless, valueless colour, that represented all that his abhorration was. Any colour was better than that colour, that shadow would openly admit. The shadow sat still. Sensors that were once dead and cold in that casing of pretend ice were now working and functional. It hadn't felt these in quite some time... a memory once returned again. The shadow feared it. All those nooks and folds of forbidden skin were empty. There was no ice, there was no cold, there was no feeling. Nothing existed. But a sound. A mere sound of recognition. A language now remembered again. Another memory. The muscles, once used vigorously, ached with disuse, as the shadow turned its head on the soft expanse that rest beneath him. He saw that it was the colour for which he felt revulsion. It screamed, then, in vehement anathemas, the odium for such a colour. It didn't understand how such a colour could be used so frequently all at once.
One of the monsters, now well in a good design of eye, attempted to arrest him, again, like in the sapphire room of cold, lost memories. He fought again, and again, that small prick came, and again, he would accept the black sleep. It did not come this time. But his limbs, far too weak to move, rested at his sides with limp quintessence. The monster spoke, and was attempting to be comforting. The shadow knew better. Only lies crawled from their mouths and dropped like roses and diamonds to the ground.
"ShinRa Two," it spoke, the shadow now with the understanding of these sounds, "it may be a new experience coming from extended sleep, but you must calm yourself."
What exactly was it saying? It was talking too speedily. The shadow's head was no longer vague or alert. It was a combination of both, ceasing to grasp anything solid, but not slipping into depths of overlooked darkness.
"Do you understand me?"
The shadow attempted to speak, but even if it knew the words of that foreign language, it couldn't move its solidified lips. It made a gruff sigh in the endeavor, and another monster appeared, trying to hear. The two monsters looked to each other, the shadow feeling the contempt leak off them like the way their cursed souls did.
"We have an assignment for you," the second monster said with a less kind voice, "that will require your expertise."
That was another way of saying it was now infantry, a pawn and useless, a life meant to end.
"You are to assassinate the leader of a very prominent anti-ShinRa group called COMMAND. His name is Marin Leip. He has led COMMAND for years and has done incalculable and unforeseeable damage to ShinRa, Incorporated."
This ShinRa the shadow kept hearing... it was so familiar. When it thought of the word, it was filled with a mix of confused and unrecognisable emotions. ShinRa Two... it was the shadow's name. What did the shadow have to do with a ShinRa that some Leip is trying to kill? Memories forgotten was what it could conjure. An object, flat and tan in colour cascaded with the spread under him, its contents coming forth with inertia. They were the hated colour. The shadow was trying best to be rid of the forsaken colour. But moving wasn't an option at the point.
"That is the file. You will report to the D-Hall at 2000 hours."
The two monsters were leaving. They were leaving the withered shadow to its lack of thoughts and sense and feeling. They went through a rectangular cavity in the adjacent wall. One monster turned, and with a small glint of some kind of feeling, the shadow expected it to stay. Instead, it only spoke.
"Be aware of yourself, Yazoo," it said, and replaced the cavity's remainders.
Yazoo...
Yazoo...
No. The shadow wasn't mistaken. It thought correctly. The shadow was Yazoo. Yazoo was a man. Yazoo had a life. Yazoo knew the endless plains of pleasure as much so as the endless plains of hurt. And the memories did become clear, and his dulled eyes did fill with a hot liquid he remembered so well with a happy pain in his once empty heart.
Yazoo did not forget.
Copyright Square-Enix
-------------------------------------------------------------
<i>...or cryogenically frozen until they needed someone for a suicide mission.</i>
A hydraulic hiss erupted from behind the cell. A rotation wheel squeaked, projecting the cell outward into existence. White-coated scientists in a drowning blue light accepted the cell with unlikely and cruel hands, with fingers like greedy, pleading peasants. The red LED lights that lit up the train disappeared, one by one, like fading memories, when the wheel squeaked the tray back into place. The soulless scientists in blue hoisted the cell onto the metal ground. They turned away to synchronise certain hateful events, and the cell stood in lonely azure light.
The cold formaldehyde encased a shadow, lost in time, this grain and that grain forgotten, and the yellow sand encasing what was lost and will be forever. Each grain falling makes the unforgettable sound of forgetting. One less memory to recall, one less instance to pain over, one less reason to need foolish human feelings.
Hydraulics murmured in the shadows of the blue room and ten and twenty black, metallic arms shot forward with haste, grasping what it could of the icy cage. The arms tore chunks of solid encasement off, and the shadow came into being, leaving its timeless illahe and reigning again pretenses and falsities that all humans know. The arms seized the shadow, now all one blue colour, and lowered it to the ground. As the arms slithered back into hubs of mechanical non-existence, tubes came forth, with barbed ends. They viewed the shadow; they felt the lack of soul. They knew it not a being with a heat, with a glow, or with a mind. It was dead while it was alive. The tubes slid up the cobalt shadow's orifices: nose, mouth, ears, perennial areas, as many as they could find. It sucked the cage from within, taking the slime of the eyes of the shadow, and the heart, and the soul. The shadow awoke, screaming, a rage, in pain. It saw only blue; no shapes, no shadows, no point of reference. Lost in a confusing sea of solid navy, all it knew was chaos. It tried to move, and couldn't. It tried to fight the invisible monsters, but it couldn't. The monsters took him, and his sight came to form but mere outlines; a tiny thread aligning the outlines and crevices and details of the monsters.
"ShinRa Two!" one cried in an obstructed language, something unclear to the sad shadow. They detained it and it fought. It fought with a vigor far forgotten. It struck out its sickening limbs and one of the monster's faces disappeared from view with a ribbon of red flying through the blue screen in the shadow's eyes. It felt a prick in its side, and with a grievous sadness, it ceased to fight and accepted the hated black sleep it had known for years and years.
------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
The shadow awoke. Another blue room. It already hated this colour. But it loathed another colour far more. A soulless, valueless colour, that represented all that his abhorration was. Any colour was better than that colour, that shadow would openly admit. The shadow sat still. Sensors that were once dead and cold in that casing of pretend ice were now working and functional. It hadn't felt these in quite some time... a memory once returned again. The shadow feared it. All those nooks and folds of forbidden skin were empty. There was no ice, there was no cold, there was no feeling. Nothing existed. But a sound. A mere sound of recognition. A language now remembered again. Another memory. The muscles, once used vigorously, ached with disuse, as the shadow turned its head on the soft expanse that rest beneath him. He saw that it was the colour for which he felt revulsion. It screamed, then, in vehement anathemas, the odium for such a colour. It didn't understand how such a colour could be used so frequently all at once.
One of the monsters, now well in a good design of eye, attempted to arrest him, again, like in the sapphire room of cold, lost memories. He fought again, and again, that small prick came, and again, he would accept the black sleep. It did not come this time. But his limbs, far too weak to move, rested at his sides with limp quintessence. The monster spoke, and was attempting to be comforting. The shadow knew better. Only lies crawled from their mouths and dropped like roses and diamonds to the ground.
"ShinRa Two," it spoke, the shadow now with the understanding of these sounds, "it may be a new experience coming from extended sleep, but you must calm yourself."
What exactly was it saying? It was talking too speedily. The shadow's head was no longer vague or alert. It was a combination of both, ceasing to grasp anything solid, but not slipping into depths of overlooked darkness.
"Do you understand me?"
The shadow attempted to speak, but even if it knew the words of that foreign language, it couldn't move its solidified lips. It made a gruff sigh in the endeavor, and another monster appeared, trying to hear. The two monsters looked to each other, the shadow feeling the contempt leak off them like the way their cursed souls did.
"We have an assignment for you," the second monster said with a less kind voice, "that will require your expertise."
That was another way of saying it was now infantry, a pawn and useless, a life meant to end.
"You are to assassinate the leader of a very prominent anti-ShinRa group called COMMAND. His name is Marin Leip. He has led COMMAND for years and has done incalculable and unforeseeable damage to ShinRa, Incorporated."
This ShinRa the shadow kept hearing... it was so familiar. When it thought of the word, it was filled with a mix of confused and unrecognisable emotions. ShinRa Two... it was the shadow's name. What did the shadow have to do with a ShinRa that some Leip is trying to kill? Memories forgotten was what it could conjure. An object, flat and tan in colour cascaded with the spread under him, its contents coming forth with inertia. They were the hated colour. The shadow was trying best to be rid of the forsaken colour. But moving wasn't an option at the point.
"That is the file. You will report to the D-Hall at 2000 hours."
The two monsters were leaving. They were leaving the withered shadow to its lack of thoughts and sense and feeling. They went through a rectangular cavity in the adjacent wall. One monster turned, and with a small glint of some kind of feeling, the shadow expected it to stay. Instead, it only spoke.
"Be aware of yourself, Yazoo," it said, and replaced the cavity's remainders.
Yazoo...
Yazoo...
No. The shadow wasn't mistaken. It thought correctly. The shadow was Yazoo. Yazoo was a man. Yazoo had a life. Yazoo knew the endless plains of pleasure as much so as the endless plains of hurt. And the memories did become clear, and his dulled eyes did fill with a hot liquid he remembered so well with a happy pain in his once empty heart.
Yazoo did not forget.