4- Even Death May Die

[LCF]

Virgil exhaled, watching as the home-rolled cigarette smoke drifted lazily to the cieling of the bar. The man next to him was trying to tell him a story, but the details were drowned out by the sounds of the fight that had erupted over by the pool table. The patrons had encircled the pair of men, whose wild swings and stumbling feet belied this was nothing more than a drunken brawl. There was a grunt, a wild cry from the crowd, followed by a spattering of blood against the far wall. Virgil smiled, my kind of party. A sudden grip on his shoulder snapped him out reverie.

"-listening to me?" His companion slurred, obviously agitated.

"Of course, of course, your sister sounds like a very interesting person," Virgil said, noticing his companions drink was empty, "let me buy you another beer."

With the offer of another free drink, the man's irritation disolved. Virgil flagged down the bartender and ordered another amber ale. He took the oppurtunity to take another drag, enjoying the pleasant nicotine buzz. The bartender delivered the drink just as Virgil was making another small cut on the tip of his pinky right underneat the finger nail where it wouldn't be obvious. I hate to use magic for such a simple job, but if I don't get this guy talking about something other than his promiscuous sister soon, I'll be here all night. As he payed the bartender for the beer, he let his pinky rest over the edge of the drink for just a second, a single drop of blood was all that was neccasary for someone drunk as this.

"Tell me what I want to know, friend," he whispered under his breath. The drink glowed slightly red for a half second before returning to its original color.

"Goddamn lights," the man muttered, accepting his beer from Virgil, "makes everything change color all the time."

Virgil smiled pleasantly, turning to watch the fight continue. The man who had strucken the blow earlier was about to finish the job, having tripped the other man over. He pulled his right leg back, readying himself to deliver a crunching blow to the drunk already passed out on the floor. None of that now, Virgil thought, you've already won, no need to overdo it.

He let another drop of blood from his pinky fall to the floor. He muttered something to himself, and the droplet lit up like a light bulb, evaporating into the air with a hiss. The man suddenly slipped backwords, smashing his head into the heavy pool table, and collapsed onto the floor next to his opponent.

"Shouldn't be too greedy, friend," Virgil whispered to himself, "Never know when it's going to bite you in the ass, or in your case, the Achilles tendon."

"Wha' was 'at?" his companion murmered thickly.

"Oh nothing at all, just teaching the proud greek over there a lesson," Virgil responded, noticing the drink was finished.

"Proud wha'?"

"Nothing you would understand," Virgil said, locking eyes with the man, "but there is something that you do understand, something I very much want to know. Something that you're going to tell me."

The man's eyes took on strange look, somewhere between crosseyed and glazed over, "Awright."

Virgil hurried, the effect probablly wouldn't last longer than a minute or two. "The defenses on the two manuscripts at Snow's Mansion, what are they?"

The goon looked thoughtful for a moment, "It's a tower, three acres of property on all sides," he said, his slur now completely gone, "12 attack dogs constantly roam the other perimeter. Past them is the tower. A fake cellar door covers up an explosive charge. Inside the tower there are 8 levels, on each level is a mercenary guard hired by Mr. Snow himself from the red list."

Virgil cocked his head, "The red list?"

"The worst criminals on the entire planet, most have killed hundreds of people. There's one on every level."

"Is that all?" Virgil asked.

"An alarm system and a personal guard the size of a small army." His eyes were starting to lose the glassy eyed look.

Virgil squeezed his finger, a puddle of blood forming at the table.

"Wha', wha'd you make me say?" he said, the blood rising to his face, "Mr. Snow's gonna find about you."

Virgil smiled once more, eyes locking with a man accross the bar.

"I very much doubt that," Virgil said, "As you see, you're about to have a bar brawl."

He flicked his fingers, and the cigarette flew across the room, grinding its embers into the forehead of the man across the room.

"Oh my goodness, look what I did," Virgil cried in mock surprise, half of the puddle melted away, "and unless I'm very much mistaken, he's going to blame you for doing it too!"

As the last half of the puddle burned out, the goon threw an expected punch at Virgil. Vigil quickly dodged it, and the goon's fist collided with sickening crunch into the wall behind him.

"I'm SO sorry friend," Virgil said, already in the doorway, "guess you should watch your punches, or at the moment, the man right behind you's"

The fist collided into the space between the goon's head and neck, he crumpled to the floor in a heap. Virgil took a moment to read the signs and get his bearings. Snow's place was a three minute walk from here. Virgil rounded a corner into a nearby alley way, picking up the backpack and riot gun he had left underneath a sewer grill. As he was fastening the straps for the backpack, he noticed a young man with spiky blonde hair and a huge sword strapped to his back cross the alleyway, in the direction of Snow's tower. There's nothing that way but Snow's, Virgil thought, I wonder if he's one of those "red list guards" that goon was talking about.

[ZaCloud]

Zack found himself drifting silently outside and down the nighttime street. His steps were solely by muscle memory and his path was aimless. There had simply been too much to take in; the man he respected and wished to emulate had now been in possession of qualities he could never hope to equal, and probably would never even want to. And now, was gone from his sight once more. The unnamed emotion he had seen in Sephiroth’s eyes and motions was overwhelming in its strength, painful in its beauty, and fearful in its wrath. Righteous and terrifying all at once. A power which would guarantee the innocents remain unharmed, and yet their quaking could not be prevented.

No wonder in stories of angels, the witnesses fall to their knees, Zack thought once his focus had returned, Sephiroth has spread his one wing. Enough to display his power… yet making one wonder just how he fell among the mortals. Is it enough to combat the ascended demon who rose to the earth?

He paused in his steps, running his hand through his hair and forcing a small chuckle. Since when had he ever thought so cryptically? Was he just overanalyzing things again?

The young man was jerked away from these thoughts of thoughts when he was brushed past roughly from behind. He jerked forward and to the side to keep his balance, barely emitting an “oof” of surprise. Catching a glimpse of the rude passer-by, Zack saw a hooded head, with sunglasses throwing light back at the streetlamp that offered it. Zack cocked a brow. Not exactly polite there, he silently pouted. Oh well, maybe he’s blind and just used to hitting stuff… Who else would wear their sunglasses at night anyway?

He sighed and shuffled some papers out of his pocket, looking them over as he verbalized his train of thought back onto its track. “Angels, wings, phoenix… Bax,” he murmured, “Still gotta get him home. Gotta bring in more criminals. Wonder where to begin.”

“Oh I know whar you kin begin, fur shur!”

Zack blinked with surprise and turned his head toward the old man who had spoken. He was a very short soul, grizzled, with leather for skin and twigs for limbs. His back was stooped, having succumbed to the pull of gravity and the tiny fractures of age. A small fire still smoldered in his eyes, though, and his countenance bore that of a seasoned warrior.

“What do you mean, sir?” Zack asked, his curiosity aroused.

“I was a merc in my time, boy,” he said with a sage nod, “Fur shur. I started back when they still went through the judicial system, stayed with it after the change to direct catchin’ o’ wanteds. The blood runs in me, fur shur! Even after I retired I couldn’t quit!” He laughed in a few hacking yaps, displaying approximately three teeth that were somehow sparkling white.

Zack smiled politely, cocking his head however so the man would go on.

“I mean I tell the young fresh mercs where to get their prey,” the old man elaborated, gesturing to himself with pride. “I may not be able to catch ‘em anymore, but I’m proud to know I led the way, fur shur!”

“Well that’s awesome!” Zack answered, looking and feeling enthusiastic, “That’s a cool thing for you to do, gramps. So, do ya know somethin’?”

“Oh, one question first, freshy,” the old man said with a glint of mischief in his eye as his expression grew serious. “Who… do ya work for?”

Zack’s answer came obviously and directly, “For Edos Lee, sir.”

The old man smiled, once more flashing three stars in his nighttime mouth. “Well that’s a good outfit there, sonny. Damned good. Most o’ the time I get answers of ‘myself’ or ‘the cops’ or ‘justice’, but you got a name, and a good name at that. You just might be able to tackle what’s been goin’ down at the big house. Yup, fur shur.”

“Big house, eh? That sounds like a challenge. Alright gramps, fill me in…”

---

The fenced-in tower was unmistakable once it had been described to him. Its stone was odd in being rounded and uneven, as if the building were from a more ancient time. It was painted black by vertical streaks of dead vines, each tendril a brush stroke. They had somehow remained clinging to the outer walls, lifeless yet controlled from beyond the grave to keep their icy grip for all eternity. The security could be immediately heard with the din of barking dogs, completely immersed in their task of warning away anyone daring to come close to their territory. They were all fairly low in pitch; large animals indeed. They were behind uneven fencing made of wood, pipes, wires, and even what looked like giant bones, too empty from weathering to tempt the captive canines.

“No problem at all,” Zack muttered happily to himself as he casually strolled to the nearest corner of the fence. The dogs all scrambled over each other to get as close as the fence would allow them, barking and snarling in flashes of moist white fangs and glinting eyes. They were a mass of points and muscles, ranging from brown to black in varying degrees and intensities, some sleek and thin, some hefty and solid. All formidable… yet in Zack’s opinion, all too cool-looking to harm.

“You guys smell what I brought you, eh?” he asked the dogs with a grin, most of them unable to hear past their own rapid barking, “Well there’s just enough for all of you.” He removed a hand from under his cape, and in it was a cardboard box of Beta Fried Chicken. The barking slowly began to quiet, and the mouths began to show more drool than teeth. Zack began to hand off drumsticks into each dogs mouth through the fence, each snapping it up quickly and capable of taking off a finger if not for Zack’s tough gloves. Each dog got one drumstick, Zack made sure of it. Soon, the barking returned, though accompanied by slightly wagging tails. Zack held up his empty hands.

“Sorry guys, that was all I could afford to invest in this move. Mostly cuz that SleepNow cost so darn much!”

It slowly got quiet again, as one by one the dogs started to stand at relaxed postures, then lower their heads, then sit, then flop drunkly to the ground in a furry, snoring pile.

“Wow,” Zack marveled, “When the clerk said it works right away, he wasn’t kidding! Hehe, it’d be perfect for a prank someday…” But he quickly cleared his mind of his devious little sparks of mischief, and began to scale the fence in an area with less razor wire than the others. Destroying the fence was out of the question; no way he’d let those dogs loose among society. Besides, if any of the red-listers slipped past him, it would help slow their escape.

Pulling out one last (un-drugged) drumstick, he dropped the BFC box among the sleeping beasts (so it would not be noticed by the guards) and approached the tower, munching savoringly on the warm, crusty, juicy chicken and walking with confidence. However, his steps were well-chosen to keep trees and debris between himself and the few guards he saw, and his eyes were alert, looking for a way in. Front door, too brazen. Back door, too obvious… As he rounded the perimeter, his eyes settled on a cellar door. Perfect, he thought, Sneak in from underneath.

He remained in front of the door for a minute or two, polishing off the chicken leg, nibbling away the bone to even eat the marrow (he just couldn’t imagine wasting a thing; habit), then tossing the empty shards aside. He wiped his gloves on his pants, and reached for the door knob.

*BOOOOOOOM!!!!!*

Red pain, moving fast, stopping suddenly. Slowly Zack was able to think more clearly than that; the door had exploded. Or at least triggered an explosion. Either way, part of it had nailed him, but much of it hadn’t. His reflexes had acted so quickly to jump back and block with Fjalar, that he couldn’t even remember doing it. The dizziness began to subside, and the pain to set in; some charring around his face, and a very sharp pain in his right shoulder. He looked down and saw a long, thick shard of wood sticking out of it. A result of the splintering door.

“Damn it,” he groaned shakily, feeling the weight of pain cover him like a blanket, compelled to remain lying where he was. But footfalls and shouting soon reached his ears; the perimeter guards were coming to do him in.

Zack could not stay down; in fact, he would have to fight for his life. The fence he had left intact to help him take down baddies was now a cage imprisoning him with a large number of dangerous people.

Get up, the familiar, deep voice told him, They’re not gonna wait for you, ya know.

“I know, I know,” Zack grunted painfully as he forced himself against all instincts to rise to his feet. The pain was enough to induce nausea and weaken his knees, but he forced himself to see how far he could raise Fjalar with the aid of his left hand. Not very; enough to block or strike with the end at head-level, but he was doubtlessly short compared to some of those about to arrive.

He smirked, though. As long as he could even hold the sword, it would be enough to hold his own, and he would kick butt anyway. His serious persona took the helm, pushing the pain to the back of his mind and filling his awareness with adrenaline and strength.

“Dogs I couldn’t harm,” he growled, “but I have no problem taking out animals.” He charged toward the largest group, Fjalar raised as high as his arms would allow.

[LCF]

Virgil could feel the heat from the explosion from his perch on the side of the Snow's tower, just below the final level. So, paying that old man to tip the kid off worked as intended. Virgil thought, He'll be alright, if he can fight that huge worm like what I saw on TV, he can deal with those guards. Virgil reached out, grabbed the balcony above him, hoisted himself up and over the guard rails, misjudged the height of the overhang, and careened headfirst into it, swaying dangerously on the edge before collapsing in a heap. Godammit. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his temple, collecting the palm of his hand and on the front of his sweatshirt. He pushed himself up from the ground, brushing the dust off his shoulders. Down below, Virgil could hear the sound of metal striking metal, and grunts of exhurtion. Tough kid he thought with a twinge of respect. The balcony door was mirrored, in the mirror he could only see a shadow of his body sillohetted against a backdrop of the full silver moon. Virgil tried the handle with no success. Noticing the blood that he had spilt thanks to his little accident, Virgil smiled.

"Waste not," he whispered to himself with a chuckle. The glowing blood appeared on the shadow in the door, illuminating his face for a instant before the door was ripped violently inward clattering loudly several times before finally smashing into the opposite wall. Virgil flinched, maybe I overdid it a little bit . He flattened himself against the outside wall, putting his hand on his gun, but not drawing in case it reflected any light and gave away his position. When after five minutes he heard no one coming, Virgil knew Snow hadn't had anyone protect the top floor. Arrogant bastard, thinking no one would just climb up the side of the building, Virgil thought, what kind of theif would go through all those guards anyways? Virgil took a quick look around, taking off his sunglasses in the process. The bright light from the moon blinded him for a moment before his eyes readjusted. The top floor was spartan at best, a book shelf to his left, a comfortable looking couch to his right, and an oak coffee table right next to it. Virgil smiled when he saw the familiar box on the coffee table, Cigars . Opening the box revealed at least twenty big cigars, along with a pipe and two cans of fresh tobacco. His smile grew even more, just got my money back for that old man . Virgil unslung his backpack, and stuffed the box into the front pouch, careful not to puncture any of the bags of blood he kept in there. The riot gun he had left at the base of the tower, not wanting to carry the heavy thing all the way up. Having finished his task, Virgil walked over to the bookcase. He let his fingers brush against the old covers, scanning with his eyes until he found the first title he wanted. The Tempest, by William Shakespeare. I can't believe that they have the same book by the same author in this world too . He pulled the book out of the bookcase, half expecting the bookcase to rotate and reveal a hidden passagway as he did so. Instead he felt a rattling inside the book itself. He opened the book to find a hole had been cut in its pages, two smaller books had been placed in the center. Too easy Snow, it was the only book not on taxes, Virgil thought. Virgil removed the two manuscripts from The Tempest, and put the book back in it's place on the shelf. The two manuscripts were placed carefully in the cigar box, and then went into his backpack. Unhurried, he walked back to the balcony and looked down below at the fighting.

The kid, whatever his name was, was amazing. In all his years, Virgil had seen masters of all kinds of style do battle. He had seen men sit in a room completely motionless for days on end until one suddenly burst aflame, he had seen men walk twenty feet before falling in halves, he had a man ripped to shreds from bullet holes rise up and win the fight, but this was a whole new entity. It wasn't the kid's skill, or his power that amazed Virgil, it was the way he utterly changed his fighting style on the fly. He would switch from belligerently offensive, to timd and defensive midattack. His transitions were seemless as well, from Virgil's perspective it looked as if there were two people fighting from one body, and the seemingly randomness of the kid's fighting style left the guards completely overextended and incapable of fighting back. Virgil watched as the kid hammered away the strikes of three simaltaneous guards in a sweeping blow, before stomping on the closest's instep, clubbing the one behind him in the face with the hilt of the sword, slashing all three across the stomach in another smooth swooping motion. Another closed in from behind him, and the kid pivoted on his right foot bringing the sword up to block an overhead slice. Just as he was about to meet the blow, the kid flinched, and his sword was knocked away by the guard's blow. Shit Virgil thought, already aiming his gun at the guard. He closed one eye, corrected for wind and distance, and squeezed the trigger. The .45 calibur bullet tore through the back of the guard's right knee and he fell to the side in pain, the kid didn't waste a moment rolling back, grabbing his sword off the ground, and splitting the guard from stomach to the throat in a rising strike. Well I aimed for the head, close enough . The kid looked up briefly at Virgil, giving him a thumbs up before continuing the battle. Virgil looked in horror as another fresh group of perimeter guards started coming from behind the kid. There was no way he was going to get out of this battle alive. Shit, I got him into this, better help him out. Virgil pulled his sleeves up, covering his hands with the thick material. [i[ This is [/i] such a bad idea, he thought as he grabbed the rope he had attached to the balcony. He jumped, feeling the thick rope sliding through his hands painfully even through the sweatshirt. He prayed that his sweatshirt wouldn't catch on fire as he could feel the ground coming towards him far too fast for comfort. He let go at the last possible moment, squaring himself to the ground so that he could roll as he hit. As his shoulder made contact with the grass, he could feel a sickening crunch, and a burst of pain as the head came out of the socket.

"FUCK ME!" He screamed as he came to his feet. The reinforcements were maybe a hundred feet away as the kid finished the last of the original squad. A huge stake of wood had lodged itself inbetween his right shoulder and clavicle, the blood had soaked the kid's entire right side, the cloth clinging to him from a mix of blood and persperation. Virgil grabbed the riot gun from the side of the tower before running over to the Kid who was barely standing up with help from his huge sword. When Virgil got there, he dropped the riot gun at the kid's feet, cursing to himself as he tried to take the backpack off around his now useless left arm.

"Hey kid, looks like you could use a hand," Virgil said. The kid merely grunted in affirmation. "Take that gun there, it's got 18 rounds, try to hit 18 guys in the front there. Tell me when you do."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the kid pick up the riot gun, putting the shoulder mount forward, and the barrel against his shoulder.
"Other way!" Virgil yelled, still fumbling with the backpack. The kid hurriedly turned the riot gun around, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The recoil pushed him back a step.

"Ahh! Is it supposed to do that? Why's he covered in blood now?" The kid yelled, wide eyed.

"Everything's fine, just keep shooting kid!" Virgil responded.
Virgil finally got the backpack off, as he fiddled with the zipper, he heard the kid firing the gun. Virgil reached in and grabbed the first bag of blood, getting closer to the kid before smashing it in his fist and soaking the ground around him in blood. As he smashed the second bag, he could see the guards were almost on them. A dry click told Virgil that the gun was empty.

"It's-" the kid began.

"BURN!" Virgil's cry split the night, Virgil saw stars as the men in the front ranks burst into flames, the bright lights were too much for his unprotected eyes. Blindly, he grabbed the last two bags, tearing them apart using his teeth. He hugged the kid close to him, and yelled, "GHOST!"

The most peculiar sensation passed through him as he and the kid passed through the ground. It felt as if he was falling through air that was very thick. He roared with pain he he collided shoulder first with the hard floor of the sewer's tunnel. Virgil heard a loud crash that could only be sound of the kid's sword hitting the ground, along with an inhuman scream of pain. As Virgil's eyesight returned to him, he noticed in morbid amusement that one of the guards had tried to jump through the hole he had temporarily made, only to be cleaved in half when the ground righted itself again. Having been severed from the spine, thankfully they didn't twitch.

Virgil looked over to his companion, who was already starting to get up. His skin was already turning sickly white from blood loss.Virgil checked his backpack. 2 bags left. Just enough to patch that kid up, but after that Virgil would be helpless for a long while.

[ZaCloud]

(co-written with LCF. Enjoy! ^_^ )

Thankfully, the sewer had enough dry areas that Zack wasn’t doused in foul water, but he still was not eager to spend long lying on the slightly squishy surface, nor on his rescuer for that matter. So, he claimed his feet quickly, but not surely; even before he could really feel his weakness, his body manifested it in sways and shakes.

With his pupils still dilated from the recent battle’s excitement, he could see Virgil unpacking something from his bag. Backing up against the wall of the sewer, Zack breathlessly burst, “Ok, I dunno what's goin' on, why you like havin' blood splashed everywhere, or how we got down here... But thanks. Those guys were all over.” He chuckled with a hint of delirium and ran his good hand over his face to remove excess sweat and sewer scum.

Virgil pulled a pair of books almost reverently out of the backpack.
“Try not to move kid,” he said, “you've lost a lot of blood.” Virgil opened one of the small books. Zack saw a small piece of the title, “the Nec.” Virgil carefully flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted, dipping his finger a bag of blood in his lap and drawing a strange symbol into the ground. A line running tangent to the round side of a half ellipse. Below it a cross that is equal in all directions. And finally a simple circle with a square circumscribed.

Zack slowly slid into a sitting position, feeling dizzy as his adrenaline wore off. He watched the proceedings with fascination. “Um, whatcha doin'?” he asked with a rueful smile while scratching the back of his head, “I'd like to stay an' watch, but I just might need a band-aid or somethin'.”

Virgil ignored the question. Staring at his series of symbols intently
“What's your name, kid?”

The boy's throat started off closed as some other word had begun to surface, but it stopped so quickly that, to Virgil, it may have only been a trick of acoustics in the cavernous enclosure. “...Zack. Zack Strife.”

Virgil nodded almost imperceptively. He wrote the name: Zack Strife, in blood underneath his diagrams. With a blood smeared thumb, he drew a rough circle around the whole picture. He spilled both bags of blood on top, Zack watching in a mix of revulsion and interest as the blood began to collect over the pre-drawn lines, popping the picture up three inches, and looking very strange from the side.

Virgil's red eyes, unprotected by the sunglasses began to, not glow, but flash red. In an other-worldly voice that sounded like two voices, one the gruff on from before, another hollow and deep and devoid of emotion, spoke in tandem. “You don't believe in that name like you should, kid. But it's close enough for government work.”

Zack’s head cocked slightly at that statement. It somehow seemed correct and acceptable, though he had no idea why and his mind’s structure wouldn’t let him question it further.

Virgil put one finger up against the side of his nose, tapping it. “This is going to hurt, a lot.”

The flashing started to increase pace, gaining in both speed and brightness. The blood on the ground started to resonate, glowing more and more brightly. Finally, Virgil lets loose a inhuman moan, one that sounds like thousands of voices, separating and mixing, one and many all in one terrible sound. The chunk of wood was torn out of Zack, he screamed in agony, and the blood flew off the ground and into the wound. This hurt even more than the wood being pulled out, like Zack's arteries and veins were being pumped with acid.

Finally, the wound closed, and Virgil collapsed against the ground, the pain leaving Zack as abruptly as it started. No traces were left, and while feeling a little tired, Zack felt completely healthy.

Panting as the adrenaline once more began to lower, Zack sat stunned for several moments, then tested his arm tentatively with widened eyes. “Whoah! It's... It's all better! Man, freaky stuff, but thank you! Hey, are you alright?” He crawled forward to check on his rescuer.

Virgil put a cigarrette in his mouth, “How do you think I feel, kid, I'm a goddamn miracle worker, and I want a cigarette. Let me see that big ass sword for a second.”

Zack felt relieved that he seemed alright, and quickly retrieved the great blade, holding it toward him in an offertory gesture. “It's called Fjalar. I... forget why I called it that, but well, here it is.” He wondered if Virgil was going to just comment on its unusual girth, or maybe give a history on its make, or even the mythological origin of its name…

Virgil struck his match against the edge of the sword and lit his cigarette, shaking the match out when it caught. “Thanks mutch.” He mumbled around his cigarette.

Zack cocked his head, then laughed. “Haha, oh, I thought... Hehehe.” He sat down again, legs folded Indian-style. “You're pretty cool. Dunno if I could stomach playin' with blood all the time, but you can do some neat things. What's your name anyway?”

Virgil took a long drag off of the cigarette letting the smoke come out in steadily larger rings. Wearily, he gave Zack a half salute, “Virgil's the name. Part time miracle worker, amateur gettaway man, and fulltime gentleman theif, at your service.” He winked at Zack, and blew a ring of smoke around his face.

Zack tried to politely suppress a cough, but a small one still caught in his throat. Still, he smiled. “Good to meetcha, Virgil. Man, if it weren't for you I-- ...Wait... Thief? Why were you...?” Zack's eyes went upward as if to scan his brain, as his finger poked his cheek thoughtfully. Then he looked at Virgil again. “Hey were you there stealin' somethin'?”

Virgil took another drag, when the answer finally came, it had an air of finality about it, “Yes.”

Zack's eyes widened a bit at his abruptness, then he emitted a drawn out laugh syllable while rocking back and forth once. “Heee. Well those were bad guys anyway, an' I've had to steal to live lots o' times, so I can't really nag about that. Sooo... What'dja get?”

“Books that should never had been written. Created by a man who should never have existed. Books that no one but me should ever see.”

The young blonde's eyes widened and his jaw slowly opened. “...Whoooaaah..... That's deep...”

Virgil tossed the cigarette aside, already done with it, “Like a puddle, kid. So how's my little distraction feeling?”

“...Distraction?... Uh... But... HEY!” Zack took on a pouty expression, his mouth emitting a gaping huff like, well, an offended teenager.

“Sorry ‘bout that kid, too many guard, too much security. I remembered you from TV and figured you could handle yourself. All I did anyway was pay that old man to tell you where the place was. You came of your own damn choice.”

The teenage huff came louder this time, and he pointed at Virgil repeatedly, as if the air from his moving finger could poke and prod the man from a distance. “You! But... But I thought that he... and that you... Aww nuts!” He lowered his head, arms, and shoulders in a posture of defeat, shaking his head.

Slowly, his shoulders started shaking, and his face lifted to show that he was chuckling, still shaking his head. It grew into laughter, and he fell over onto his back, still-folded legs in the air, hands on his forehead.

“Ahahaha! Oh man, you got me good! You really got me good, man!”

Virgil stared at the teenager across from him. Absolutely baffled that the kid could actually laugh about him almost getting him killed. To each his own I guess, he thought.

The kid's laughter was contagious, soon Virgil couldn't help but break out into his own smile. “Tell you what, kid. For being such a good sport, I'll cut you a deal. I'll help you off those red list guys for a little dinero.”

Zack's chuckles abated, leaving him breathless again as he sat up. “Dinero? Think that means money, right? Sure, sure! That'd be just fine, just as long as I get enough to help out my friend Bax. Yeah, I’m kinda pissed, but we'll call it even.”

An evil smile slowly spread across Virgil's face. “I've got just the guy to talk to to make this easy,” he said, his eyes flashing with mischief, “Say, Zack, you ever heard of good cop, bad cop?”

[ZaCloud]

(OOC: Well, I’ve waited enough months. Sorry this is such a poor way out but I had little to go by, my memory sucks, and I’ve got stuff to do, so this is the best I could do. Time for Zack to shake off the sleep and return to the fray! ^_^ )

Good cop, bad cop, eh?... Hard to tell which is which in this case.

Virgil and Cloud were in a hospital room, where the former was using pain and some other influence Zack couldn’t understand to extract information from some guy who he had apparently met recently. In fact, it was the man Virgil had originally received information from concerning Mr. Snow and the tower. Meanwhile, Zack was to act intimidating, and he was of course able to do that quite well simply by wielding his giant sword and looking as sharp as his hair appeared to be.

More like bad cop, scary cop, he thought, trying not to roll his eyes.

Amidst much sputtering and sobbing on the part of the goon, Virgil seemed satisfied in what he had gained and he and Zack exited. Letting his guise down, Zack put Fjalar on his back and sighed, scratching his cheek with his index finger and pouting thoughtfully. “Uh, did you really have to be so mean?”

Virgil answered and yet didn’t by replying, “We got what we needed.”

Zack shrugged to himself, then asked, “And what’s that? I was busy trying to stay all mean lookin’.”

The older man answered, “The key to both of us getting what we want, not to mention some nice fireworks…”

---

BBOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!! rrrrRRRRRRRMMMMBBBBB!!!

The hospitalized dimwit had revealed the site of a vast store of explosives under the tower… and Virgil and Zack had set them off in the perfect method of bringing the entire structure down, along with Mr. Snow, and all the Red Listers inside.

Zack whooped and jumped, laughing, the triumph of such a major bunch of baddies to mark down… AND such a pretty explosion… setting him off with joy. “A whole flock with one stone!” he rejoiced, moving to put an arm over Virgil’s shoulder.

But the man was gone. Zack blinked, looking around. He couldn’t see him anywhere.

As crazy as things had been, Zack sighed and figured, “Maybe he zapped off somewhere, underground again, or even into the rubble to retrieve something…?” He rubbed the back of his head, pouting. “Well that sucks… I wanted to introduce him to everyone…”

Only about twenty feet behind him, Virgil stood behind a tree, lighting up a cigarette. He had merely sauntered over, his blood-powers tired out for the time being. He shook his head at Zack’s incredulity. Crazy kid, he thought, taking a long draw before slowly releasing the smoke in a light trail, But the world matches here, doesn’t it? And as his smoke drifted out of sight, so did Virgil, just as silent.

Meanwhile, Zack stood watching the last of the rubble fall, now feeling some regret that all of those inside were actually dead. True, they were all proven terrible and didn’t deserve the privilege of life, and they could no longer harm anyone else, but it still was hard on him to take lives, no matter how vile. He closed his eyes for a moment, apologizing just in case to any who could hear him for shredding souls from bodies that must’ve taken quite some work to make.

Slowly opening his eyes, he murmured, “Sorry… They just didn’t turn out too good.”

He then headed to Edos Lee’s headquarters, which happened to be quite close, to find out just how this messy situation was to be handled.

---

Zack strolled back happily to the gym, humming an upbeat tune. He figured that if any technology existed to get Bax back into space, he just had to be getting quite close to affording it. He would need to start seriously looking into figures soon enough.

He paused by what he figured to be a bank, looking up at it with a sigh. Lee had suggested to him that he start paying Zack in checks. This had resulted in the unfortunate mercenary commander having to explain the entire concept of a bank account to the lad, and only could end in the realization that it was fruitless anyway: Zack had no formal identification, no birth certificate, nothing with which to validate much of anything.

Zack could only be thankful for large bills and deep pockets as he made his way back to a place that had become home.