Paper Tiger Burning

I respectfully credit all Original Creators, namely Squaresoft, which became SquareEnix,for these characters. In this way, I pay homage to my Fandom's Original Creator, and illustrate my Community's belief that Fan Fiction is "fair use". I do not claim to own these characters. I do not make money or gil from using these protected characters, nor do I wish to make money or gil from them. In other words, I am borrowing these characters to entertain the adult fanfiction community, but I am doing so with the highest degree of respect to the engineers, game designers, music makers, voice actors.




My resurrection…

No one, not even I could have foreseen this. But Hojo is a clever bastard, if insane and entirely without scruples. Like a cockroach, he keeps getting up no matter how many times someone smacks him down. I blame the mako, the experiments he conducted on himself long before he had use of subjects. But placing blame doesn’t change the fact he figured out how to get me back under his needles and electrodes, his scalpels and machines. I’m back and that’s what matters. But I owe him nothing.

I owe Rufus Shinra, instead.

Rufus is the one I answer to now, having returned to my former position as Shinra’s poster boy for SOLDIER, status reinstated. I hold sway over the Turks, the enlisted, the non-commissioned, the trainees and the rawest recruits. All I have to do is be a good little sociopath and direct my blood-thirst toward Shinra’s aggressive enemies.

It isn’t difficult. Shinra has many foes now, even more than the first time I held the rank of General. Resistance groups abound. Every time they make a movement it is noted and filed here in my office. Rufus wants them monitored, not eliminated, due to his desire to improve Shinra’s image. The dangerous opponents, the suicide bombers and militant threats are quickly exterminated by my elite, hand-picked troops. The nay-sayers and trouble makers are ignored until they prove they belong with the risky ones.

So far I have not been called upon to eliminate AVALANCHE. Cloud Strife and his remaining band are keeping under my radar. That is fine with me. I don’t want to try for another fight with the puppet. I’m well aware my arrogance has been my downfall again and again and I don’t know if I can break the old habit of taunting Strife. I could find myself back in the Lifestream again.

Sighing, I finished filing papers. I’ve never enjoyed office work. I’ve noticed things are done much differently than they used to be, though. Instead of hand writing out orders and such, I now am required to use a keyboard, a word processor, a computer or a division stamp. Nearly a decade is long enough to bring pens and personal letters down to archaic remnants of the past. We email things back and forth to each other now, even when our offices are separated by a wall instead of thousands of miles. It is impersonal and I should appreciate it, but I don’t.

I never learned to type.

The intercom at my right hand buzzes irritatingly, like a swamp fly. For one moment I struggle with the urge to smash it. It would take the merest flick of my finger to send it crashing into the far wall, a wall already pock-marked by my habit of throwing things. But Rufus intends for my image to become an icon of reform and second chances; I am not allowed to give into my little fits very often now.

I am a paper tiger without the benefit of paper.

“Yes?” I say after impatiently clicking the talk button.

“Professor Hojo is here to see you, General,” Eldon says in a supercilious tone. Had he meant the tone for my ears I would strangle him, but his hatred of Hojo is famous in the compound; I know he is merely disdainful of allowing the mad scientist within thirty feet of his desk. At times like this I am glad I have a secretary that shares my feelings.

“He doesn’t have an appointment,” I say.

“He claims to be here at Mr. Shinra’s bidding,” Eldon returns evenly, but I can hear his irritation. “He’s got a one hour pass.”

“Let him through,” I tell him reluctantly. This is another condition of my continuing support of Shinra; let the madman examine me, prod me, take his samples and endure his invasive questions with equanimity.

Hojo will be the first person I kill when the life of a paper tiger burns.

The door opens and the man I hate more than anything, more than my dead, alien mother, more than Strife, more than myself, even, strolls in like he owns the place. And he might as well. As long as he can convince Rufus Shinra that he is indispensable to the SOLDIER program, he is inviolate. And he knows he is untouchable. His oily smile reflects that.

“Good evening, Number One,” he says, not bothering with my title. He never bothers with my title. To him I am just an ongoing experiment.

“Tell me what you want and get out,” I say, not raising my voice in the slightest.

“Today, blood,” he answers, taking a needle from his coat. “Tomorrow I will be back with your modified medication.” He stands on the other side of the desk, flips the plastic cover off the syringe, and holds it out expectantly. “You don’t expect to stay at top form without my treatments, surely?”

I stand as I roll up my sleeve. “I don’t need any more of your treatments, Hojo,” I answer. “I’ve surpassed them.” Nevertheless, I hold out my arm to him. The needle is empty so he really is here for blood. I wouldn’t put it past him to taint the thing with a poison, a drug, an experimental solution, but he dare not be so overt when Rufus Shinra is dependant upon me. For now I am safe.

“I think I’m the better judge of that, Number One,” Hojo says, still smiling that despicable smile. He jabs me roughly and begins to fill his syringe. “Your physiology has changed slightly since I returned you to the living; your J-Cells are higher, your mako levels even higher than that. If you want to function as even a halfway normal man, you must let me moderate your system a little.”

I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not. Of all the education I received in the labs, science wasn’t high on the list. He hadn’t wanted me to be able to read his notes, to discern for myself what he did to me. And, Hojo always mixed truth with lies. One could find a lie in the truth and the truth in a lie with him; it pleased him to be cryptic and evasive. I wished I could enter his mind and see for myself what went on in there, but he knew of my abilities and took steps to safeguard himself.

“I don’t know why your counts would be higher, actually,” Hojo went on, capping the needle and putting it in his pocket. “They should be lower, logically. All I can think is perhaps you got so accustomed to bleeding that your cells decided you needed a constant replenishment.”

“Easily enough proven,” I reply, drawing out my boot knife and placing it on my desk.

“Don’t be a deliberate barbarian,” Hojo replied, sniffing. He tossed his lank, black hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head. “I taught you better than that.”

“You taught me more things than you’ll ever realize,” I answered. “Now, get out. I have work to finish.”

“So eager to go back to typing away on a keyboard?” Hojo grinned. “How the mighty General has fallen. He’s gone from toppling buildings and burning towns to wading through bureaucratic red tape. How it must gall.”

“So far you are what galls,” I reply. “Get out before I have you removed.”

“Very well, but I need you to come to the labs tomorrow. We need to run a few tests and see why your J-cell and mako counts are so high.” Hojo toyed with my boot knife idly while he spoke, running his boney finger down the edge just lightly enough not to cut himself. “It’s been six months since I revived you, you know. You should be examined every three months, but I thought you needed time to settle into your new…occupation.”

“How thoughtful.” I took my knife and began wedging it back into my boot. “Get the order from President Shinra or you’ll not see me. I’d as soon burn the labs as pass them on my way to the office.”

“You disappoint me, Number One,” Hojo answered, turning his back to me. “Look for your order; it will be here, I promise.”

I buried my knife into the door a mere half-second after he passed through it.