Cell Division

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, and voice actors.

“You meant confess, didn’t you?” I asked nervously as Hojo keyed a sequence of numbers outside of the sim room. “You’re not going to let him gut you?”

Hojo laughed. “I firmly believe his programming will keep us safe or I wouldn’t take you in there with me,” he assured.

The door slid back.

I viewed a near-featureless room comprised of stainless steel walls and flashing computer lights. As we came fully inside and the door shut, the room began to change. I assumed it changed to suit the preference of the person, because the room formed the rolling, green hills and delicate foliage of Wutai. I even saw rice crops and farm animals.

A man coalesced. I looked at that familiar face and shivered. He was a nightmare, a beautiful, elegant nightmare.

His lips curled up. “Hojo,” he said disdainfully. His glowing green eyes went to me. “Miss Grey.”

I gasped. How had he known my name?

“I talk to the computers and I’ve seen you,” he answered my unspoken question. “I especially enjoyed watching you confront the Shinra brat.” He tilted his head at Hojo. “You can’t do much experimenting on a program, so why are you here?”

Oh, such bitterness. I heard Hojo in his voice, too, all dark and smooth and perfectly modulated.

Hojo sat on a rock that I knew couldn’t be there. Yet, it supported him.

“I have a few things I want to tell you,” Hojo said. “I never got to tell them to you while you were flesh, so this is the best I can do.”

“Why tell me anything? I can’t use my knowledge.” Sephiroth put his black-clad arms behind his back. “But, go ahead. I get weary of only being called out for a fight. I’ll even take a neurotic’s company.”

“I’m not neurotic, boy,” Hojo said testily, taking his glasses out of his pocket and putting them on. “I’m old and mean and crazy, but I’m not neurotic.”

I wondered if Hojo was catching all these disturbing clues Sephiroth threw out. Firstly, through Shin-Ra’s computers he could spy. Secondly, he wasn’t just an adaptive golem, he was lonely. He could feel emotion.

It made me sick.

“You asked me who your parents were, do you remember?”

Sephiroth frowned. “You told me they were unimportant,” he said.

“I suppose they were, at that.” Hojo looked away from his son.

“What’s wrong?” Sephiroth came closer, towering over Hojo. “Are you…upset? I’ve never seen you sad.” His fists clenched. “Damn it, Hojo, you’re the only dependable lunatic I have, don’t go soft in front of me. I don’t want to see it.”

“Your mother’s name was Lucretia Crescent,” Hojo said softly. “She had you in the lab. She worked with me and we were giving you mako in the womb, stimulating you with Jenova cells, and generally playing god.” He paused. “And, in playing god, we made one.”

Like a youth in front of a television, the great General Sephiroth crossed his legs and sat directly on the grass in front of Hojo. “She just let you tinker around with me?” the childish horror in his voice almost broke me. I walked behind Hojo and put my hand on his shoulder to support him, knowing if I found it painful he had to find it crushing.

Sephiroth’s eyes went to me. Clearly did I see him processing someone had touched Hojo voluntarily.

“The Jenova cells were my idea, the mako hers,” Hojo answered quietly.

“You must have brainwashed her,” Sephiroth scoffed.

“No, she was my wife and she listened to me only when she wanted to,” Hojo answered.

Sephiroth stared at him.

“Yes,” Hojo said simply.

Sephiroth’s eyes dragged over Hojo. “You must be very glad I can’t harm an unarmed person,” he said in a dangerous, bone-chilling tone. “Thank you for the news, though. At least I don’t have to wonder anymore.”

There.

He thought.

Golems didn’t think, and especially not over memories.

“So, your purpose in telling me is…?” Sephiroth asked, leaning back slightly.

‘To say I’m sorry for what I did to you and that I wish I’d done things differently,” Hojo replied, keeping his son’s gaze. “What I did to you keeps me awake at night.”

“It should,” Sephiroth growled, rising. “I don’t understand you, you old bastard. You have nothing to gain by telling me any of this; what are you getting out of this except the chance to hurt me some more?”

Hojo gave him a sharp look. “How sentient are you while dwelling in the memory of the program?” he asked.

“I never lose what I am, just my form,” Sephiroth told him with a terrifying smile. “You’re the mad scientist, you tell me. You made me. You’ve apparently made me three times. Once in the womb, once in the lab, and again for this training simulation.” Again his fists clenched. “Holy fucking Ifrit, I wish I could strangle your skinny neck!”

“Sometimes I wish you could, too,” Hojo confessed.

“Make me flesh and I’ll be happy to oblige!”

Hojo tilted his head. I saw him go blank for the barest moment.

“You’re thinking about it,” Sephiroth said, his voice half accusing and half hopeful.

“I’m thinking about it,” Hojo confirmed. “It’s possible.”

Sephiroth stood over Hojo, eyes gleaming. “Do this for me,” he demanded. “If you’re really sorry, if you want something better, make it so.”

He said it so fervently, with such determination, that my suspicions clicked into place. In fact, a lot of puzzle pieces came together and fit.

Sephiroth was really Sephiroth in that simulation.

His soul was in there.

I turned away, clutching the wall for support and fighting a dry heave. It revolted me to think a living soul could dwell imprisoned in a computer. Horrible. Unnatural. Profane.

“Victoria?” Hojo took me by the arms and guided me to his rock, putting me upon it.

I looked into the green, intelligent stare of the world’s enemy and shuddered. “I am so sorry,” I said.

Sephiroth backed away from me. “Sorry for what?” he asked. “You aren’t involved in any of this. He hasn’t had you three weeks.”

“What?” Hojo asked quietly. “What am I missing?”

“Get her out of here, Hojo,” Sephiroth said. “Come back later. She’s… sick.” He turned his back to us. “Do come back any time you please. Time is all I have.”