Haunted Memory

Disclaimer: I have no rights over The final Fantasy Characters. This story is based off joint effort of Mix mastah Mike and Sailor Poison. Any reviews is very much appreciated.

“ Haunted Memory “
By Mix Master Mike and Sailor Poison

Prologue


The Sun cocked back, as the clouds defended the sky so it seemed, everyone watched the rain pour down, flash flood was heard, the rain fell so hard, there was no place to run, everyone scattered, looking up at the twilight, as they starred at his likeness, and his brightness, he tried hard, he pushed on through hard endevours, he was held back by battles and the masses of people, boots mudstained, his clothes felt wet, and heavy, his eyelids shutting slighty as he blinked, he heard their screams, as the battle raged on he tightened his fist, and shouted out among the ranks to advance, then himself went forward, battling through flesh and bone, his men doing the same knowing they could trust their leader, they knew he wouldn't let them down, the bloodstained battlefield seemed to get a spot of sun on it as the rain cleared, it seemed they had won the battle, but not the war, the mighty hero looked down, a sword going through his chest, he fell down on his knees, his face in the mud as he heaved heavily, blood running out of his open wound, his litenuent ran up to him, and checked to see if he was alright, he shruged it off, but soon fell face first in the mud a blank stare gazing, as the rain completely quit, the hero had fallen, but he saved their lives in the end, but this was not the true war, the true war was brewing deep down, in hell, in the ranks of evil and epic, soon the hero would see it all, through a Haunting Memory......

Today started off the perfect day for Cid. The sun was bright and the air pleasantly warm. This would not last. The problems started after he was told a vital shipment from New Midgar city was not able to arrive unless he got it. This was no problem, right? Then he finds out his airship need new propellers, which was part of the shipment. He had planes anyway. Cid then deiced to simple fly his "Mule" to the city. What else could go wrong? Miles outside town, Cid was forced to land. Thick smoke poured off the engine; it seemed Cid kept the machine as a workhorse of some sorts.

Cid, "What else could go wrong?"

Cid is a man in his thirties tall; he was a man with a weather-beaten face. He has short-cropped dirty-blond hair and blue eyes that seemed to reflect the color of the sky. He wears a pair of pilot's goggles on his brow, along with a blue jacket, in which the seams had strings coming out of them here and there. The Jacket itself was old and rugged, apparently Shera wasn't around to do patch work on it, and grease stains littered the nice cotton woven material near the pockets of the jacket, they were faded out of proportion, from the bleach he used. His pants were khaki they were blown slightly by the wind, as it picked up; blowing a clover past them into the distant wind, his pants almost looked fatigued from the wind. Around his wrist was sweat beading off, as he tightened his gloves slightly, he chewed on his cigarette almost, taking a step forward in his brown leather boots. As a matter of fact he always has a lit cigarette clamped between his teeth, regardless of the situation. In-fact, his life has been a bit pointless to him. Shera left him after meteor was stopped for another man. The day she left, he sat in his chair and simple stared at the wall. Alone; this is how he spent his time at home. Staring at the wall or sleeping, now this? Bitterness and self loath were sometimes his best companions or were noted as his best of friends. What else could he dream of doing now with his life? Was a fighter reduced to delivery boy? Yet, suicide never crossed his mind. Even as he fights to fix this engine, part of him sought the meaning of his life. That is how he spent the not as perfect as planned day, this is how it began, his story, and the others, this is how, he became an epic in this. . .this Haunting Memory.

A Young man rode a chocobo. Cloud Strife is a fighter, build lean and his height average. He has a spiky mess of unrshorshort blond hair. His eyes, oh the women loved those beautiful eyes of his, they were not always that color, it seemed that Mako had enhanced them in color and in depth, Mako had not only strengthened his body, and endurance, but had increased his depth perception, vision in darkness, almost, he was the perfect, Soldier, or so his commander used to say to him, from what he remembered. He still is clad in an outfit similar to his old SOLDIER uniform: a purple sleeveless shirt, made of intricately wove cotton, and nylon, around his belt line was an old SOLDIER belt buckle it seemed a bit rusted, in some spots and shiny in the others, apparently the company was littered with cheap asses who didn't manufacture stainless steel belt buckles, below his belt buckle were loose pants, dark navy blue, as if they were dyed darker than what they were supposed to be, apparently he wasn't a fan of the light colored pants; they weren't so loose they were falling off, but weren't too tight that they were to hamper any serious movements around his lower arms, near his hands he wore gauntlets, the leather on them were cracked and flaked off slightly as he treaded across water on his chocobo now, Near his shoulders he had his own tailor made, blacksmith forged shoulder pads, made with some of the strongest alloys known to word of mouth, on his feet, were heavy all-terrain boots. Obsessively, he only bought clothes that looked like the old uniform as if he had been programmed to do so, sometimes he would feel as if he was still in SOLDIER in the way he acted, talked, and walked. He always carries Ultima with him; his only sword that didn't break on him, apparently he was either bad luck to swords or the swords had bad luck when they were around him, Cloud could indeed swing a sword like no other. Cloud was a lone young man with not much else to do. He was once a proud hero of this blue rock of a world. But things didn't go as well as he expected, he looked for work at first, but couldn't seem to find a job worth keeping; and something in the back of his mind, in his sub-consciousness kept leading him towards a new path, he couldn't stay focused towards work or on her, it was if the path was his life itself, this was a path that he had yet to take, he found himself at another fork in the road when she nagged him. Cloud, can't you move on? Cloud what will we do about a future? Cloud, don't you even love me? He only wished Tifa would shut her trap. He seen her as his childhood friend, a girl he only grew up together with and played together with, nothing more nothing less, nothing was expected of her, love wise, her support only made him strive harder to improve himself, so that he wouldn't need it in the future, apparently she was his pill, she was his drive. But then again he never was good with keeping women, they all had a sad habbits of dying off, or leaving, and to him it was no surprised when she left him. He felt a little hurt, yes, but he was glad to be left alone for once in a good while, now if only his mind would shut up. Soon he sold his home on Costa Del Sol and started to travel on Chocobo. He went from city to city for a while doing, random jobs, and odd jobs, almost to that of a Turk but less violent. He didn't care what people thought of him, most of them thought of him still as a war hero or a washed up hero, from the past as if he was a ghost, sometimes he would waste the money on booze. He never did waste time with hookers, they were just pretty pieces of flesh and bone put together to amuse men drunk on booze, with hormones raging through their veins, to him they were nothing more than a sign that was to be over looked. Just about every woman he did look at though reminded him of Aeris. He could almost smell the scent of her hair; yet, he was haunted by her memory when he slept, and the dreams were getting out of control he couldn't brush his teeth in the morning without thinking about her at times. He wanted to touch her more than Tifa. He was also haunted by the death of Zack his one and only true friend when he was in SOLDIER. The truth might have freed him from living a lie but it slung him into a life of guilt and useless wishing in the open plains or traveling across sea he always was reminded by his Death, what if he was stronger could he have actually changed things? He blamed himself for both their deaths. He didn't even care that his existence to this point was now worthless. He was at the point of no return almost, no regrets, just simple ridding his chocobo towards the next place and next job, wondering how long this pitiful game would go on, he rode the sea for a long time before he hit the mountains again near the reactor, near where all the pain and suffering had begun, Near his own Haunting Memory. . .

For her, things didn't go as well in her life either. Tifa is a beautiful young woman with a lean build and was very well-endowed. She used to have long, soft, vivid straight black hair that reaches past her waist. It seems she had changed for it was cut so it hung freely around her shoulders. Her eyes are a rich deep brown, her eyes showed much depth. She also changed her outfit after he left her. She couldn't remember the day he left her, but she remembered what happened after it all too well. Maybe if she changed herself on the outside, she would change inside; or so she thought anyway. She wanted a new life, a new beginning. She tried to make a life with Cloud. Apparently it wasn't working by the way she shook sometimes, and shivered in her sleep, he was in her thoughts even as she traveled to this day, and his memory was as vivid as the smell of a dozen roses. Cloud could never settle on a job, maybe that's when it started, when he started getting distant from her. She did what most women did when they felt left in the cold, she nagged, her attitude changed from loving to slightly bitter as she grew more callous as the day went on. She didn't mean to push and argue at times, but she yearned to know what was going on. Cloud only withdrew more from her; she could almost feel her relationship with him crumbling under those stars they looked at when they were so young. She felt her life was stagnating. She was then forced to do some deep thinking. Cloud was never really the close childhood friend in her opinion, he always wanted to be like Sephiroth, and be a great SOLDIER and bring fame to the town, and bring a good name. He was the boy next door who was always kept on the fringes by her actual close childhood friends, the trio. She knew he wanted to join but had to desire to even try to play with the scrawny kid, there was rare occasion he was included. Then one day she was asked to meet him at the water tower at sunset. This was a shock to the young Tifa. The idea that he even liked her sent a thrill the other boys never gave her. She fancied that he worked hard in basic training just for her. Always wondered what Cloud was doing. From there she started to have a crush on the idea of Cloud. The crush grew to love. The bigger truth is she doesn't even truly know Cloud. All this was on her mind on that long lonely walk to Nibelhiem. She moved into her old house and started a class for hand to hand fighting. She knew her master would be proud, her master was once a great warrior, turned monk who taught her the arts, and self defense, she was his best pupil and brightest, exceeding all other barriers and obstacles in her way. Kids come from far and wide to get lessons from her; some even consider her to be a saint. Yet, despite the decent business, she found herself wondering about what is the love of her life. What if she was more patient? What if she was the reason why Cloud never could love her? Despite her change of appearance, inside she was still back at Costa Del Sol trying to figure Cloud out. As time went on, she felt even lonelier and stuck in some rut she couldn't even begin to fathom. Only true joy in life is in teaching her students, lately she had been stuck in guilt and denial about *her* Cloud, was Sephiroth right? Was he just some Clone created by professor Hojo? Some piece of meat, made of flesh and bone, to be manipulated like a puppet? She woke up one night, and wrote down what she had dreamed and done so for the next week, she examined her notes over a cup of coffee looking around the room with those beautiful eyes. Her hand shook as she dropped her coffee cup into the floor shattering it, dropping the notes putting her head down on the table? She couldn't recollect logic anymore not even reality, the past melted with the present and the future, all at once In some beautiful blur of colors, almost like fireworks going off in the sky, this is the story how she beats her Haunting Memory. . .

A lone man sat in a cave behind a peaceful waterfall, the seat he was setting it was made from what looked to be white, pieces of marble, the floor was a midnight blue marble with crinkles of white in it, the place looked as if it was almost heavenly. Vincent Valentine was a tormented man, tormented by his own guilt, and his lack of experience in the past. He looked around with those crimson red eyes;
they shined almost like the blood that flowed through his veins. A drop of sweat dripped from his face onto the marble floor, making a slight clatter, as he looked at the waterfall entrance narrowing a brow almost seeing a figure enter; maybe it was in his mind. His psyche was slender, and lanky, except for his shoulders, his shoulders were slightly muscular. His black hair had red speckles on them, from open wounds near his shoulder that dripped onto the locks of gracious hair hanging before his face. His hair hung thick and back by his shoulder blades. A red bandana was strung across his forehead to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes, and to keep the hair out of his vision, the bandana he got off, a youth, a wrongful death, that he was investigating as a Turk. His clothes were black and heavy to hide the changes done to his body by Hojo, perhaps his claw hand was a curse, but the *curse* had saved his life on more than a few occasions; the clawed hand was protected by a special gauntlet caste in bronze. The wind blew his large cape to his side, as a breeze picked up blowing some droplets of water into the cavern onto the marble, his cape was a luscious crimson red almost like rose petals you would find in a flower shop. He used his cape to hide his *ethically wrong* appendage. Vincent was once a Turk of great skill and pride, he was the best at everything he did, he even
surpassed Davoren, he was a supreme marksman, since his father was gracious enough to buy him a gun at an early age, he had a head start on the more experienced Turks, it seemed everything was going fine, until he made the mistake of falling in love. He knew that she loved him but loved the pursuit of science even more, damn Hojo, and the others he thought to himself shutting those eyes seeing nothing but darkness, knowing only emptiness and bitterness now instead of love. She gave herself to a project that resulted in the monster called Sephiroth. He knew he could stop him, he must, he should for her; it seemed right. Just as he went to stop the mad scientists project once and for all a bullet struck him down, a bullet to the head almost, the professor didn't stop there, oh no, he kept building onto him as if he was some damn monster of some sorts punishing him with experimenting on the poor Turk. Hojo saved him from death to a long lonely life. His demons were the source of his guilt and anger, hatred; each form had its own personification, of his own form of guilt. Now that meteor was stopped he found himself with too much time on his hands. He built weapons on the side for hunters of the monsters and evil. These were the times he would venture out of the cave, meet people, get whatever he needed, and try to bury his guilt, along the road of where he went; then he would return to her cave. Where he would ponder his mistakes, and repent for his sins, meditating for answers, trying to remember what reality was, his own recollection failing at times, as he felt trapped in the past; doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. His body was didn't age, because of the good professor. He avoided his comrades for he had no desire to watch them age and die while he lives on, the guilt it ate him away like a disease eats away at an open wound, going layer after layer. Chaos whispers in his mind, words pounding his temple like a quick heel to the head would. He shoved the words aside, knowing they would come back to him later. Today he was polishing the marble. Someone had to keep her memorial clean as his whole reason, he felt it his duty, his obligation to her. Still he lingered on her memory as if she were still around today, not knowing what to do next, like a ghost stuck in time. Despite the appearance, he was also a man of culture and education. The place seemed odd, a bookshelf to the side, books littered across it, over Mako, Jenova, and other theory, as if Hojo himself had lived here, the books were real not forgeries. They were the real deal indeed, by Professor Gast. Time came easily and flew fast, his thoughts raging out of proportion like Sephiroth's insanity. He once hoped that saving the world would free him of guilt that he was slowly drowning in, he couldn't stand it anymore, he had to end it now, no more suffering for him any more, no more pain or suffering, it seemed death would be his only escape. He cocked his shotgun, raising it up to his head his finger reaching out to pull the trigger, he seen a shadow near the waterfall and quickly aimed his gun in the direction following it with supreme skill. He cocked an eyebrow and lowered the gun speaking in that low tone of his, his words were inaudible almost, as he seemed to trail off as everything blended together, his words became bamboozled, and scrambled. Was this fate he mumbled wondering how to face this Haunting Memory. . .

A young feline prowls the cliffs near Cosmo Canyon. Red dust seemed to blow by the creature, almost a rust looking color, as Nanaki looked over at the almost timeless caves in which shops and hotels were in. Nanaki is a red-furred, lion-like creature with a spiky red mane the runs along the back of his head and neck. His tail seemed odd it was thin, and flexible but strong enough as to whip you down. The back part of it looked as if it was on fire, and this odd patch of fur seemed to glow under certain circumstances. Thick paws were his weapons of choice, when it came to enemies. He was always ready to claw them into pieces. His body is marked all over with tattoos, given to him by Hojo for documentation; most prominent of these is the roman XIII on his left foreleg. Hojo did make it hurt he remembered it like it was yesterday, when he ordered it done. His right eye is gone; permanently shut with a scar over the socket, apparently Hojo didn't like his answer one day in the lab. The people of Cosmo Canyon were very grateful to have such a guardian as Nanaki. His friends call him Red as a nickname. He was the guardian of his home. That was what he saw as his destiny. Though he called people of the canyon his own, he was different from the humans who lived there. Raised by the local wise man, which he called grandfather, after his parents died, fighting the Gi, a mysterious force of dead souls and sadness, who shot arrows that turned you into stone. The canyon took pride in exploration of knowledge in science and nature; they were curious people that believed the more you know about the earth the less likely you are to hurt it, so they believed science and nature fell hand in hand. He could sense something was going to happen very soon, he seen a shooting star get smashed down by another one, such an odd act, maybe it wasn't a star, maybe it was something else. The planet which has been quiet has started an odd noise. It was almost like the sound of a mother about to give birth to a monster. Till now he was one of the few happy with his life. Aside the fact he was lonely for a mate of his own species, he was well balanced and handling things well. If anything hard came along, he might still be too young to fully be able to handle the stress. For him, this was the calm before the storm. Something he weathered as a rookie, and now as a veteran. Yet, he knew the days of ease was about to be destroyed, and crumbled in an instant. All he can do is wait and watch. He couldn't help his friends, not from this far away. If they were caught in the danger, it was simply tough luck. Nanaki wished he could do something about it, he wish he could fix it. He howled out to the moon, to the forgotten guardians of the past, for wisdom and guidance, knowing something from the past was going to emerge, and climb back from a sick ways and its demons to bring back torture, pain, and suffering. He had dreams about this Haunting Memory. . .

Yuffie was known as a thief, actually she isn't the methodical as you might think; Yuffie now is a girl in her older teens, almost twenty. She has short brown hair with a couple of braids tied on the side; the braids were made of gold, jewels, and other valuable items, fitted to her likeness. She had deep greens eyes, green eyes that reflected her emerald collection almost perfectly. She wears a mismatched array of clothing and scraps of armor, none of which afford any real protection, except for a shoulder plate, and a wrist guard. Mostly they hugged and showed off her curves. She called herself a ninja, though she was more of a common thief. Daughter of Godo, citizen and future clan leader of Wutia, until in the fourth year of the war he was killed by Shin-Ra's elite task force, best, and most brightest Soldier, Yoshiro. In truth she was a slightly selfish child still. The only saving grace is that she helped the heroes in the valiant struggle against Sephiroth and saved the world from meteor. That is where her generosity ends. Yuffie found herself being given more and more responsibility in Wutia. At first, she did try to fulfill her duties but her true nature won out. Despite the appeals of the other elders, pleading her to stay and help lead. Yuffie left her home in search of materia and money again; apparently she was greedy and didn't know when to stop. This would take her to the far depths and high flying heights of the world and back. Despite the fact materia was becoming uncommon once more; she strove to find the best; not to mention the most valuable. Sometimes Yuffie even sent it home as gifts, as if asking for repentence from the elders for leaving. Most of the money was used for herself. The occasional new outfit piece or something she thought looked pretty; made it a point to stay away from certain people, like Cid Highwind, who would hurt her if she tried to steal from them. Yuffie only stole from Cid once when he came to Costa Del Sol to refuel. He grabbed her wrist rather painfully and almost broke it. Then he took back his Gil with interest. She looked down at her wrist once more; she had a spiky wrist guard there now. She considered getting back, but didn't want to face the old scruffy pilot with bad misdemeanors. She decided that best not to steal from her former comrades since they knew her little tricks. So, Yuffie started to look for new tricks and gadgets. Most of them she found didn't even appeal to her sense of taste. Though fact she thinks she has taste is rather laughable. She was shallow and only worried about her own needs. Clueless to how Wutia is now, she travels still; wondering if the town will crumble, because soon she will either have to take up the reigns of leadership or let Wutia plunge into civil war. She shook her head, not wanting to decide, just wanting freedom at the moment, sweet untouched freedom, but still didn't want to be thought of as a Haunting Memory. . .