By Kristen Gupton-Williams

Vincent started up the first flight of stairs with Tifa right at his side. They climbed carefully, keeping a watchful eye out for any potential threat. The stairs and catwalks swayed with every step making them fell as though they could fall at any moment.

Once they were certainly out of earshot of everyone else, Tifa asked in a whisper, "Vince, why did you look so sick when Porter gave us the code?"

Not knowing quite how to tell her, Vincent took his time before answering. "It’s kind of embarrassing."

"So tell me, now I have to know." Tifa was clinging tightly to his side, hoping that this conversation might help her nerves.

"This is stupid, but have you ever sat and just for the hell of it looked to see what numbers on the phone spell out things?" Vincent felt color return to his cheeks. The fact that as a grown man he had done this like a twelve-year old girl would have was humbling.

"You’ve actually done that?" Tifa smiled despite her nerves.

"Yeah, I have." He rolled his eyes, trying to get to the point. "Anyway, that code… it spells out something."

"What?" Tifa had a sneaking suspicion but needed to hear it from him.

"It spells Valentine." Vincent felt nauseated. "He has the codes spelling out my name. That’s either intentional or one hell of a coincidence."

"This goes beyond obsessed." Tifa was feeling his tension. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Well that’s the million gil question isn’t it?" Vincent grinned slightly.

***

Rasta rejoined his compatriots outside the lab doors. Rude looked at him with suspicion, and when just a few short seconds later Hojo emerged from the lab as well he knew what had just transpired.

The scientist gave the assembled Turks passing regard as he walked toward one of the four stairways heading downward.

Rude, knowing that for better or worse the madman was putting himself in danger by going alone addressed him. "Sir, would you like one of us to escort you since those ASRIO agents are around?"

Hojo glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. "Yes, that would probably be for the best. Please come with me, Rude, and allow your associates to take two of the other ways down. Perhaps that will allow more of the intruders to be intercepted."

"Yes Sir." Rude started forward, knowing that he was being called to go with Hojo for a reason. He just hoped that Rasta wasn’t the one to encounter Porter or Reno for that would be their death sentence.

Kimo looked after his boss as he went downward with the scientist also well aware of what was going on. He gave a displeased leer at Rasta before starting toward the second closest stairwell.

Rasta, feeling nothing in the way of guilt also headed downward, determined to have blood. If he outted Rude as a weakness there would be an excellent opportunity for promotion for him within the ranks. Friendship was secondary to his loyalty to Shin Ra as far as he was concerned.

***

Jaras and Porter were making very slow progress compared to the other groups. It was far too often that the former Turk had to stop for short breaks on the climb as it was the absolute worst thing he had done since his injury. The pain was getting now to the point that he fully suspected that the surgical repairs done to him would completely give at any moment leaving him incapable of moving.

Jaras was disturbed by the condition of his partner and finally broke down. "Porter, I think you need to go back."

Through his agony filled eyes he growled back. "I am not turning back! I have come to far and I need to see this thing out."

Sighing, Jaras turned away and started to climb yet another flight of stairs, soon putting a long distance between he and the Turk. He would not stop again until he reached his goal, if that meant that the Turk was left far behind then so be it.

Porter struggled onward, trying in vain to keep up. Jaras was taking the stairs two at a time and showing not the slightest hint of slowing.

Porter called out weakly. "Wait for me!"

Jaras looked over his shoulder. "I have a job to do. There can be no more delays."

It was then that Porter clearly saw that Jaras was no longer the meek person he had come to know. His long silver hair had worked its way free from its tie and was hanging about his shoulders. Jaras’ green eyes burned in the darkness of the reactor and as he turned away to begin his accent toward the upper levels he swiftly unsheathed his sword. All of the images of Sephiroth that he had witnesses over the past several years paled in comparison to the man he was watching now.

***

Morris and Reno were making good progress and well past the half way mark when suddenly they noticed someone on the catwalk above them. They both instinctively froze hoping that whoever it was would turn back. Caught out on the narrow walkway there was no where for them to hide as Rasta came down the stairway before them with his gun drawn.

Reno flicked open his night staff instantly, prepared to fight. Morris who was standing before him drew his own weapon and aimed it squarely at the Turk before him.

Rasta kept his gun out before him, seemingly unfazed to see the two men before him. He smiled slyly. "You must be the famous Reno I have heard so much about."

"Fuck off." Reno snarled back. "Let us by."

"Ain’t gonna happen." Rasta was far too cool about the whole situation.

Morris, hopelessly caught between these two men was extremely tense. He glanced quickly back at Reno behind him for reassurance and it proved to be a fatal mistake.

Seeing that the man between he and Reno was for the moment not focused on him, as he should be, Rasta fired off one well placed round.

The bullet hit the ASRIO agent squarely in the throat, sending out an immediate cascade of blood. Morris at once dropped his gun and clutched his neck, trying in vain to hold back the flow. Within a few seconds he fell to his knees and then to his side, dead.

Reno stood looking down at his fallen partner in helplessness and disbelief. Knowing that he was now the object of Rasta’s aim, he turned and fled back down the stairs narrowly escaping a bullet as it rang off the railing beside him.

Rasta scowled as the other man evaded him, stepping over Morris’ dead body to begin his pursuit.