Chapter Text
Song To The Siren (Mr. President)
The heavy click of the deadbolt served as a sharp crescendo, finally shattering the somnolent drag of the clock. As the door swung open, the sterile vacuum of the sterile room was breached by the scent of rain-dampened wool and stale peppermint. Though the cloistered room remained a sanctuary of calm, eighteen-year old Cloud Strife was drowning in a private claustrophobia.
Stale and so cold, the air carried a tenebrose quality, despite the sheer brightness by contrast. It mostly smelled of industrial-grade citrus bleach and the metallic tang of a cooling HVAC system, pungent odors not too unfamiliar. On the laminate table sat a styrofoam cup of coffee; it was a dark, stagnant pool, untouched, and losing its heat. A nervous Cloud watched the steam vanish, feeling a dolorific weight settle in his chest—a grief so dense it threatened to collapse his lungs.
Through the heavy door, the outside world reached him as a distant cacophony, the melange of noises quite strange to his sharp ears, though it was the very first time he’d been inside a police station. The rhythmic clack of heels on tiles occasionally shook him until replaced by the muffled, mellifluous drone of a dispatcher’s voice, a radio crackling to life and a deep voice shouting coordinates. He jolted less when he grew accustomed to the sharp, metallic snap of a filing cabinet echoing on the other side of the walls, his sturdy, leaden constitution admirable for his age.
The floor beneath his sneakers felt alien and frigid, a stark opposition to the boiling anxiety bubbling beneath his skin. He was a youthful, frightened creature caught in a glass trap, waiting for the arrival of the detective and his grief counselor to shatter the stillness and force him to confront the wreckage of his putrid, grim reality.
To Cloud, the wall clock was a malevolent presence, its hands lazy as if taunting him. Each movement of the second hand was a thunderclap, slowing the passage of minutes until time felt syrupy, dragging its feet as if the universe had been submerged in amber. Due to waves of discomfort, he shifted, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Though lacking much furniture aside from a large, rectangular table and a few chairs, the room was a panorama of sterility, offering no comfort, only the crushing realization of his own isolation.
To his right, the two-way mirror loomed—a dark, obsidian prism that distorted his reflection. He knew that behind that tinted glass, eyes were likely dissecting his every micro-expression, searching for even a mere crack in his fragile composure.
The atmosphere within the interview suite was one of eclectic silence—a heavy, manufactured stillness that felt less like peace and more like a frozen mass of unknown entities. Cloud displayed nothing, his years of joy long since stripped away, his bright features still holding the soft vestiges of the beginning of adolescence. As he anchored to the old, bolted chair, he noted how the room was a masterclass in clinical detachment: the walls were a vacuous eggshell white, and the floor was a river of polished linoleum, so aggressively waxed it reflected the overhead LED panels in coruscating ribbons of artificial light.
All of it brought on a nasty headache and made him dizzy beneath the burning heat, but he righted his posture when the door opened, and a handsome man not much older than thirty with straight, long, brunette hair down to his lower back entered. Face alabaster, eyes practically dark brown like his eyebrows, he wore a white dress shirt and navy blue pair of pants, looking too prim and proper. Carrying a notebook, a recording device, and a pen, he took his spot in front of Cloud, bowing his head in a humble introduction.
“Hello, Cloud. I’m Detective Tseng,” he whispered with a note of weary authority. Settling properly into his chair, he laid out the manila folders with definitive thuds he’d been carrying and arranged his notebook, murmuring to himself, “Case number 04891. Approximately nine-forty five PM, July 12th. Detective Tseng, employee number 61283.”
Cool-headed and stoic beyond his friendly smile, he moved with a practiced, heavy-footed grace, his suit charcoal and sharp, helping him look like he could blend in but also stand out against the bland pallor of the walls. Behind him followed Dr. Gast, the grief counselor Cloud had met before, whose expression was a study in practiced empathy—a welcome visual and grand source of comfort meant to soften the jagged edges of the interrogation suite.
Gaze rippling over to Dr. Gast, Detective Tseng spoke to Cloud with an arched eyebrow, “Cloud, we both want you to know first and foremost that nothing you say to us here will leave the room. This is a safe space, and if you feel more comfortable talking to Dr. Gast alone, I can—”
Shaking his head and interrupting Detective Tseng, though not to be rude, Cloud stated, “It’s okay, but umm, I would like to talk to you alone, sir.”
Poised and graceful, as Detective Tseng adjusted his sleeve cuffs, his eyes scanning Cloud with a clinical curiosity, he slowly began smiling in a most affable manner. It matched Dr. Gast’s pleasant demeanor, as if looking through the boy and into the ocean of blackness of the mirror near him, and he generously obeyed the request, ducking out of the room in seconds.
Chair legs scraping closer, his own bodily movements remained fluid and quiet in an attempt to dampen the clamor and rampage of Cloud’s internal panic. Indeed, as much as he was friendly and articulate, Detective Tseng was well versed in these extra matters. Pen scratching along his notebook, the physicality never changed to add pressure. Although the air in the room thickened, the previous, trenchant stillness was never replaced by a kinetic, predatory energy, quite unlike places and things once so familiar to Cloud.
“Cloud,” the young Detective began, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that cut through Cloud’s heady haze. Closing one of his formerly open folders, Detective Tseng simply stared at the untouched, cold coffee and smiled once more as he powered off his recording device. “You’ve been remarkably patient and courageous for your age. I know none of this is easy, and I really am very sorry for what happened to you. I promise, we’ll get through it all together, but I have to ask you a few questions. Please, take all the time you need in answering them, and if you need a break, we can also do that, okay?”
A mix of terror and exhaustion peaked, a breach in Cloud’s disposition revealing itself before he exhaled in a long, slow breath. The room, once merely cold, now felt infinitesimally smaller. The wax on the floor seemed to shimmer like black water, threatening to pull him under. He looked at Detective Tseng, searching for a lifeline, but his face remained a mask of professional neutrality, offering no escape from the clinical scrutiny of the man across the table.
Disturbed as he was, Cloud pressed his lips together tightly, hands resting flat on his lap as he gave one firm nod of confirmation. “Okay. I’ll be okay.”
Pen clattering on the table next to his folder, Detective Tseng then pushed away from the edge of the furniture, holding up both hands as if under gunpoint. “I’ll tell you what. How about you and I just talk. Just start from the very beginning, and I promise, I won’t write and make it all weird. We can just…chat. Tell me anything you want.”
Playing with his pierced earlobe, Cloud found some levity in the silver bud, rolling it between his fingers and then ceased squirming. “It’s kinda long though.”
“Doesn’t matter, we can start from the very top,” Detective Tseng warmly emphasized, lowering his arms to his own lap and keeping an open body posture. “I’m all ears, Cloud. Just talk to me.”
Two years ago…
Unjustly, Cloud Strife hadn’t entered the world as an orphan. He’d known love and closeness with both parents until the age of twelve, the initial mark of tragedy striking his household. After years of a supportive, loving bond with his parents, who provided him everything they could, his father suffered a workplace accident, becoming bedridden and passing away within seven months.
Half a year later, shortly after his thirteenth birthday, instead of celebrating it with his mother, she fell incredibly sick and was hospitalized until she also died from heart failure. Cloud suspected his poor mother died from heart break, never quite the same after losing her cherished husband. He’d personally witnessed the light rapidly fading from her eyes, her days becoming more lifeless and barren until she was finally free from all her pain.
Cloud was never even given time to properly mourn his loss. Whisked away from his home and taken into care by the foster home services, he spent two and a half years in total dreariness and isolation, without even a shred of hope at his feet, until fate turned the tides on him. It was rare to watch and hear of any child bearing success to be adopted. In the near three years he’d lived in the foster unit, he’d heard of only one child being adopted, someone rather young. Assuming he had absolutely no chance, he’d shut that lovely, unattainable thought away, but like the surprising rupture of his family, all at once, things had changed for Cloud.
Cameras and finely dressed men and women flooded the foster home for no apparent reason one morning. An entire horde of reporters, interviewers, and keen observers milled around, enormous crowds gathering until men in fancy black suits amassed, guiding someone rather untouchable and special inside. Cloud wasn’t highly aware of how the city worked and other affairs before, but after spending most of his time reading, writing, and watching the news, he knew that the long, silver-haired, pale-faced, meticulously dressed, and highly mysterious, but extremely powerful and rich man who’d visited the foster home was the new President.
President Sephiroth. Why was he here?
It was very suspicious and strange, to say the least, but then again, everything around President Sephiroth happened to be arranged with a litany of arcane and eldritch information, mostly half-truths and rumors spread about. What was public record however was the fact that President Sephiroth proved to be the youngest, and most abnormally powerful leader in under a few years, a move and shaker of destiny unlike anything anyone had ever seen and known.
Buying and reshaping the Shinra Electric Power Company, President Sephiroth seemed to randomly rush in one night, disrupting order that’d been established for almost four decades. After the death of the elderly President Shinra, his son, Rufus Shinra had taken over and promoted himself from Vice President to President, but when another domineering force and too much luxury was thrown at his feet, once again, Rufus was plucked from the seat of President to serve his delineated role as the Vice President.
There was more than money involved, however. The true reason why Rufus had easily caved and turned craven was simply due to the fact that the new President had better and more assertive ideas, shifting everything in a ruling order to expand and devour more land, resources, and change the economy of not only Midgar, but Kalm. Overnight, the Shinra Electric Power Company bought more shares, quickly taking more roots past Mako energy and acting as the advanced super-power limiting autonomy and democracy.
If Rufus had wanted to ever even dream of speaking up and lashing out, he couldn’t, and no one blamed him. Young as he was, he had experiences politically, socially, and primarily from his family educating and liberating him, but he was no match at all for President Sephiroth.
To date, Midgar never had received the gift of someone like the blasted, infernal man. Treacherous, cunning, cruel, ferocious, and downright aggressive, before he became President, Sephiroth started his vicious career as a SOLDIER. A fierce warrior at heart, highly efficient in combat and uses of technology, somehow, he transformed all that power from the battlefield into politics. No one really could accurately point to what gave him leverage, but like a harsh, winter storm, he swept in, uprooting everything and anyone who dared oppose him.
Perhaps he’d threatened Rufus. Maybe he’d bought him with money. No source was able to determine how and why, but they knew it just happened. Overnight, Rufus was moved from President to Vice President, meek and humble, loyal and serving President Sephiroth. Corporate autocracy and the global, technocratic oligarchy rose as the main form of power in Gaia, though taken to an extreme when the President himself insisted on engaging in war.
Everyone else was reported to keep their positions, with the Cabinet of Executives stationary, save for a few individuals.
Heidegger stayed in charge of public safety, but the role of effectively being in control of the Ministry of Defense and police was only a charade. Like the unethical, scientific research once conducted and overseen by Professor Hojo, it was nothing more than an act, a sham to keep the population calm and uninformed. Urban Development was still in the hold of Reeve, but various infrastructure and city planning always went through President Sephiroth, the boorish man acting like a potentate and a regal King rather than a generous leader.
Biological advancements and modern warfare were now Vincent Valentine’s to handle. Combining the data collected from Professor Hojo’s years of contemplation and study, when the aged, kooky scientist perished under mysterious circumstances, due to his own sexism, the new President forced Scarlet out of her job and duties as the leader of the Weapons Development department too soon. Assigning the former leader of the Turks to her abandoned projects under duress, a numb Vincent now managed the military-industrial complex.
Rising as a panopticon of domineering power, in less than a year under President Sephiroth’s strict regimen, freedom was extinct and a forgotten memory. Although he pretended to be fairly elected, his own speeches and inauguration widely televised, the moment anyone with a brain in their skull spotted a craven, tired Rufus Shinra with his head down, hands clasped, and slovenly demeanor on display next to the shining mass and potent ray of control President Sephiroth exuded, it was obvious that the world was in for some bleak, perilous times.
Traditional positions like Mayor soon swiftly disappeared. Towns and various sites all converged to fall under the control of the President, voting power and courts all dissolving into nothingness and urban legends. Like a predatory hawk, the new President collected his puppets and obedient robots to enact his own orders, and that was the way of life even when Cloud discovered precisely why the cruel President had arrived at the foster unit to begin with.
It was all for show, to trick the ignorant populace, really. Since most independent nations had been absorbed and neutralized, the graphic violence on news circulated to show that President Sephiroth deftly knew how to fight and literally be at the front lines with other elite, first and second-class SOLDIERs in battle. Now that things were in a cool-down period, once more, President Sephiroth needed to add another dose of ignorance and bliss to the masses, to appear more benevolent.
Without any remaining legal, political opposition, and free of any dissent taking the form of eco-terrorism and insurgency, it seemed as if the President postponed abandoning and leaving decaying factions to rot and be buried. His rebellious opponents were silenced and spirited away, which left more free time to re-brand his good name and reputation, a personal goal of his to tow the line and keep everything and everyone uninformed in order to sing his praises.
Under the guise of a venerable, magnanimous sort, the ‘virtuous’ side of the President was shown to the world for charitable, hospitable ends. Eager to present to the reporters that he was going to open his arms and loving home to the less fortunate, President Sephiroth was given a speedy tour of the orphanage. Taking his time speaking with and interviewing a few of the younger ones, he didn’t seem too interested and in dire need of anyone, until he revealed intrigue when introduced to Cloud.
Making his way to the wards holding the pubescent boys, after greeting two of Cloud’s bullies, he showed too much fascination the moment his verdant, slitted eyes landed on Cloud. Despite being encouraged to adopt younger children, when President Sephiroth introduced himself and attempted to shake hands with Cloud, due to how stubbornly mute he chose to be since he was frightened, evidence suggested that the obdurate behavior Cloud evinced was admirable and refreshing for the President.
Commenting on how novel it felt not to be worshipped and treated like a rare idol, the paperwork was promptly filed and registered, and right there, within a week, Cloud’s fate seemed to be placed on a speed run by someone who had too much control, money, and determination. In short, he was adopted by the damn President, but it wasn’t anything to boast about. Confused since he’d refused to even speak a syllable in the man’s direction, Cloud was encouraged to pack what little belongings he possessed, and before he knew it, just shy of his sixteenth birthday, he was taken under the wing of the President.
A providing demiurge for the clean slate of a universe Cloud was heading into, though ever a comely gentleman dressed so neatly and acting wonderfully for the cameras, Cloud never trusted President Sephiroth from the start. Surrounded by too many people at once, they never spoke a word or even exchanged much of a glance. The media went crazy for the sensational, sentimental story, the more emotional folks brought to tears as they sang on about how kind the President was to adopt a cute child in need.
Indeed, they pathetically fed right into the glamorous sight, beefing up the campaign President Sephiroth was on. All the while, Cloud was picked up by Cid, a private pilot working for the President, having no time to bid any of the friends he’d made farewell. Reduced to being nothing more than a chauffeur, Cid mumbled a series of strange things during the length of the excursion under a heated breath. Unfair as it was for him to labor away by force for the President, Cloud didn’t particularly care for his whining when his own anxiety was sent shooting through the roof.
Of course, to fit right out of a haunted story line, his new area of residence just had to be the bloody Shinra Mansion. A coupon appropriate for awarding him with a grimly painted image of his own nightmares, he was driven straight towards the enormous, ancient manor, shocked that while it certainly looked too old and as if it would fall apart from a tiny breeze, inside, it was extraordinary.
Built with the capacity to house at least a few hundred guests, the building held five distinct floors. The upper two were inaccessible, reserved strictly for business. That made sense when Cloud gazed up past glass inserts to see pristine meeting rooms, but the basement was what concerned him the most.
Sealed off and guarded literally by men on foot at the scene and various cameras, the basement was forbidden to be trespassed by anyone, supposedly. Cloud wasn’t one for rumor, but he’d heard plenty emanating from the Shinra Manor to know enough to discern signs and stay away.
Nearly a hundred other rooms were free to be explored and taken up, plenty of entertainment to be found everywhere Cloud looked. Whatever purpose the manor had lived out to hold up was immaterial, especially when everything to present date was provided in abundance and within an opulent degree.
Kitchens were piled with food, many talented chefs employed to bake and cook non-stop. Wealth navigated itself throughout the mansion just as obviously in expensive equipment, rare paintings and statues, highly exotic plants, an indoor pool, gym, animals, and weapons kept and preserved in their appropriate spots far out of reach.
Rugs and drapes were top quality, ivory columns holding rare gems glittering from the ceiling and chandeliers. Exotic floral arrangements fit the greenhouse, and other equipment was just as flashy and contained bravado, from armor sets, bikes, building blueprints, and collectibles rather odd, right down to the fur and taxidermy. Utensils were pure gold, silver embroidery and jewels shining from other glass cases. Materia was kept in variously protected containers, moved around by experts who knew how to handle it all, as well as a team of PR representatives, reporters, ambassadors from other townships, and unknown staff members milling around to keep up with their assigned tasks.
By all accounts, it wasn’t too shocking from what Cloud expected someone of a lofty standard and position to have. This building wasn’t as much of a cozy home as he thought it would be, which was fine for any single man. It fit his needs as an only child for a moment, but the surprise of a narrative only shook him up when he learned that the President already had children of his own…three, to be precise.
Even though he was swarmed by a sea of followers, sycophants, assistants, and members of his own team he worked with, President Sephiroth called to his sons, introducing them one by one to their silent, new brother. Like obedient sheep, they flocked over, standing in a single file line, all wearing grey and black, freshly-ironed uniforms while waiting silently.
Goodness, did they all look exactly like President Sephiroth. Quite the spitting image of him, though with a few tweaks and variations, the older two were twins, much to Cloud’s imminent shock.
Seventeen-year old Loz and Kadaj were different in weight and height, but they both held the same angular cheekbones, slim build, sullen temperament, and concave structure in the oval face as their father. Cat-like green eyes just as vibrant and chromatic as his, their pale eyelashes and eyebrows proliferated their immersive veneers. Impassive as they glanced at Cloud and measured how short he was in comparison to themselves, they seemed snobbish and standoffish when they hardly grunted in acknowledgement at him.
Their youngest sibling was the most intriguing, however, even if he was also draped in caliginous leather and a black trench coat like his brothers. Only a year older than Cloud, sixteen-year old Yazoo hid half his visage with his long, silver hair, only one verdant eye peering out at Cloud. Quite the opposite to Loz, who had shortly-cut hair and was more muscular, Yazoo even made Kadaj look normal.
Perfectly slotted in the middle, average in height and everything else, Kadaj appeared closer to his twin Loz, while Yazoo clearly was the outcast…the black sheep, of sorts. Some families tolerated their black sheep, of course, but when Cloud noticed the minute distance Kadaj created as he stiffly moved a few inches away from standing next to Yazoo as if he was some horrid disease, it was rather telling.
Even in a family where there wasn’t any single shred of imperfection, with the four members sharing the same smooth complexions, well chiseled jawbones, cheekbones, shapely lips, sharp noses, thick, shiny, voluminous hair, and enhanced, charismatic personalities, though on a subdued side, they still had their unique preferences. Not yet as tall and athletic as their father measuring well above six and a half feet, they were at least on the verge of following in his footsteps with their pride and hubris.
As phones rang off the hook, with laptop monitors flashing to switch to numerous settings and receiving documents which were promptly printed out of printers, President Sephiroth only had seconds to glance up from an ocean of documents held up before his face.
Wearing dark gloves as he often did, maybe for the sake of mystery and cleanliness, he quickly signed what needed to be signed and approved, not even making eye contact as he spoke to his quiet sons once others working for him disappeared.
“Right. From now on, I expect you all to help your new brother feel welcome here as a member of our family.”
Tone so cold, detached, though dulcet and harmonizing enough to bear sensational delight to hear, while it was pleasant from a surface layer, proof showed itself in how Loz and Kadaj seemed accustomed to reacting to it.
Affronted with Cloud’s presence, Loz nudged him with an elbow as he wondered, “How old is he?”
Hardly having time to hear the question, President Sephiroth grunted nonchalantly, “Eh. He’ll be Yazoo’s age in a few more weeks.”
Sour, bitter, vicious, and extremely calculated, Kadaj knew how to define and establish his pompous nature. Revealing himself as the most outlandish one, but evidently bold enough to be in charge, with dignified steps unsuitable for a teenager and more for a grown man, Kadaj swayed over to Cloud. Shifting until an inch remained between themselves, with at least two inches of extra height bearing over Cloud, he loomed tall, looking quite formidable as he scowled.
Detestable and stolid, as it all seeped out of the way he conducted himself, he spat in protest, “We don’t need another brother. I don’t like him here, father.”
A sigh that was rather musically charming sounded out, and though he still hadn’t bothered himself to stick his nose out of the loose sheets he was signing, President Sephiroth easily shot Kadaj’s egregious opinion down in a flash.
“I don’t really care either way what you want or think, Kadaj.” Stamping that with glacial hedonism and callousness mingled well like an art form, President Sephiroth declared with bombast, “From today onward, Cloud is your brother, and I expect you all to get along. Don’t ever question what I do, by the way.”
Clipped with a curt, but professional edge to his voice, President Sephiroth had mastered the ways of conducting himself and dissimulating in any situation, almost at a moment’s notice, it seemed. Notes and inflection chiming away like a singer with an embellished quality to the echo, it all started off in a deadly rumble, but really was melodious and calm even when he was demanding. Varnished by a tenor that spoke of youth and energy not to be trifled with, he set the limits just well, addictive as his sonorous voice was to listen to.
Covered in sweat and close to meekly cowering under the dangerous impression Kadaj gave, Cloud audibly breathed only when the reprobate backed off to join Loz’s side. Though he was no longer dwarfed and smothered by either recusant sibling, he trembled in agony when he felt their searing, scorching waves of monstrous anger burning him to a cinder.
What an awful, devastating beginning.
Present day…
Holding onto the handle of his own mug of steaming coffee, Detective Tseng cast an amicable smile at Cloud and nodded at him in appreciation after everything he’d divulged.
“You’re doing very well so far, Cloud.”
Drumming his fingers on the table before he chose to scoop up his slightly cooler mug, Cloud beamed and then cast a solemn stare at his feet. He held no stance on it either way, grateful that Detective Tseng was at least trying to be polite and friendly, even if he was more interested in the details than being the source of aid beyond what he could offer.
A bit too rueful for his own sake, Cloud replied, “Thanks. I’m glad you’re nice and will listen to me.”
Chipper and helpful to get Cloud to continue opening up, Detective Tseng purred affably, “Of course. That’s my job, Cloud.” Dark eyes bearing warmth and comfort to encourage speech, he then supplied in the way of a question to test the water, “Any idea of why the President would adopt you, or any kid for that matter, Cloud?”
Knowing that there were so many degrees to a person and how complicated even he himself was now that he was getting older and more calcified in experience of the unsavory elements, Cloud’s eyes darted up, then down before he shrugged.
“I think he did it to not feel so bad maybe. He wanted to prove that he was a good person to everyone.”
Believing that as he nodded a few times and tapped the handle of his mug before he slowly released it, a pensive Detective Tseng affirmed, “I can see that. The President already has three biological sons, and a huge part of his electoral campaign was centered on helping children in need…so it was more so for his political image, yes?”
Abstemious with his beverage and only using it as a hand warmer, Cloud felt the extra heat flooding slowly from his neck downward. Toes clammy as his palms, he curled them in his sneakers, knowing he was stuck, but not shy and pressured. Politics and careers were abstruse to himself still, even though he’d lived with the President for a little over two years by this point. It all came down to a boggy morass of confusion he never could comprehend, so he stayed quiet and nervous.
Sensing that he was at a tough standstill, Detective Tseng easily was prone to commensurate. Not letting the silence become a relatively strong source, before Cloud’s statement was further vitiated by unearthed bewilderment, Detective Tseng changed course.
Rather than targeting Cloud and relating the subject strictly to him, he instead asked gently, “Did you ever see their mother? I mean, didn’t they have a mother around?”
Turning his nose and looking off to the side, Cloud remained distant even before he answered in confidence, “No. They were just with him.”
“Hmm. Seems admirable…the whole single parent raising three kids vibe.” Conflicted himself, Detective Tseng worried his lower lip between his teeth, then stopped as he leaned to the right side of his chair. “The President was married once before…years ago. He hasn’t really kept women around because of his reputation and business, but it seems his main brand is all central towards family…so tell me about your brothers, Cloud…tell me everything you can.”
Two years ago…
Ineffable opportunities were now at Cloud’s feet. What a day and night difference having lofty standards, copious amounts of regular money, power, authority, position, and the skill to strike terror in people’s hearts made. He never could have envisioned a life like this for himself, not in a thousand years, but while not so certain on how much of it was genuine and hard-earned through honest hands, he had no time to complain.
Shortly after being introduced to his three new siblings, Cloud was thrown in every which way, hordes of novel information intimidating him quite naturally. A humongous bedroom next to Yazoo’s was at least somehow comforting and a nice reprieve after sharing a lousy area with four other boys. While unpacking and gazing around the enormous zone twice as big as the entire upper floor of his childhood home, he learned his bathroom was actually connected to Yazoo’s. They didn’t exactly have to share it, but the second door, once propped open by a curious Cloud, led to Yazoo’s room. Exploring as anyone would do in a different setting, by accident, Cloud found the other teenager sulking in one corner, peeking at him with a detached expression until Cloud awkwardly backed off.
Bizarre of a tiny error as that was, Cloud didn’t continue to make more mistakes thereafter. Already, despite never speaking to a single member of his new family, he pieced together very quickly that he was to be attending a private school, the same one his brothers were registered at. Unsurprisingly, the place wasn’t too far from the Shinra mansion, a highly guarded and expensive one at that. Strict authority ruled the school, and Cloud was placed on an extremely tight schedule, one without any sort of flexibility. The hours weren’t too long, but the courses were rigid, taught more like a dictatorship than his previous school.
In just a few days of being involved in the classes, he deeply missed his former life. Placed in most of Yazoo’s classes, aside from health sciences being shared with Loz and Kadaj, he didn’t make a single friend, nor did he expect to. The private school was reserved for an all-boys group, but to his dismay, that didn’t guarantee a pathway to meeting anyone he could befriend.
The teachers were brutally demanding, just as frigid and domineering as he imagined they would be to work in a school like this. Mr. Hollander taught math and science, Mr. Lazard Deusericus dabbled in English, art, history, and geography. Along with a few other substitute instructors, Cloud observed silently and gathered his intel, relating much better to Mr. Deusericus given his innate inclination to behave more like a caring guidance counselor rather than a prideful teacher. Mr. Deusericus seemed to hold more compassion and sympathy, wanting to go above and beyond for his students, especially when Cloud was the most recent addition to the school.
Between his rotating classes, Cloud otherwise stuck to himself. Depressed as he was initially to be segregated, it wasn’t totally unwanted. He was still in many ways grieving the loss of his beloved parents and facing the separation with his original hometown, the old, halcyon moments mere memories still accessible if he chose it. Homesickness plagued himself as he sat down alone during personal time and simply observed his ‘siblings’ from afar. Naturally changing how they behaved when out from underneath the microscopic examination of their instructors, Cloud documented that just as he’d suspected, Loz and Kadaj really were rebellious after all.
Seated in the wonderful, lusciously decorated garden of the property, from his secretive spot beneath a great oak tree which sported many thick branches and large leaves to cover his surreptitious surroundings, Cloud looked ahead at the gate surrounding the yard. Amid the bushes, gardening sheds, and heaps of equipment, he was given a first-hand view of Kadaj extending his arms, carefully helping two teenage girls climb over the chain link fence and eventually cross over to the school yard.
Once the young women giggled and began whispering back and forth in a frivolous nature at Kadaj and Loz, the two amorous brothers held onto the girls, kisses, hugs, and other unspeakable acts visible in broad daylight stunning Cloud. Receiving his fair share of witnessing their unsavory flirtation, he lost his appetite, putting his half-eaten chicken sandwich back in his bag, when soft shifting, rustling fabric, and grass parting sounded before a shadow crossed over and warmth nestled its weight next to himself.
Shaken up rather than venerated by Yazoo as he sat right beside him, Cloud gave the zany youth a quick up and down glance before his eyes darted ahead, fingers clasping his lunchbox tightly. Like his guts, he was on edge all around, clenching his muscles, breathing steadily and softly, though his nerves were all over the place as he listened intently to Yazoo’s near inaudible respiration.
It would have otherwise sent him to sleep, had Yazoo finally not started speaking in a sibilant hiss, holding much disdain for what he too was observing.
“They’re not supposed to bring girls around.” Announcing the obvious with extra heated emphasis on the word ‘girls’, Yazoo slowly turned to face Cloud, and when he did, he produced a rather eerie, crooked smile. “They think they can do anything they want. Anytime they get in trouble, they always are so fast to say: I can do this because my dad’s the President.”
Questions held steady in Cloud’s mind, but he remained quiet when Kadaj and Loz eventually wandered over to them. Not entirely trying to stumble upon Cloud and Yazoo, but merely passing by with their female partners, they all halted in their tracks, the girls gasping before snorting, beady, judgemental eyes surveying between Cloud and Yazoo. On another opposing side, Kadaj and Loz set to immediately throw out minatory glares, Kadaj hurriedly attacking Yazoo with nothing held back.
“Yazoo, what’re you doing in the bushes watching us like some incel?” Ensuring to include Cloud in the narrative, he laughed coldly, “Hanging out with this mute freak show is absolutely gonna guarantee you’ll stay a virgin forever.”
“Yep,” Loz pitched in to agree, voice a lot thicker and deeper than Kadaj’s, but nowhere as gentle and strewn with infinite mysteries as his father. “I also bet you’re just spying on us because you’re deep down a gross perv who gets off on this!”
Rounds of more light giggling and exaggerated expressions to show enhanced disgust from the young girls ricocheted for a bit, but when they all died down, it was quite plain to see with the astonishment written all over the girls as well as Kadaj and Loz, that they were deep down afflicted with confusion for good reason.
Feeding them ample amounts of bewilderment in the form of a stoic, unperturbed visage, Yazoo’s hair fell like a curtain being lowered over his eyes, providing a shield to deny anyone passage to his true feelings. Existing in shadows, he was able to send off more cognitive dissonance when he gave an impervious grin, facial features warped to a degree akin to some poor representation of a person rather than a real human.
Like a fiend, though a collected one in a higher position of control, he bluntly warned, “You’ll get another suspension. There are cameras watching you.”
Releasing a squeak as she clung to Loz in fright, while his girl looked terrified and spun around to seek out the cameras, Loz snorted and waved Yazoo’s point off as nonsense.
“We’re not scared, Yazoo. Go play chicken shit on someone else!”
“Exactly,” Kadaj agreed, cutting through Yazoo with the intense force behind his scowl, raising his head as Yazoo stood up and brushed himself off casually. “Our dad’s the President, someone who runs everything, was once a SOLDIER, and who jumps outta planes and helicopters! Why should we be scared of this crap?”
Face cold and inscrutable as stone, Yazoo glanced down at Cloud, giving him a knowing nod to defer to the previous statement he’d uttered. Given how true it was made to be and standing as a personal witness to the veracity of the claim, Cloud nearly felt himself beginning to break out in a friendly smirk.
Stalking off like a phantom that had never been present, with his back facing everyone, Yazoo sang out merrily, “Told you.”