Chapter Text
The first thought that crossed Sephiroth’s mind as he woke up was a vague sense of confusion at the fact that he had woken up at all.
Some part of him instinctively knew that something wasn’t right, but it was only a half-formed thought. Awareness came slowly to him, and as it did he realized that he was lying on a hard, flat surface, with a familiar low humming sound nearby. It wasn’t unlike waking up from a particularly heavy sleep after taking on too many missions in a row.
He paused at that. He hadn’t thought about his time working for Shinra in years. He’d believed those memories to be lost to the Lifestream after his first death. Why did they come to mind now, after all this time?
He felt… strange. Everything seemed oddly still. Even his thoughts felt quieter than he remembered.
Too quiet, in fact.
…He couldn’t sense Mother’s voice.
Sephiroth’s eyes flew open, and he was greeted with the horribly familiar sight of gray metallic walls. In the air was the low hum of monitoring equipment and the sharp smell of antiseptic.
Shinra’s Research and Development labs.
One of his hands went to his chest, not finding any sign of the injury that should have been there.
Impossible. He should be dead. The last thing he remembered was standing at the edge of creation, and the sight of Cloud’s Buster Sword, and the pain as it cleaved right through his chest—
Wait. No, that wasn’t right. There was something else after that. He vaguely remembered… the sensation of sinking? He recalled a fuzzy memory of being surrounded by a sea of green light that could only be the Lifestream itself, and how it burned away at his very existence. And voices speaking around him, voices that sounded familiar.
As Sephiroth tried to recall further details, his enhanced hearing picked up muffled bits of conversation from outside the room, far enough that they likely didn’t know he was awake.
“—vitals are stable—”
“—don’t know what’s wrong. He simply collapsed—”
“—was a normal training simulation, there were no visible injuries—”
“—after the disaster of the Rhadore mission—”
“—Hojo’s going to be livid if—”
Upon hearing that last part, he quickly sat upright, called upon Masamune… only for his hand to close on empty air.
He stared at his empty hand, not understanding. Masamune was an extension of himself; it never failed to appear when he willed it, not since the day he’d claimed it in Robio with—
Sephiroth immediately cut off the thought. Another pointless memory he thought he’d rid himself of. He needed to focus; he was in the Shinra labs and he was unarmed. Both were… unsettling in a way he was no longer accustomed to.
Sephiroth glanced around, taking in every detail of his surroundings. He was sitting on one of the hard, flat beds in one of the lab rooms. Instead of his usual gear, he was wearing a familiar set of SOLDIER’s fatigues that he vaguely recalled using for Hojo’s training simulations.
When he looked down at himself, he finally realized part of the reason why he felt so different. He was… noticeably smaller than he remembered being before.
His hair fell in his face as he took in his new appearance, and the sight of it made him pause.
It was short.
Sephiroth’s hair hadn’t been short in years.
He quickly glanced around the room until he spotted a metal tray full of surgical tools on the counter across the room. In one smooth motion, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He then stepped towards the tray and dumped its contents, and then held up the tray to examine his reflection.
Staring back at him were his own mako green eyes with their familiar slitted pupils, but they were framed by the youthful face of a teenager. Specifically, his teenage self, the one that he remembered from the time of his first field deployments as SOLDIER.
Sephiroth’s thoughts raced as he tried to figure out what this meant. Why wasn’t he dead? Why was he in the labs? Why was he younger? Why could he not hear Mother’s voice? Was Cloud the cause of this? What was going on?
It wasn’t until he saw his reflection shaking that he realized he was hyperventilating.
Sephiroth forced himself to take a deep breath. He needed to calm down.
It wasn’t as successful as he had hoped it would be.
Frustrated, he tossed the metal tray back onto the counter with a clatter. Sephiroth didn’t understand. He hadn’t struggled to control his emotions like this since he was a child. Why was it suddenly so difficult?
He shook his head. Even his own thoughts couldn’t seem to sort themselves out. It seemed like there was suddenly far too much noise in his mind to process, and no way to ignore it or filter it out. Without Mother’s voice, he had nothing to reorient himself with, nothing to drown out the unnecessary memories he’d once discarded.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open, and a familiar voice, one he never wanted to hear again.
“You’re awake. Care to explain the meaning of this?”
Sephiroth looked up from his reflection. As if to complete this sick joke, Hojo had walked into the room, looking ten years younger and no less unpleasant.
While Sephiroth processed the sight, Hojo’s mood seemed to sour even further at his silence. “Showing delayed response time,” he muttered to himself, the same way he always did whenever he was mentally noting down his observations. He glanced at the mess of surgical tools on the counter and floor. “Displaying erratic behavior as well.” He shook his head. “I’ll have to review the simulation recordings myself to determine the cause of this. I can never rely on any of those idiotic lab techs they send me…”
Hojo motioned slightly toward the door, a gesture to follow him. “Come along. The sooner I finish these tests, the sooner I can determine what the issue is.”
Sephiroth narrowed his eyes at the man, refusing to comply.
Hojo gave him a long, hard look. “I will not repeat myself.”
He felt his anger quickly begin to build again at Hojo’s all-too-familiar treatment, and he welcomed its familiarity. “...No.”
Surprise flickered across Hojo’s expression before it darkened considerably. “I have had to deal with enough idiocy for one day. I will not tolerate your uncooperative behavior as well. Especially after your last failure.”
Sephiroth did not move. One of the assistants that was standing outside dared a look inside the room, watching the silent standoff between the two.
“If you insist on acting like a child, then you leave me no choice but to treat you like one.” Hojo stepped towards Sephiroth, clearly displeased.
A small, old part of Sephiroth shrank back in fear at Hojo’s anger; nothing good ever followed in its wake. That fear was quickly crushed by a surge of blinding rage.
Before Hojo could react, Sephiroth grabbed one of the sharp medical tools strewn around him, and went straight for the professor’s throat.