Project R: The File: An Original / FF 7 Crossover Fic
Summary: Genesis uncovers sealed Shinra files in the headquarters library revealing Bianca’s role as Subject N01 in a covert breeding program with Sephiroth, and the revelation shatters trust and, influenced by degradation, the knowledge forces him to choose rebellion.
Pairing: Angeal / Genesis (gengeal)
Other Characters: Sephiroth, Bianca (Subject N01)(f!0c), Professor Hojo (referenced)
Possible Trigger Warnings: blood, forced reproduction, genetic experimentation, gore, infant death, medical experimentation/abuse, miscarriage, non-consensual sexual activity (mentioned), physical injury, reproductive coercion, stillbirth
Possible Tropes: archival discovery, canon divergent betrayal, cover-up, deception, defection, fractured camaraderie, grief, hurt/comfort, institutional betrayal, investigation, marriage of convenience, moral dilemma, non-consensual reproduction, revelation, secrets and lies
Author’s Note: This piece was created for Sephiroth Week hosted by @week-of-silver-winds, prompt: Day 4 (Library). This takes a few months after Letters Between Mideel and Midgar but before What Honor leaves behind.
The Shinra Headquarters library was a cathedral of silence. Fluorescent light pooled coldly across the endless rows of metal shelving. Dust motes hung in the artificial glow, suspended in air too filtered to feel alive. The hum of the ventilation system filled the gaps between pages turning, the faint rustle of old paper and worn gloves.
Genesis Rhapsodos leaned over a long oak table buried beneath towers of aging mission reports. His right shoulder was still stiff from the still-healing wound beneath his uniform.
A dull ache radiated through his upper arm where Angeal’s sword had torn him in the Combat VR arena. The medics had sealed the surface wound, but the degradation inside him—the slow rot of his genetic makeup—awakened and lingered like a curse. It was spreading. He could feel it, seeping through his veins. The ache wasn’t only from the injury.
He adjusted the collar of his long red coat. Its weight sat heavy across his shoulders, and, then, he glanced toward the other end of the table where Angeal sat.
The other man’s dark hair was slicked back, head bent over a stack of yellowed papers. Short strands fell and brushed his forehead. His SOLDIER uniform was pressed and immaculate even this late at night, the gleam of his dark pauldron catching the light as he shifted. He worked methodically. His large hands sorted each file with a kind of reverent care.
Genesis smirked faintly at the sight. Of course, Angeal would take archive duty as seriously as battle. They’d, along with Sephiroth, been assigned to assist in cataloguing seven-year-old mission records: something about reviewing incident patterns for the Director’s report. Bureaucratic punishment for destroying the 2nd Class’s Training Room disguised as trust.
He dragged a finger across the faded lettering of an old folder. “How quaint,” he murmured. “We’re relics sorting relics.”
Angeal huffed a quiet laugh. “You said you wanted an easy night.”
“Easy,” Genesis echoed, lips curling. “That was before I realized paper cuts hurt more than swords.”
Angeal’s glance was fond, the kind that softened his usual stoicism. “Then wear gloves.”
Genesis was about to answer—something flippant, always flippant—when his gaze caught on a file unlike the others. It was newer, the paper crisp, the seal still faintly glossy with Shinra’s blue insignia. The label read: Sub Project R—Project Nephilim. Beneath that, in fine print: Restricted—R&D Internal Access Only.
He froze. “Angeal,” he said quietly.
The other man looked up, following his line of sight. “What is it?”
Genesis pulled the file closer. The folder creaked open. Inside were dense scientific reports, handwritten annotations, and a handful of black-and-white photographs blurred by motion. One had been stamped: N01—Subject: Bianca Moore.
The words hit like a blade sliding between ribs.
He began to read aloud, his voice lowering as his eyes darted across the text. “Project Nephilim. Controlled reproduction trial under Shinra’s Genetic Advancement Initiative overseen by Professor Hojo.”
His mouth twisted around the next line. “Participants: Subject N01—Bianca Moore. Subject S01—Sephiroth.”
Angeal straightened. The color drained from his face.
Genesis turned the page. His pulse thrummed in his ears as the language grew colder, more mechanical. “Objective: to evaluate genetic viability of offspring derived from N01 and S01 pairing. Potential for ‘divine enhancement exceeding standard SOLDIER capability’.”
The next paragraph blurred, the words refusing to settle. His hand tightened until the edge of the file cut into his palm.
“Records indicate six miscarriages," he continued, "three stillbirths. Conception to occur naturally as per participant agreement. . .”
He stopped breathing for a moment. His gaze dragged down the rest of the page. The final entry burned itself into him:
The final subject survived six minutes. Infant emitted sound frequency causing auditory hemorrhage in five attending personnel. Eyes ruptured. Death followed without physical contact. Subject expired calling for maternal entity ‘N01.’
Genesis’s voice trembled as he read it. The sterile words struck something feral in him. “This—this was a few months ago. That lines up with her deployment to Mideel.”
Angeal’s throat worked. “You think. . .they hid this?”
“These are sealed files, Angeal. Newer than the rest.” Genesis’s jaw clenched. “This wasn’t some old mission report. This is an atrocity dressed in paperwork.”
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the library: measured, deliberate. They both knew who it was by the steps.
Sephiroth appeared between the rows of shelves: tall and composed as ever. His silver hair caught the light like a blade’s edge, falling straight to the back of his knees. The black coat he wore shimmered faintly where materia was socketed into his belt. His pauldrons gleamed like frost.
He approached with his usual grace: unhurried and completely unaware of the storm waiting at the table.
“Genesis. Angeal.” His voice was smooth, warm, but professional. “I was told you’d started on the northern archives.”
Genesis didn’t look up. His hand remained on the open file. “We did. And found something you might recall.” He turned the folder so the bold letters—Project Nephilim—faced him.
Sephiroth stopped mid-step. His expression didn’t shift, but the air around him did.
Angeal stood. He instinctively stepped between them. “Sephiroth, we were just—”
Genesis’s tone sliced through him. “Don’t you dare temper this.” He rose slowly. The red of his coat caught the sterile light. His blue eyes were fever-bright. “You told us you loved each other. That, despite the PR angle, the marriage was real.”
Sephiroth’s gaze lowered to the papers. Silence pressed thick as fog.
Angeal looked from one to the other.
"Project Nephilim." Genesis’s laugh came out raw. “Sub Project R—Replicant. Shinra’s little breeding experiment. They made a spectacle of their marriage to make it look holy, to make it seem like the Heavens blessed the company. To make SOLDIERs look human. But this,” he jabbed at the page, “was Hojo’s pet project.”
He read the line again, words turning venomous in his mouth." ‘Conception must occur naturally as per agreement.’ Naturally.” His voice broke on the word. “Do you know what that means, Sephiroth?”
Sephiroth didn’t move. His cyan eyes dimmed beneath the light.
“Answer me!”
The echo shivered through the room, as he jerked upright. Papers fluttered from the table edge.
Angeal’s hand closed gently on Genesis’s uninjured shoulder, steadying him. “Genesis. You’re bleeding.”
He looked down. His shoulder wound had reopened. A thin red line stained the fabric beneath his pauldron. He didn’t care. The pain grounded him, even as his mind unraveled.
Sephiroth finally spoke. His voice was quieter than Genesis expected. “It was the only way to keep Hojo from continuing his experiments on her. I had seen what he did to her. What he planned. Since she was a child. Since she was a toddler.”
Genesis stared at him, hollow. “So you joined him.”
“I joined to protect her.” Sephiroth’s tone didn’t rise. “There was no protection outside his reach. If I refused, she would have been reduced to nothing but a specimen again.”
Genesis’s hands shook. “And the babies?”
"They were his obsession." Sephiroth’s jaw tightened. “Not mine.”
Angeal’s quiet and stricken voice rang out. “You could have told us.”
“I couldn’t.”
Genesis’s vision swam with fury and something like grief. “You think this is noble? You think bedding a woman who’s been owned by Shinra since she was a child is protection? She is a part of our family.”
Sephiroth’s silence was answer enough.
“Even if she signed their documents,” Genesis whispered, bitterly, “even if she agreed, that’s not consent.”
The words hung there, an indictment and a plea both.
Angeal’s face was pale. The muscles in his jaw worked as he stared at the file. “There’s no honor in this,” he said at last. “Not from Shinra, and not from us.”
Sephiroth’s hands flexed at his sides. Leather creaked softly. “You think I don’t know that?”
Genesis’s fury dimmed into something colder. Pity, perhaps. Disgust more than hatred. “I expected better from a hero,” he said, voice rough. “From the man we followed into fire. From a man that is a hero to children.”
He closed the file with a sharp, resonant crack. The sound carried down the aisles like a gunshot.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Genesis turned, gathering his coat around him. The crimson fabric flared as he brushed past Sephiroth without a word. The smell of leather followed him.
Angeal didn’t stop him. He only watched, his eyes full of something that might have been mourning. Mourning for his lover. Mourning for his friend. Mourning for his sister.
When the echo of Genesis’s boots finally faded, the library felt emptier than before.
Sephiroth remained where he was, eyes on the closed file. The stamped designation—N01—stared back at him in neat black ink. Bianca’s Experiment name. Her number.
His gloved hand hovered over it for a moment, then fell away. Somewhere deep inside, a hairline fracture widened. He was tired. So tired.
@themaradwrites @craftyhal @kitcatling @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen
@chickensarentcheap @inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @beyondnibelheim
@serenofroses @sapphirothcrescent @tolliver-j-mortaelwyver @blazerrigor @megandaisy9
