#turpium

[turpium]

An AU where everything is the same in the FFVII series, but Vincent Valentine is a janitor and not a Turk.

[sanguinesaint]

"Please desist from blowing up the lab."

outofcharacter

"Here and not since mun still have paperworks to do. Still, happy the 4th for those who celebrate!"

[scare-ard--sleigh]

turpium replied to your post: dear future silver; a 9AM lab is a ter...

so is a seven am lab

i'm so gomen

we'll win this battle |':

[argeiosarchive]

failure

"Again."

The voice echoes in his head, loud though the sharpness of it is cut by the transmission, by the static. He is ten years old now, gripping a broadsword in the SOLDIER VR room that will eventually become a place of refuge.

As for now, it is a place of trial, and the floor has been sealed to keep his session private, and the good Professor is saying to him, “A poor performance. Do it again."

(It is the third virtual dragon he has killed. His hair is in shambles and his arms and legs should be littered with cuts and bruises and he isn’t armored, given only his nondescript clean white loose clothes. Sephiroth would like to say that the weight and the width of a broadsword feel wrong to him and he’d like something lighter so he can move, but he only breathes and gets back into stance because there is no arguing with Hojo.)

On a better day, Sephiroth can defeat five of these digital monsters in under an hour without breaking a sweat. It’s been about fifty minutes now, and every part of him feels wrong and numb and his mind is racing somewhere he can’t keep up with it. He isn’t focusing.

The next dragon materializes and immediately moves to swipe its small target with a great clawed foot; the boy rolls forward and underneath its body and pulls the broadsword up in a smooth arc to slice through the dragon’s arm, sever tendons, if he were stronger and the blade better suited to him, he could shear through the bone. Instead of dismembering the dragon, he only cripples it.

The roaring sounds harshly at him through the headset as the beast begins to crumple on top of him. (A killing blow. Sephiroth, small and light and agile, could easily mount the dragon’s shoulder, get on his spine, take the fifteen seconds of the dragon’s confusion and agony and use it to work the blade into the back of its head and destroy it completely.)

Instead he’s backing away and clearing the space and putting himself up against the wall to anticipate how to move next, and there’s a groan in his ear and a more distant, “Shut it down. Shut it down!”

With a low whirr the VR system comes to a halt and no sooner is Sephiroth pulling the helmet off than the doors are opening and the Professor is there, looking more malicious than is normal.

“What’s wrong with you, boy?” he’s accusing. “You could have eliminated the threat in thirty seconds flat, why are you dawdling?”

"I'm not," Sephiroth mutters sullenly, and it seems to him his words are meaningless, but that's really nothing new.

"Yes, you are. There's no reason for this, your last screenings had you at peak physical condition. You're being lazy. You're being stupid."

"I'm not stupid."

Hojo doesn't listen, however—he tirades, and the boy stands there with the broadsword that feels wrong and knows he could swing it at his keeper anytime he wants and for some reason just doesn't do it. The knowledge burns in his mind. You could kill him. You could end all his insults and his treatments and tests right here, right now. He could.

(But if you kill him, what do you have left?)

"—Professor Hojo, sir," one of the technicians is saying, glancing down through her clipboard, and a look of irritation crosses the Professor's face as a woman cuts him off. Sephiroth knows he doesn't like that, and for half a moment feels grateful she spoke up, but— "Given the albinism that presented in the specimen, isn't it possible that if the degradation hypothesis holds true and has begun to take effect, the primary symptom of pigmentation loss would go unnoticed? It would explain the recent decline of the specimen's performance, and possibly the incident that occurred two weeks ago."

Sephiroth's grip on the blade's hilt tightens as the scientist turns the idea over in his head, black eyes examining Sephiroth, darting to the woman. "It's a viable enough idea, Miss Müller," he begrudgingly admits. "Though it would insinuate that my project failed."

"Sir, I didn't mean to imply—"

"But you did, Müller, and I don't appreciate it."

"Sir, it's possible that degradation could be cured in a human specimen, though it failed in others. Particularly in a resilient specimen such as Sephiroth, he could resist the effects for quite a while."

Hojo's mouth is a stern, dark line on his face. Sephiroth stops looking at him.

Degradation.

"Very well. All of you, go ready the labs for a complete assessment."

The group of technicians and assistants file out of the VR room to make for their department's floor, and as soon as both sets of doors are closed, Hojo kneels down in front of Sephiroth, grabs his chin roughly with a terrible, cold hand, and looks him dead in the eye. "You'd better not be degrading, boy," he utters. "I won't have my greatest project turn out to be a failure, not after all I did to get you here. Making me look like a fool in front of my associates. No, you'll shape up. You'll learn. Or I'll peel off each of your fingernails, one by one. Do you hear me?"

So little fazes the boy anymore but that single cruel sentence makes him shudder and he's so shocked by it that he can't answer, and Hojo makes a movement designed purely to frighten him, seizes his hand. "I said, do you hear me?" Sephiroth shouts and the sword clatters to the floor, now, the boy moves to tug his hand out of Hojo's grasp, is unsuccessful, the scientist laughs and lets him go. "Come now, Sephiroth," he says, sarcastically soothing as he turns to leave, "You wouldn't want to miss your next appointment."

The electric whoosh of the doors opening and closing vibrates in Sephiroth's chest alongside his fluttering, panicked heartbeat, and though he doesn't move for ten more minutes, flexing his fingers nervously, he eventually follows—he always does, because he knows there isn't anything else.

[rapusodosu]

turpium replied to your post:reply log;

;;ooc i owe you a giant reply. i’ll get to that this weekend.

ooc: Deeply apologizes for writing a long starter but one wanted to set the scene. You don't have to match the length either woops. Will be looking forward to it though!

[shinradiehard-blog]

Only part of the WRO Election transcript was publicised, which is uncommon for public works organisation. Perhaps, you had the time to get your hands on a declassified copy before the lawsuits and terminations began?

I withhold comment on the grounds that I may be even further incriminated than I already am.

/After a pause, he cocks a sly smirk at the professor./

By which I mean yes, of course I did.  And then some.  Who do you think you're askin' here, Doc?  Gimme some credit from time to time, would ya?

/The redhead quirks an eyebrow./

Unless you've got somethin' more than I do?

[multitierqueer]

turpium liked your post: “-squints- I see u there |:”

oH MY GOD

[rapusodosu]

turpium liked your post

ooc: you need to remind me that Genesis still has to visit old-man Hojo about the whole WEAPON thing :I