FF7 Prologue-y thing
Dec. 10th, 2005 05:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luchiaOkay, here's the thingy. And since, as we all know, I am incapable of writing a short story, this is just Mr. Prologue.
Title: Um...considering "Labrat" since I'm SO creative right now...
Fandom: FF7...*wince*
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: After being one-upped by President Shinra in regards to his favorite experiment, Hojo gets himself a new specimen, and for more reason than one.
WARNINGS: Well, Hojo POV, which is scary as all get-up, poor naive little boys, and all-around being FF7-Shinra-ness. 'Cuz they're, you know, bad. So, yeah. And I changed people's ages, just because I can. So ha. AU/Timeline, too, but same world (of course).
Ari, if you wanna know SOMETHING about what's going on and who the heck these people are: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Final_Fantasy_VII_characters. Broad, and slightly incorrect (since it tries to extrapolate), but it gets the job done.
Prologue Timeframe: Cloud- 14, Zack- 17, Sephiroth- 21. Immediately after Cloud's Nibelheim departure. (Therefore, the Nibelheim Event is in 2 years)
Prologue-
Hojo was bored.
His experiments were progressing well enough, he supposed, most dwelling in the ever-dull observation stage. His research was, as always, invaluable, but simply watching and waiting for the results of a single specific trait was frustrating beyond belief, not to mention tedious.
And, of course, his favorite specimen was unusable until it stabilized once more. The doctor hadn’t seen anything in recent events that could have brought about the General’s new…unbalanced nature. Perhaps it had been the last Mako infusion- maybe seven times the usual dose was pushing it, no matter how much of a tolerance the man had developed in his lifetime.
It could always be a…personal issue…
Hojo grimaced at the thought. Emotions, he thought. What a horrible waste of neural pathways and endorphins.
He had worked at Sephiroth for almost twenty-one years now, and the boy had never disappointed him. But the man…the General…he was an entirely different figure to begin with.
All of Hojo’s carefully manipulated hooks he’d placed into his specimen’s body had been torn out as soon as President Shinra actually valued what he could do for the company. This, of course, had resulted in the fat bastard demanding that Hojo stop any…how had that idiot put it? Ah, yes. Any “actions potentially harmful to the public view of Shinra Inc and its General Sephiroth”.
The real harm would be in stopping the experiments and wasting over two decades of research, and the other two decades that could surely follow, so long as the President kept his roly-poly nose out of things that weren’t his business to begin with. But, to ensure those other twenty years of research and observation, Hojo had to be oh so careful, so cautious, so…slow.
He was torn- to get another research subject and attempt to recreate another Sephiroth, one he didn’t have to be so delicate with, or ensure the livelihood of his current pet project? One satisfied the impatient, occasionally impulsive man lusting after knowledge, while the other satisfied the methodical, meticulous scientist obsessed with perfection.
Hojo was caught at an impasse in his thoughts.
So, he did nothing.
And was bored out of his brilliant mind.
He found himself strolling the Shinra building, barely even noticing where he was headed as he scowled down at the newly washed tile floors that seemed to wink back up at him. Hojo hated sunlight. And he hated caution. And he hated indecision.
But as the low murmur of voices suddenly reached his ears, Hojo looked up to see boys- cadets, he amended, taking in their regulation uniforms- all lined up and terribly confused to see the head of the Science Department standing on their floor.
And then a thought struck him- why couldn’t he do both?
“Mwa hah hah…” he laughed, and took in the current circumstances of the boys.
They stood in a semi-orderly line in front of a drab, rickety wooden table, handing in paperwork and receiving dog tags in exchange. A smirk found its way to his lips, the true meaning of the action finally snapping to attention in front of him.
The boys were selling their souls to Shinra.
Hojo felt inclined to take one of them up on the offer.
Dark eyes scanned the cadets, looking for the ideal subject in a smothering of human swill. All those who looked older than sixteen were immediately ruled out, which eliminated about two thirds of the boys. Eyeing the remaining forty or so candidates, he observed for a while.
He needed determination. He needed hard fire. He needed something stunning, and preferably rather susceptible to Mako. He needed potential, but completely untapped, raw energy in its most brilliant form-
And there it was. Youthfully beautiful face hardened yet nervous, a young boy (Hojo would guess about 13, maybe 14) stood firm but uneasily a ways down the line. Spiky blonde hair seemed to aspire to recreate an exploding volcano on one side, complete with yellow lava flow dripping down on the other side, and when the boy seemed to finally notice Hojo’s not at all hidden stare, bright blue eyes looked back at him tensely.
Hojo grinned.
Perfect.
“Boy,” he snapped, and the blonde executed a shaky salute. Inexperienced, too. If he believed in luck, he’d have went and bought a lottery ticket. The boy seemed to get more and more ideal for what Hojo needed.
“…Yes sir?” the boy asked, and Hojo realized he’d simply left the boy in uncomfortable silence. Not that he cared, but it must have been uncomfortable for the boy.
Well then. First things first. “What are your goals here at Shinra?”
“SOLDIER, sir,” the boy responded without hesitation. “First-class.”
“Good,” Hojo said, and meant it. Now to make sure of some things. “How old are you.”
The boy blinked. “Fourteen, sir.”
“Excellent,” Hojo said. Just as he’d thought. “Now, what would you say if I told you I could put you on par with Sephiroth himself in, oh, a year or three’s time?”
A sharp intake of breath was all Hojo really needed, but this would be so less trying with verbal consent.
The boy smiled at him, and Hojo nearly had to squint at his face it was beaming so brightly. How he loathed children. “I’d say where do I sign up.”
It was Hojo’s turn now to have his pulse quicken. Written consent too? This boy was…was…
He grinned, and from the rapid retreat of the other boys in line he knew it couldn’t be a nice one.
“Perfect.”
Hojo turned around and headed for the stairs, the cadet following behind him obediently (PERFECTLY!) to the elevator. He pushed the button for his floor, and the doors swooshed shut behind them.
“I…I’m Cloud Strife.”
“Hojo,” he replied, not caring in the least about the boy’s name…even though he had to admit it was a rather memorable one. At least it wasn’t Sunshine.
The express elevator dinged predictably and the two were off, headed straight for whatever his secretary’s name was. The woman was practically quaking when he strolled in, hand snapping out. “Full release form.” The quivering woman was fast as wildfire as she tore the long triplicate form from a desk drawer. “Pen.” One was put in his hand before the word was out of his mouth.
But when he turned around, Moonbeam or whatever-his-name-was seemed to be reappraising Hojo.
Dangerous, he thought, and quickly distracted the boy with the form. “Sign everywhere at the bottom.” The boy paused, blue eyes flicking nervously from the paper to Hojo and back.
“And…and if I don’t?”
Hojo paused, and adjusted his glasses.
“Won’t make much of a difference, I’d say,” Hojo smirked at him, and noted his guards- surprisingly intuitive for idiots- had already flanked the door.
Predictably, oh so predictably, young Raindrop ran. And equally predictably, Franz and Gunter tackled him to the floor. The boy squirmed, screaming, and Hojo pulled out the usual tranquilizer syringe he kept on his person for times and cases just like this. Even pinned to the floor and scared into hyperventilating, those blue eyes met his- determination, hunger, resolve, passion, fear, denial, and above all else a steely fire stared back at him.
Hojo shook his head, a smirk at a job well done on his lips as the needle jabbed into the specimen’s arm. The fear battled with the drug, sleepiness prevailing quickly, and as the boy’s eyes slid shut Hojo could still see a passionate defiance in them.
He chuckled. “Simply perfect.”
Random note? I HATE getting my blood drawn. Ick.
Title: Um...considering "Labrat" since I'm SO creative right now...
Fandom: FF7...*wince*
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: After being one-upped by President Shinra in regards to his favorite experiment, Hojo gets himself a new specimen, and for more reason than one.
WARNINGS: Well, Hojo POV, which is scary as all get-up, poor naive little boys, and all-around being FF7-Shinra-ness. 'Cuz they're, you know, bad. So, yeah. And I changed people's ages, just because I can. So ha. AU/Timeline, too, but same world (of course).
Ari, if you wanna know SOMETHING about what's going on and who the heck these people are: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Final_Fantasy_VII_characters. Broad, and slightly incorrect (since it tries to extrapolate), but it gets the job done.
Prologue Timeframe: Cloud- 14, Zack- 17, Sephiroth- 21. Immediately after Cloud's Nibelheim departure. (Therefore, the Nibelheim Event is in 2 years)
Prologue-
Hojo was bored.
His experiments were progressing well enough, he supposed, most dwelling in the ever-dull observation stage. His research was, as always, invaluable, but simply watching and waiting for the results of a single specific trait was frustrating beyond belief, not to mention tedious.
And, of course, his favorite specimen was unusable until it stabilized once more. The doctor hadn’t seen anything in recent events that could have brought about the General’s new…unbalanced nature. Perhaps it had been the last Mako infusion- maybe seven times the usual dose was pushing it, no matter how much of a tolerance the man had developed in his lifetime.
It could always be a…personal issue…
Hojo grimaced at the thought. Emotions, he thought. What a horrible waste of neural pathways and endorphins.
He had worked at Sephiroth for almost twenty-one years now, and the boy had never disappointed him. But the man…the General…he was an entirely different figure to begin with.
All of Hojo’s carefully manipulated hooks he’d placed into his specimen’s body had been torn out as soon as President Shinra actually valued what he could do for the company. This, of course, had resulted in the fat bastard demanding that Hojo stop any…how had that idiot put it? Ah, yes. Any “actions potentially harmful to the public view of Shinra Inc and its General Sephiroth”.
The real harm would be in stopping the experiments and wasting over two decades of research, and the other two decades that could surely follow, so long as the President kept his roly-poly nose out of things that weren’t his business to begin with. But, to ensure those other twenty years of research and observation, Hojo had to be oh so careful, so cautious, so…slow.
He was torn- to get another research subject and attempt to recreate another Sephiroth, one he didn’t have to be so delicate with, or ensure the livelihood of his current pet project? One satisfied the impatient, occasionally impulsive man lusting after knowledge, while the other satisfied the methodical, meticulous scientist obsessed with perfection.
Hojo was caught at an impasse in his thoughts.
So, he did nothing.
And was bored out of his brilliant mind.
He found himself strolling the Shinra building, barely even noticing where he was headed as he scowled down at the newly washed tile floors that seemed to wink back up at him. Hojo hated sunlight. And he hated caution. And he hated indecision.
But as the low murmur of voices suddenly reached his ears, Hojo looked up to see boys- cadets, he amended, taking in their regulation uniforms- all lined up and terribly confused to see the head of the Science Department standing on their floor.
And then a thought struck him- why couldn’t he do both?
“Mwa hah hah…” he laughed, and took in the current circumstances of the boys.
They stood in a semi-orderly line in front of a drab, rickety wooden table, handing in paperwork and receiving dog tags in exchange. A smirk found its way to his lips, the true meaning of the action finally snapping to attention in front of him.
The boys were selling their souls to Shinra.
Hojo felt inclined to take one of them up on the offer.
Dark eyes scanned the cadets, looking for the ideal subject in a smothering of human swill. All those who looked older than sixteen were immediately ruled out, which eliminated about two thirds of the boys. Eyeing the remaining forty or so candidates, he observed for a while.
He needed determination. He needed hard fire. He needed something stunning, and preferably rather susceptible to Mako. He needed potential, but completely untapped, raw energy in its most brilliant form-
And there it was. Youthfully beautiful face hardened yet nervous, a young boy (Hojo would guess about 13, maybe 14) stood firm but uneasily a ways down the line. Spiky blonde hair seemed to aspire to recreate an exploding volcano on one side, complete with yellow lava flow dripping down on the other side, and when the boy seemed to finally notice Hojo’s not at all hidden stare, bright blue eyes looked back at him tensely.
Hojo grinned.
Perfect.
“Boy,” he snapped, and the blonde executed a shaky salute. Inexperienced, too. If he believed in luck, he’d have went and bought a lottery ticket. The boy seemed to get more and more ideal for what Hojo needed.
“…Yes sir?” the boy asked, and Hojo realized he’d simply left the boy in uncomfortable silence. Not that he cared, but it must have been uncomfortable for the boy.
Well then. First things first. “What are your goals here at Shinra?”
“SOLDIER, sir,” the boy responded without hesitation. “First-class.”
“Good,” Hojo said, and meant it. Now to make sure of some things. “How old are you.”
The boy blinked. “Fourteen, sir.”
“Excellent,” Hojo said. Just as he’d thought. “Now, what would you say if I told you I could put you on par with Sephiroth himself in, oh, a year or three’s time?”
A sharp intake of breath was all Hojo really needed, but this would be so less trying with verbal consent.
The boy smiled at him, and Hojo nearly had to squint at his face it was beaming so brightly. How he loathed children. “I’d say where do I sign up.”
It was Hojo’s turn now to have his pulse quicken. Written consent too? This boy was…was…
He grinned, and from the rapid retreat of the other boys in line he knew it couldn’t be a nice one.
“Perfect.”
Hojo turned around and headed for the stairs, the cadet following behind him obediently (PERFECTLY!) to the elevator. He pushed the button for his floor, and the doors swooshed shut behind them.
“I…I’m Cloud Strife.”
“Hojo,” he replied, not caring in the least about the boy’s name…even though he had to admit it was a rather memorable one. At least it wasn’t Sunshine.
The express elevator dinged predictably and the two were off, headed straight for whatever his secretary’s name was. The woman was practically quaking when he strolled in, hand snapping out. “Full release form.” The quivering woman was fast as wildfire as she tore the long triplicate form from a desk drawer. “Pen.” One was put in his hand before the word was out of his mouth.
But when he turned around, Moonbeam or whatever-his-name-was seemed to be reappraising Hojo.
Dangerous, he thought, and quickly distracted the boy with the form. “Sign everywhere at the bottom.” The boy paused, blue eyes flicking nervously from the paper to Hojo and back.
“And…and if I don’t?”
Hojo paused, and adjusted his glasses.
“Won’t make much of a difference, I’d say,” Hojo smirked at him, and noted his guards- surprisingly intuitive for idiots- had already flanked the door.
Predictably, oh so predictably, young Raindrop ran. And equally predictably, Franz and Gunter tackled him to the floor. The boy squirmed, screaming, and Hojo pulled out the usual tranquilizer syringe he kept on his person for times and cases just like this. Even pinned to the floor and scared into hyperventilating, those blue eyes met his- determination, hunger, resolve, passion, fear, denial, and above all else a steely fire stared back at him.
Hojo shook his head, a smirk at a job well done on his lips as the needle jabbed into the specimen’s arm. The fear battled with the drug, sleepiness prevailing quickly, and as the boy’s eyes slid shut Hojo could still see a passionate defiance in them.
He chuckled. “Simply perfect.”
Random note? I HATE getting my blood drawn. Ick.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-11 08:44 am (UTC)Now that my sisterly advice is over...
HI!! I love you! I'm tired/hyper. What'd you get daddy for christmas? Okay I'm done now.
BYE SISTY!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-11 06:36 pm (UTC)And I WAS studying; I wrote this, like, three days ago, and very very quickly.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-14 12:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-14 12:42 am (UTC)Yes, Hojo is ick. Hojo = crazy evil scientist who's WAAAY too into human experimentation. He's like a walking break of the Geneva Convention.
But, yay! You like it! I've almost got Ch. 1 done, too, so...yeah.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-14 12:48 am (UTC)