Chapter Text
Toxic runoff from the upper plates of Midgar pelted piles of trash, freshly dumped in the slums below. The wet plops near deafening to those unfortunate enough to wander close by. The air stunk even worse today. The heat and contaminated water brought out the worst of the smells, pedestrians gagged as they passed it. The smell was something one could get used to if they put their minds to it. Cloud had learned how to over the years. It was the only way to get the good stuff first.
Cloud had taken to trash diving for a little over a year now, the upper platers were always throwing away perfectly good mechanical parts, they just needed a little TLC. He had repaired countless vehicles with the parts he had found here. There was even enough extra pieces that he had started building a little something for himself on the side. Wiping the sweat from his brows on the sleeve of his coveralls, Cloud rested on a clean-ish spot to observe today's findings. That is until the biggest Crow he'd ever seen in his life swooped down and snatched a rare car shifter out of his pile and flew off. The young mechanic ran after it, cursing.
The first thing that filled his awareness was the pressure, crushing him, burying him. Next was the waves of pain that wracked his newly awakened flesh, the life that flooded back into him seared his nerves. All he knew was that he needed to get free from the oppressive darkness that crushed him down. Moving was difficult, the various objects around him stabbed into his flesh. Weirdly, it didn't hurt, just hindered him as he clawed his way out, driven by instinct. Finally, air! The coolness of it hit him hard as his left hand broke through, gleaming in the light. Next, his right. And finally, his head and shoulders broke through the trash around him with a guttural cry.
Cloud followed the bird as it flew into the trash yard, it kept weirdly low, as if leading him somewhere. They were getting close to the older areas, the trash here was great for scraping for older models; but, the weathering had made the area dangerously unstable. Just as he felt he shouldn't continue his pursuit, the crow dropped the part and landed on a pile high above his head. It cawed loudly at him, feathers ruffling. It paced and pecked at the mountain.
Cloud approached cautiously, keeping one eye on the bird as he reached for the shifter. The ground shook below his hand, the young man drew back. Had he accidentally started a trash slide? He didn't have much time to think about it as a golden claw shot out of the ground, scaring him onto his ass. His mouth gapped in horror as a figure emerged from the ground with a bloodcurdling scream. It was a man, naked and covered in blood and filth. Long black hair slumped together, tangled into knots. He pulled his way up and out of the ground before collapsing in front of Cloud.
The mechanic stared down in horror, his hands subconsciously going to his blonde hair, rubbing the back of his head. It was something he often did to comfort himself. Had someone buried this guy out here, alive? Don Corneo? The Turks? Cloud thought about running, whatever trouble this guy was in had to be serious. And he wasn't sure if he wanted anything to do with it. The last time had nearly destroyed him.
As if it had read his mind, the crow flew down and chipped at him, nudging the still body in front of him. Help. Cloud softened and looked for something to cover the man with.
~ ~ ~
Dreams or memories, he couldn't tell right away. Surreal flashes had taken over his mind. They started soft, memories of happier times: family, comrades, lovers. Nearly all the names were gone, faces moving too fast to put together. The streams slowed to a near halt on a sunny day, the cool shade of a tree loomed overhead. The taste of bittersweet wine, a gentle laugh.
Lucrecia…
A flash of warm eyes and her smile was the last pleasant sight afforded to him as he was bombarded by new, terrifying images. A flash of gunpowder, blood, scalpels carving through his flesh. His nerves in his left arm on fire, rendering it immobile. Years of pain, torture, all came back at once. Someone was screaming. Someone was thrashing. Someone was holding him down.
He awoke with a start, red eyes tearing around for his attacker. Spotting a tuft of blonde hair, he pushed his attacker off, the force sending the boy into the door of the room. It was more force than he remembered exhibiting in years.
“WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!” the blonde yelled from the floor, papers scattered around him. He worked his way back onto his feet, using the door for leverage. The man stared blankly at him, no recognition, no danger.
“Wh-who are you?” The man curled up against the corner or the wall on the bed, long hair covering his face, one red eye eerily watching Cloud through the black curtain.
“My name's Cloud, I found you in a trash heap and took you home.” Cloud rubbed his chest where he'd pushed him, “I'd hate to meet whoever managed to beat your ass.”
Cloud studied the man occupying his bed. He had washed him when he brought him back, surprised by the lack of fresh injuries considering the amount of fresh blood on him. He'd snuck him in the back, the bar he lived in, Seventh Heaven, was already opened. He didn't see the need in scaring all of Tifa's customers away with the gruesome sight. Surprisingly, hauling him in alone hadn't been too difficult, there wasn't much to him. He was deathly skinny and littered with scars, some that he found himself questioning how he'd survived from. Especially the knotted mess of a gunshot wound on his chest, a high caliber shot from a very big gun by the looks of it. The only thing heavy on him was the wicked claw on his left arm. It was old school and clunky, the model at least 20 years behind current battle prosthetics/enhancers.
“What's your name?”
“Vincent…”
A caw startled them both, there was the same large crow sitting impatiently at the window, pecking to get in. Acting on instinct, Vincent opened the window to Cloud’s dismay. The bird hopped in and jumped onto the bed. The two stared at each other, a silent conversation passing between the two.
“It led me to you, saved your life. That's a loyal bird you got.”
“I'm not alive, am I?”
The question caught Cloud off-guard, it wasn't directed at him but the crow. Vincent had felt oddly cold; however, he had attributed it to his weight and state of dress, a corpse cannot move nor talk. He couldn't be dead.
The bird cawed like it was answering. This was getting weird. Cloud grabbed some clothes he had previously set to the side and placed them next to Vincent, eyeing the bird as he moved.
“Come downstairs when you're ready, we'll get you some food.”
A cold hand grasped his wrist, stopping Cloud in his tracks. He felt something warm in his mind, poking at the sore spots. Suddenly, Zack popped into his mind, his commander and friend. And he felt the moment of his death, the firing squad, the grief, rush to the forefront of his mind. He gasped and perked his arm away.
“I-I'm sorry,” Vincent’s voice sounded strange, strained. Cloud didn't turn around, he just hurried out of the room. Vincent pulled his hand back in; somehow, he had drawn the memory out of Cloud, painful and full of grief, into his own brain, watching as if he was there. He had felt Cloud’s pain and his love for his lost friend.
“What was that?”
“That was just one of your new abilities, boy.” The bird answered, voice echoing in Vincent’s mind. “Gaia has granted you revenge for your death, to put the wrong things right.” The bird hopped proudly, spreading his wings for effect.
“My death?” Vincent’s right hand reached up and cupped the scarred wound on his chest.
“Right! Find the ones who killed you and your lady-love, kill them, then enjoy your happily ever after-life.”
“I cannot stay?”
“No, once your time is up there is no coming back. You are just borrowing the time you get now until your job is done, understand? “
Vincent nodded solemnly, the crow had some attitude, it was off-putting to him. But, he couldn't feel the connection to it. Despite the nonchalant way it spoke, there was genuine care for him under the surface. He got up off the bed, the sheets falling away, exposing the deathly parlor of his skin, the thinness of his limbs. He picked up the clothes Cloud had left for him. It was a long sleeve compression shirt and leather biker pants, both in black. The shirt swallowed him around the middle, whoever wore it last was at least similar in height, although their muscles were far more developed than he ever had been. He tucked the shirt into his waistband.
“You'll be strong, able to fight in ways impossible for the living. You can heal from any injury they inflict on you. I will be your eyes and your wings.”
“What do I call you?”
“You may call me Chaos.”