Violet Shadows (FFVII)

XXXVII) Train Graveyard

I hate trains. I hate crashed trains. I hate graveyards. I hate junk. I hate rust. I hate junky, rusted, crashed trains that rot away in graveyards. Unfortunately, that's where I've been forced to drag my sorry little behind through for hours, and all whilst trapped in some weird love triangle of glares and defensive maneuvers. Today, in short, is #$%^. The past two days have been a rollercoaster. Shalua died yesterday morning, then I found David after discovering Shadow's past; entering the Shera, having a meltdown, and now raiding the Deepground headquarters.

Several WRO soldiers rush toward us, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Mr. Valentine! Some of us... We missed our landing point." The woman who spoke sighs, looking around at our surroundings. "This looks like the old Sector Seven slums. The train graveyard."

"Yes, it does," he replies flatly. The woman salutes, unfazed.

"Sir. I've received a radio transmission reporting the remaining air squads have reached the upper-level plates and joined the ground forces."

"Fine," Vincent mutters, stepping past her. She cringes, tugging her beanie off her head and wringing it between her white-knuckled hands.

"Uh... Sir?" she speaks up quietly. Vincent stops, glowering at them. "Er... Requesting permission to accompany you until we have reached the complex." I swear Vincent would roll his eyes if he had it in him.

"Do as you wish," he says, continuing his exit to the next area of the graveyard.

"Sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Give it a rest," I scoff, rolling my eyes and slinging my bow over my head so that it's strapped to my back alongside my quiver of arrows. "He's not a general."

"I am," David grins, nudging me. The WRO recruits frown, eyeing him with confusion clearly written across their faces. Mumbling, the cadets bypass us and follow Vincent. David scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, resting his other hand on his hip. "#$%^, okay."

"No one gives a #$%^ who you are over here," I shrug, turning on my heels and picking up the pace at the rear of the group.

The seven of us slaughter our way through a dilapidated warehouse. David rushes about with nothing but murder on his mind, streaking blood across the cracked walls and slinging lifeless bodies out of the way. Once the last Deepground soldier dies, David stands alarmingly still, panting. His eyes refuse to leave the gory trail we've left behind. I shudder, hesitant to follow the slowing group behind Vincent. The ex-Turk pauses, staring long and hard at me. I tear my gaze away, walking toward David and tugging on his arm gently. He jumps, startled.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he mutters, pulling away from my touch and glancing at the warehouse once more before following the group of cadets. I sigh, shaking my head and eyeing the pile of dead bodies. What was running through your head?

On the next winding path through the train graveyard, the soldiers are more spread out, scattered to pick us off one by one. We split up, taking out one or two enemies at a time with a spray of bullets or a slash of a sword or an explosive arrow. Once they've all fallen, the woman in the red cap that asked to come along crouches beside the end of a rusted train, resting her gun against her thigh as she reloads it.

"You know, I was born in Midgar," she says in a dry voice, fingers working quickly. "My brother and I used to play here all the time. My mom didn't approve, though. After she died, my brother joined a Shinra resistance group, but was killed when the plate fell, and..." She shakes her head. For a moment, I can't help but wonder if her brother was one of the men that so faithfully followed Barret in the original Avalanche, where the mission to save the Planet was born in the cellar of Tifa's humble slum bar. "I can't believe this place is still here." The heavy, rhythmic thump of boots approaches quickly.