By: Mags

Cole sat in suspended animation inside a containment chamber filled with a blue, viscous liquid that felt strange and cold against his skin. Although he was in suspended animation, he still possessed a conscious memory and acknowledgement of where he was. The White Men had taken him here, after the idiot Morrigan had betrayed his trust and had him taken away. He pained to think of what the fool was doing with his newly acquired knowledge and possessions. It was too much to hope that he was merely interested in the knowledge to be found there from a scientific point of view. He knew that the library contained some of the old books from the Grand Storehouse of Knowledge, the ancient library at Cosmo Canyon. Some of those books contained the locations of several different items of great power. If someone like Morrigan got his or her hands on it, it could mean the end of the planet. But he knew that he had to escape to prevent it, and that his best chance to do that was when he was released for one of his sessions with Doctor Haskell, his psychologist.

Finally, the doctor came in. It was time for another one of his psychiatric sessions. Cole hated them. He was patronized and belittled to the point where he was surprised that a nurse did not feed him mush in a spoon at dinnertime. Actually, now that he thought of it, it’d probably taste better than the crap that they fed him now. It had gotten so bad, that he had to be fed intravenously. But that didn’t matter to him now. Feeding time was not for another three hours. He watched as the doctor walked over to a control panel about 3 feet away from the containment pod that he was held in, and flipped a few switches and then turned a dial. The blue goo that had filled the pod a minute ago began to slowly drain out the pod through a network of thick tubes attached to the base of the pod. After the liquid was fully drained, the doctor pushed a button and the front of the pod opened, allowing Cole to step out of the pod. He got a chill as his bare skin met the air outside the pod. Although the goo had felt cold against his skin, it was still warmer than the outside of the pod. Cole let out a shiver, as he pulled off his respirator and left it hanging inside of the pod. Doctor Haskell walked over to him, and offered him a set of clothes that has been hanging on the far wall and a towel. Cole graciously accepted them. He took the towel and dried himself of the viscous goo that still clinged to his body and hair. When he threw it on the floor, it was a sticky mass of cloth and blue goo. He accepted the clothes eagerly, and threw them on in a hurry, eager to get warm. The clothes were very small and stuck to him in odd places, as the towel had not removed the sticky properties of the viscous substance he had been suspended in. He was very uncomfortable, but at least he was warm. He turned to face the doctor, who nodded in satisfaction.

"That’s much better," stated Haskell. "Now, shall we continue where we left off earlier?"

The doctor guided Cole to a small table with only three seats around it. Dr Haskell took the one across from where Cole sat. Haskell crossed his leg over his other leg, supporting his clipboard and file folder full of his observations and data on his subject: Cole, Victor.

"Let’s begin…" began Haskell.

"Alright…" said Cole.

"At the end of our last session, you said that the planet was in danger, and that if things continued the way they had, the planet would kill us all."

"I believe I said it more eloquently than that."

Haskell frowned, and jotted something down in his notebook.

Cole looked up at him, and cleared his throat. Haskell looked up at Cole intently.

"What is it, Victor?"

"What is the purpose of this?"

"These sessions?"

"Yes."

"To help us understand what is wrong with you, so that we can help you deal with your problems and bring them to light, so we can aid you in getting rid of them. A mental exorcism of your inner demons, if you will," explained Haskell.

Now it was Cole’s turn to frown. His face got very solemn, and he gave Haskell a look that bore straight down to the core of the doctor’s being. It was quiet for several minutes, but when Cole finally broke the silence, his voice was deep and ominous.

"You think that you will be the one to exorcise my inner demons, but you are quite mistaken. It is my inner demons who will exorcise you."

Haskell’s face got a grim look to it, and his face flushed. There was something about the way Cole had said that that gave him a troubled feeling inside. He suddenly realized that he was trembling, and he looked up at Cole with deep brown eyes, and gave him a look that was both curious and afraid.

"Is that meant to be some sort of threat?" asked Haskell.

"Merely a warning… a taste of things to come, and things that have long since been done."

Haskell frowned again, and reached into his lab coat pocket. He fished out his handkerchief from amongst the clutter of other junk that he kept gathered in it, and wiped his brow, then the rest of his face and his neck. He leaned back in his chair, and gazed at Cole again, who looked back at him with a cold, even gaze.

"This is going to be a long day…" thought Haskell.

Morrigan carried the last of the boxes into the truck and wiped his sweaty brow with his jacket sleeve. He had finally finished loading all of the books from the ShinRa Museum onto the cargo ship, to be shipped back to his division of the company so that he and his men could begin to look over them when he got back. It had taken about 200 boxes to hold all of the books that had been kept in the ancient library, but he estimated that no amount of labor would ever match the knowledge that were contained in the ancient tomes that Cole had shown him. But he had not given them all of the books. He gave a sly grin and patted his inner jacket pocket, where he had put the journal that he had found in the desk. It was to be his personal treasure. Who knows what sort of secrets it might contain. He knew that he would begin to find out on the airship ride back to the HQ. He walked over to the street outside the museum and hailed a cab.

"To the exit station," he told the cabby. The cabby gave him a strange look, and Morrigan sighed and reached into his wallet. He pulled out a 50-gil bill and waved it in front of the cabby’s face.

"I said…" began Morrigan, louder this time, "to the exit station!"

"You the boss," said the cabby, pocketing the bill, and blowing a puff of cigar smoke in Morrigan’s face. Morrigan wrinkled his nose, and turned his head. He resisted the urge to find out who the man was and have him fired. The man turned back to the front and gave a giant hack, followed by a small fit of laughter. He hit the clutch, and slammed on the gas, causing the hovercab to lurch forward with a bang from the exhaust pipe in the back. The force of the jumpstart caused Morrigan’s head to bang against the headrest in front of him, or rather the padded metal bar that had replaced the mutilated headrest. Morrigan rubbed his forehead and looked at the small trail of blood that slowly ran down from the cut between his eyebrows. He gritted his teeth and ran a million dirty and cruel thoughts through his head. He resisted all but one of them.

"What is your name, sir?" asked Morrigan pleasantly.

"What’s it to you, man?" asked the cabby gruffly.

"I am an executive of the company, and I was just trying to think if the company could have any uses for you," explained Morrigan, a cruel smile forming on his lips.

"Yeah?" asked the man excitedly.

"Yes," said Morrigan, "But I can’t do anything unless I know your name."

"Conway… Garry Conway."

"Thank you, Garry," said Morrigan, as he scribbled the man’s name down on a pad that he had pulled out of his pocket. He jotted down a couple of notes below the name, and signed his name at the bottom. Just as the cabby pulled up to the exit station, Morrigan finished the note he was writing, and ripped it off the pad he was holding.

The cabby screeched the hovercab to a halt and the cabby turned around to face Morrigan.

"So ya really think that the company could use a guy like me, eh? What good would I be for da company?"

"You haven’t any worth as a human being, Mr. Conway, much less an employee for the company. As of now, you are released of your job as a hovercab driver. As of now, you are going to be collecting welfare, Garry," said Morrigan as he got out of the cab and handed a shocked Garry Conway a pink slip. As Morrigan turned to walk away from, he turned and gave the cabby a cold smile.

"Oh… and one other thing, Garry," said Morrigan with black-hearted contentment, "Have a nice day."

The cabby sat in stunned silence for a minute, trying to contemplate what had just transpired in the last ten minutes since he had picked this man up. Suddenly, as he gazed at the pink slip in his sweaty palm. His eyes welled up with rage, as he gazed at the man who seemed to be taking joy in his misery, and he raised his balled fist at him, and let out a cry of rage at the man.

"Hey, screw you, ya freakin’ bastard!"

As Morrigan entered the exit station and returned to the outside world, he took a moment to reflect on what he had just done…. and laughed.

Malcolm ran over the test samples taken from the remains of the corpse that was found at the bottom of the Ancient Pond in the Forgotten Capital. Malcolm had never seen anything like it. Although carbon dating had proved that her body was over 300 years old, her body had been in perfect condition. Not only had she been in perfect condition, but also Malcolm was sure that she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, living or dead.

The screen of the computer was the only source of light in the entire room, and reflected off the glasses on his face. The data on screen rapidly scrolled down the screen, and Malcolm briefly scanned it, looking for any abnormalities that might have occurred or shown up in the testing. But so far, he had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. He continued scanning the data that seemed to endlessly scroll the screen. He thought of how nice a treat this had been. He figured that he would have to thank Morrigan for giving him the chance to make this discovery. Malcolm gave a high pitched laugh and turned his attention back to the scrolling data. Malcolm gave an evil grin, baring his teeth, and gave a series of high-pitched giggles. He had big plans for the girl that they had found. The fact that her body had not dissipated and diffused into the Lifestream meant that her life force must still be intact, as well. The only thing that he had to take into account was the fact that she had supposedly been killed with some sort of stabbing weapon, most likely a knife or sword, by being stabbed through the back. He would have to somehow repair the damage to external physiology before he could begin the cloning process, lest the copies that he would create would all be born dead.

"It would have been so much easier if she had died of some sort of disease," thought Malcolm. Then he would have not had to do any external, or internal, repairs. However, he supposed that he should just be grateful that none of her vital organs, like her brain or her heart, had been damaged. The revitalization process would be nearly impossible if that had happened. As it was, technology had advanced enough in the last five years so that even semi-vital organs like the stomach and small intestine were rather easy to repair. Which was also lucky, because otherwise there might have been complications in the process that might have proved hazardous to the specimen’s health. Malcolm let out a slow yawn, stretching his arms above his head. He knew that he should get to bed soon. He turned back to the data on the screen one last time, before he decided to finish the reviewing after he got a good night’s sleep.

"Computer, save remaining data for reviewing at a later date."

The computer complied, and then the dim light projected by the monitor switched off, leaving the room pitch black. Malcolm brought his hand to his face, and hit a miniscule button on the side of his glasses. Suddenly, the room lit up bright green, as the night-vision component in his glasses switched on. As he walked to the exit o the room, he thought of what he had learned this day. He grinned again, as he shut the door.

"Yes," he thought wickedly, "I will definitely have to thank Morrigan for giving me this opportunity. Right after I usurp him, and steal his position as the Executive President of the Rachwell’s Archaeological Department!"

The cacophony of high-pitched cackling could be heard inside the room long after Malcolm had left the room. And inside the long shadows of the room, a lone figure smiled, and turned to leave the room, his long hair flowing behind him like a black headdress, and the next second he was gone, as if the shadows had swallowed him up whole.

Morrigan picked up the journal that he had found in the ShinRa Museum, and decided that now was as good a time as any to begin reading it. He hoped that perhaps if he were engrossed in the journal, then the airship’s takeoff would not seem so bad. He fished it out of his jacket pocket, and stared at it for a second, taking in its ancient look, feel, and smell, and reveling in it. He couldn’t wait to begin reading it, so he opened up the leather cover, and turned to the first page.

The first thing that he noticed was that there were no dates indicated. Although it struck him as something that was rather odd, not having dates in a journal, he passed it off as an inconsequential quirk that hindered nothing. Luckily, the ancient text had faded very little and his writing was very neat and legible, so it made for easy reading. He eagerly awaited what he would find in such a valuable piece of history.

Morrigan was duly impressed. Already, Sephiroth had made mention of the ShinRa, and his quest to defeat them. He wondered if there was any mention of the other members of Avalanche in the journal. He decided to skip ahead several entries and see if he could find some mention of them. He saw something that looked like it might have some mention of them about halfway through the journal. He looked on, and scanned the pages eagerly.

Morrigan cursed under his breath. Some of the ink had blotted and ran causing blots of the paper that made several sentences almost completely unreadable. However, he thought that he got the gist of what Sephiroth had been writing. From what he had gleaned from the words that had been legible enough to read, he had inferred that the group of so-called hero’s, apparently led by the warrior Cloud Strife, had rebelled against Sephiroth, and began working against him and Aeris. This apparently had resulted in the death of the Ancient. Apparently not one to just sit back idly, Sephiroth had burned Cloud’s hometown in order to break his spirit and get revenge on Strife for the death of Aeris. A rather brilliant strategy, Morrigan thought. How nice it would be to work with people as brilliant as the proud warrior, Sephiroth, instead of nutcases like Cole. It really was too bad that Sephiroth was dead, but even warriors as great as Sephiroth were mortal, there was not much that he, or anyone else, could do about that. His train of thought was interrupted by the stewardess announcing that the flight would be over within a matter of minutes, and that everyone should be making preparations to get off. Morrigan sighed, and put the journal back into his jacket pocket. He figured that once he got back to his office, then he would have plenty of time to finish going over the journal. He also decided that he would take a look at that book, the Grammaticus, once he got back to the office. It might contain some useful bits of information on what the object Sephiroth had been looking for was. As he began to leave the airship, he thought briefly of the one excerpt that Sephiroth had mentioned, "summoned Meteor" but assumed that Sephiroth had been mistaken, and had meant the asteroid, instead. Still, it made him begin thinking of the ancient stories again, and how in Sephiroth’s time, there had been spheres of great magical power that aided Sephiroth in his quest. But there were none of those today. If, in the unlikely event, that they had ever existed, they did not exist anymore. Still, it made him wonder about the credibility of some of those supposedly nonsensical fables that he had heard growing up. He supposed that he would have to check up on those as well, once he got back to the office. After he exited the airship station, he hailed a hovercab, this time without the annoyance of a filthy cabby, and instructed her to take to the Company HQ.

"Take me to the Needle," Morrigan said, as he climbed into the back seat. The seats in this cab were comfortable, not like the overstuffed seats in the Blister cab, which had holes, a giant stain from god-knew-what on the back of the front seat, and a spring that had poked him in the back the entire trip. But the seats here were nice, soft, and plush. Very suitable of a high-ranking executive like himself. He spent a few seconds getting comfortable, and then quickly fell asleep against the fluffy headrest, as he had not slept in almost 24 hours. About a half-hour later, the hovercab driver shaking his shoulder awakened him. He awoke with a start, snapping to attention and just barely missing bumping heads with the cabby.

"Oh," cried the cabby, jumping back. "You should be more careful," she yelled, "You almost bumped heads with me!"

Morrigan, more than a bit embarrassed, turned a light shade of red and looked up at her sheepishly.

"Sorry…" he said.

"Eh, it happens. Anyway, you owe me 150 gil for the trip," she said, giving him his hand to help him out of the cab. He guiltily accepted, and with surprising strength, she lifted him out of the cab with one arm. Morrigan was a bit taken aback at the surprising strength of the cabby, not quite sure how a mere cabby could be so strong, a girl cabby no less. And he said that because she looked to be no older than 18 or 19. He decided to find out.

"How old are you, miss…?" Morrigan asked, having regained his calm disposition.

The cabby gave him a strange look; similar to the one the Nibel cabby had given him earlier. He wondered if there was some sort of a look that all cabbies had to learn in order to be cabbies, but he dismissed the thought immediately.

"Why do you want to know?" asked the girl suspiciously.

"I was just wondering. I thought that you looked a bit young to be driving a cab."

The girl looked ready to punch him for a minute, but suddenly a big smile formed on her face.

"That’s probably the biggest compliment I’ve ever gotten," she said, grinning.

"Well, I don’t know what it was that I said that complimented you so well, but your welcome," said Morrigan. There was something about this strange girl, possibly her cheery disposition that caused Morrigan to feel rather odd. He didn’t know what the feeling was, or what I meant, but he liked it. It made him want to find out more about this girl.

"So how old are you, really?" Morrigan asked again.

"20. Now tell me who you are," she said, still smiling.

Morrigan decided to skip his usual theatrics he usually pulled with his title, and just give her the shortened version. No doubt, she’d be rather impressed with it anyway.

"I am an executive of Rachwell," said Morrigan.

"Really? I don’t see too many of those around much. I think that once, about a year ago, I gave a ride to the General of War, but other than that, its mostly just technicians and such. What division of the Company are you the Executive of?"

"I’m the President of the Archaeological Division," replied Morrigan, just wanting to make this conversation last. He had never had much use for women outside of business assistants, but he was getting rather odd feelings around this girl.

"Wow, an Executive and a President," said the girl, her deep green eyes shining with excitement. "Tell me, do you think that you could do me a favor?"

"I don’t know. But if you tell me what it is, then I’ll certainly see."

"Since you are into history, then I was wondering if you could check my family lineage."

Now it was Morrigan’s turn to give the girl a strange look. He didn’t even know the girl. They had just met, and she was asking him a favor like this. He wasn’t sure what to do.

"Boy did I walk into this one," he thought, giving himself a mental smack on the head.

But what choice did he have? He had already said that if it was in his power, he’d have it done. And as the President of Archaeology, he had the power to have a gene test done to determine such things, but he doubted that the company would like it if they found out about it. In the end, his doubts were washed away by the glimmer in her eyes, and he found himself saying, "Yes."

She was positively radiant with joy. Her aura of happiness was so strong, that Morrigan swore that he could almost see it. She jumped at him, and put him in a giant bear hug.

"ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!" she cried.

After finally prying her off of him, Morrigan asked her to give him his home address, so that he could send her the results. Finally, he remembered to get her name. He scribbled it down on a piece of paper so that he wouldn’t forget it, and ran inside the building. As he was walking to the elevator, he was pulled aside by a guard.

"Um, Mr. Morrigan, sir?" the guard asked, apparently an amateur.

"Dr. Morrigan," Morrigan corrected, "What is it, I have important matters to attend to, so this had better be important."

"Oh, it is sir. The President has requested your presence in his office as soon as you got in. I was asked to escort you there."

Well. Why didn’t you say so before? We can’t keep the President waiting. If he found out that you were delaying me with idle chitchat you’d be dumped out on your ass in a second!" said Morrigan, grinning, walking towards the presidential elevator.

The guard stood in stunned silence for a minute, then just shrugged and hurried after Morrigan, who was already in the elevator. By the time that the guard got to the elevator though, the door was closing.

"Hey, wait…" the guard called, but Morrigan did not care. He just pretended not to hear him, and in another second, the guard was out of sight and the elevator was already passing the third floor. Morrigan decided to relax, and dropped himself into the couch that the President had. He reached to the small compartment below the presidential phone, which was connected to every phone system in the entire building. He opened the small door, and an icebox popped out, complete with a chilled bottle of NEO-Junon’s finest brews. He selected a brew called Omegas, and took one of the crystalline glasses that were next to the icebox and poured himself a glass, stopping the golden liquid just before the foam reached the top. He certainly did not want to spill any on the Mideel carpet that covered the floor of the elevator. He sat back and enjoyed his brew for the next five minutes, until the elevator chimed, signaling that the ride was over. He got up, and took his glass with him, exiting the elevator. He then exited the oddly decorated hall that the elevator was housed in, and walked into the presidential overpass, which was a good 90 feet above the one that the Executives like himself used. As he walked towards the giant double doors at the far end of the hallway, he began shifting towards the edge of the right window. As he walked, he looked down and saw the Executive overpass, and saw tiny ant-like people going this way and that. Up this high he felt like god, looking down on his creations going about their miniscule lives. He couldn’t help but get a feeling of power from it. He loved seeing things from this perspective. The sunset, however, was able to steal his glance away from down below. From this height, it looked as though the sun was setting right outside the window. The clouds that floated lazily around the building’s top were vibrant shades of red and orange. The sky looked like a painter’s canvas and the scenery more than just a horizon, but a giant painting. The clouds were so wispy, that it looked as though the painter had just made slashes of red across the night sky with his brush. It made Morrigan marvel at the workings of the universe, but only for a minute, because as he was not paying attention to where he was going and bumped into the president’s big wooden doors. He straightened himself out, and patted his hair down with his hand, brushed himself off and walked inside. The president was sitting in his chair at the opposite end of his office, his back turned to Morrigan, staring outside the giant windows that lined the back of his office. Morrigan cautiously approached the President’s desk, not wanting to disturb him if he was in deep thought. When Morrigan got to the desk, he cleared his throat to let the President know that he was here. The President slowly turned around to face Morrigan, his face as emotionless as it ever had been. However, it brightened a bit when he saw Morrigan standing in front of his desk, but not to any large degree. He still had that serious and no-nonsense look to him.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Morrigan asked, breaking the silence.

"Ah, yes. Please, have a seat, Morrigan," the President asked, motioning to a chair in front of his desk that Morrigan was currently standing behind. Morrigan graciously accepted, and pulled out the chair and plopped down into it. He pulled the chair closer to the desk, and put his brew down on a coaster that the President gave him.

"You better not spill any of that stuff on my desk. The wood that it’s made out of is worth more than your life!" the President said sternly, then broke out in a grin, his bushy mustache curling up with his cheeks. He took out a wooden box from his desk drawer and opened it to reveal a collection of very fine cigars. He took one out, and offered one to Morrigan.

"No, thank you. I’m trying to quit," explained Morrigan.

"C’mon, Morrigan. We’re all men here, I won’t tell anyone!" He practically shoved the box in Morrigan’s face. Finally, Morrigan relented and took a cigar from the box.

"Do you have a light, sir?" Morrigan asked.

The President pushed a button on the side of his desk, near his intercom speaker, and a small nozzle extended from a small compartment at the edge of the desk. As Morrigan looked on, a large flame slowly extended from the nozzle. Morrigan reached over and lit the cigar on the flame, and inhaled deeply. Although cigars were, more commonly than not, not to his liking, the cigars the President had were a rare exception. Besides not wanting to insult the President, he also knew that the cigars the President always were always of high quality.

He reveled in the unique flavor and scent of the cigar, as he rolled the smoke around inside of his mouth, before exhaling it in rings of smoke.

"Sir, if I may be so blunt, you seem rather cheery today. Is there any particular reason?" Morrigan asked.

"Would you need a reason to be happy if you were the ruler of the greater part of the entire planet, Morrigan?" the President asked.

"Actually, I probably would, sir," Morrigan admitted.

The President laughed, between puffs of smoke.

"Your right. Well, since you asked, my daughter turned 18 today," the President said, beaming with pride.

"You must give her my best wishes, then," Morrigan replied. He knew that the President’s daughter was a royal bitch, but she was also very lovely. But he knew that he would never tell the President either of those thoughts.

"Well, you can tell her that to her face. I’m letting her sit in on my meetings for the next two weeks, so that she can get an idea of what it’s like to be President. When she turns 21, I am going to turn over my company to her. I know that she can’t wait."

Morrigan just nodded approvingly, but inside he was screaming bloody murder. The President’s daughter was a crazy, messed-up psycho. He certainly hoped that he would not be around to see what things would be like once she took over the planet. But for now, he said nothing. Doing so would only get him executed. Especially on a day like today, no matter how good a mood he was in. The President was one of the most hard and cruel men that Morrigan knew, but he had always had a soft spot for his daughter. True, she was a brilliant, good looking woman that many company executives would love to get into bed with, but Morrigan had no such thoughts of her like that. Even if he were given the chance to get together with her, he would not take it. He did not want to get involved with anyone crazier than himself. That was one of his golden rules, and one that had particularly had served him well in life.

The President broke Morrigan’s train of thoughts.

"Ah, here she is. Miss Birthday Girl!" exclaimed the President, standing up and holding out his hands as his daughter walked into the room. Morrigan just sat there sipping his brew, thinking of how ironic it was that the world would come to an end at the hands of a girl who was not even old enough to drink yet.

"Hello father," replied the tall woman who had just walked into the side door. She was dressed in a gray jacket with a white shirt underneath, a red tie wrapped around her neck. Her leg’s only protection from the freezing cold winds that whipped past the building at this altitude was a black mini skirt. Her legs were smooth and long, and she had her socks pulled all the way up, enveloping a greater part of her shin. Her brown, flowing hair reached all the way down to her small waist, and her green eyes shone with intelligence. Although Morrigan knew that many people would consider her the perfect vision of beauty, but he knew better. She was definitely not someone that he would ever get involved with. She hugged her father, and took a seat off to the side of her father’s own big chair at the center of the desk. She sat in silent observation as her father called the meeting officially to order.

"Alright, now before we begin, I believe that there was something that you wanted to tell my daughter, Dr. Morrigan."
"Yes, there was," Morrigan replied, remembering quickly. He stood up, took his half-smoked cigar out of his mouth, clasped his hands together, and looked her directly in her deep, green eyes.

"Miss Rachwell…" Morrigan began.

"Please, call me Minerva," interrupted Minerva, her voice low.

‘Very well, Minerva. I speak on my behalf, and I assume my entire Department, when I wish you a very happy birthday. May you have many more, even after you…"

"Er…that’s very nice of you, Morrigan. You can sit down now," the President said sternly.

"Why? What was he about to tell me?" demanded Minerva.

"Nothing dear. I’ll tell you later."

"Just what are you trying to hide from me?" Minerva demanded again.

The President frowned and bowed his head. He looked over at Morrigan.

"I hadn’t told her yet. I wanted to surprise her tonight. But since you almost gave it away, I guess I’ll never hear the end of it until I tell her."

"You got that right," proclaimed Minerva, crossing her arms.

"Sorry sir, I didn’t know…" started Morrigan.

"It’s all right, Morrigan. No need for apologies, I should have told you that sooner."

He looked over at Minerva, and sighed. He got up and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Dear, I guess that I should tell you the reason that I asked you to start sitting in on my meetings," said the President.

"What is it, father?" asked Minerva.

"I’m priming you for your 21^st birthday, when I step down and let you take over my company. I knew that you couldn’t wait to get a chance to run the world and, well, I’m not getting any younger, so I figured that you should get to experience it while your young."

Minerva was positively jubilant. She began jumping up and down excitedly, and pulled her father into a giant bear hug. Her breaths got short and sharp, as her breathing steadily increased. She was obviously very excited about the news. She turned to Morrigan and gave him a giant hug, and, without warning, a big kiss on his lips, as well.

"Thank you so much daddy. And thank you, Mr. Morrigan for getting him to give me the news to me so soon!" she said, giving him another quick kiss. She then detached herself from Morrigan, regained her composure, straightened her clothes out, and took her seat like nothing had happened.

"Now, father… I am assuming that since you are in such a good mood that this man is not being fired, yes?"

"Yes, Minerva. In fact, it’s time for his raise. Tell me, Morrigan, how long have you been working with us here at Rachwell?"

"I think that it would be about 17 years, sir," replied Morrigan after giving it a minute of thought.

"Hmm… and how long as a President?"

"I believe that it would be about 6, sir."

"Good…good…" replied the President, "Now tell me, do you remember the special Executive bonus?"

"I believe so," said Morrigan.

"Will you please explain to Minerva what that bonus is?"

"I’ll try, sir," he said, turning to Minerva, who faced him intently, "The bonus is something that your father came up with that allows all Executives to choose between a raise in pay, or a bonus of their choosing paid for by the company."

"Very good, Morrigan. Now, do you want to go with your usual 2% raise, or something else of your choosing?"

"Actually, sir, I think that I may choose the bonus this time."

"Really? You know you won’t be able to get another raise for another three years, Morrigan. Are you sure?"

"I believe so, sir."

"Well, I’ll see. What is that you wanted?"

"A personal assistant, sir. I have been weighed down with work lately, sir. I could use the extra help."

"Very well, I think that I can arrange something of that nature. I will send someone to your office tomorrow."

"Actually sir, if I may, I think that I might be able to recommend someone."

"Oh? Who?"

"Someone I met earlier today. A young girl that really impressed me. I have her name here somewhere." Morrigan said, combing through his pockets. At last he produced a small piece of paper that had a name scribbled on it.

"Karen Strife," Morrigan finally said.

"Hmm, well, I’ll have to meet her first, but I trust your judgement, so I don’t think that it should be a problem."

"Good. Thank you, sir."

Morrigan sighed. He was sure that she would be thrilled when she heard about the news. He just had better make sure that he got her those lineage charts.

"Sir… is that all that you wanted to talk to me about?" Morrigan asked, anxious to get back to his office, so he could get those lineage charts for Karen before he forgot.

"Umm… no. But unfortunately, I forgot what that other thing that I was going to tell you was, so I guess that you can go."

"Well, thank you sir. I’m sure that it will come back to you soon. Thank you for your hospitality, and madam…er…Minerva," he said bowing his head towards the President’s daughter, "I hope that you have a very joyous birthday."

"Thank you, Mr. Morrigan," said Minerva coolly, holding her hands behind her back and standing up straight, perfectly eye level to Morrigan. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a smile out of the corner of her mouth.

Morrigan quickly exited the room, hurrying back to the elevator. Once he was back inside the elevator, his lungs began to burn, and he realized that he had been holding his breath. He let out a huge sigh, and plopped down into the chair. He opened the mini-refrigerator and pulled out another drink. This time he didn’t even bother to pour it into a glass, and he just began chugging it from the can. He let out a huge sigh. There had been something about the way that the President’s daughter had looked at him that had really unnerved him. He shook it off as just being overly tired, and made a point to get some coffee once he got back to his wing of the building. Until then, he’d just relax in the chair he was in. Another few seconds later, he was sound asleep, his head enveloped in the plush stuffing of the armrest. The chime of the elevator signaling that it had reached the bottom level again, however, disrupted his tranquility. He snapped open his eyes, let out a yawn, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Once his vision had returned, he realized that the doors were closing, and he made a mad dash for the DOOR OPEN button. Luckily, he made it in time. He dashed outside, and into the executive elevator.
"Michelle? Floor 68, room 1338 please."

He waited for several minutes, and got very mad when there was no response. Then it hit him. He checked his watch. It was past midnight now. Michelle got off at ten. This meant that he had to operate the elevator manually. He took out his ID card and inserted it into the computer in front of him. He then typed in his destination, and hit ‘enter’. The computer took a minute to process the information, but after another minute, he was on his way up.

By the time that he reached his floor, he was ready to collapse. He just barely made it over to the coffee machine, and, inserting his card into the machine, hit the ‘café mocha’ button, and a minute later he was holding a freshly brewed cup of coffee. He walked back to his room sipping his hot drink. Once he got inside, the first thing that he did was check for new messages. He was very relieved when the only message was from the President asking him to report to him for his Executive bonus. He had the computer delete the message, and then had it bring up the Genealogical Chapter of his Department. This handy search engine contained the family trees of almost all the people on the planet, the President’s family excluded. It could trace any person’s lineage back almost 200 years, and sometimes even farther.

"Computer, search for gene chart on subject, "Strife, Karen", Morrigan requested.

"Searching…" the computer replied.

"Searching….."

"Searching…….."

"147 matches found. Would you like to narrow your search?"

"Yes. Search for the gene chart of subject: "Strife, Karen" who presides at…" Morrigan took out the piece of paper and read the address scribbled on it. "55 Wallace Road, Condor City."

"Searching…" the computer repeated.

"One match found."

"Open file, please," Morrigan replied.

"Opening dossier on subject: "Strife, Karen" the computer responded.

"How far back do you want to search?"

"As far back as possible, please."

"Search dates back 350 years. Would you like to print chart?"

"Yes please," said Morrigan, astounded that the computer actually had a chart that went that far back.

Morrigan rolled his chair out from under his desk, and rolled over to the printer, which had just spit out the first three pages. He checked the bottom left-hand corner.

"Hmm, page 2 of 17," Morrigan read to himself. "This ought to be interesting."

The first page started with Karen Strife, and a brief description of her occupation and history, then split off into her parents, Jordan Strife and Melody Kuri, followed by brief information about them, then splitting off into each of their parents, and finally, each of their parents’ parents. The second page continued the Strife lineage, and the third continued the Kuri lineage. As the pages wore on, the information on their ancestors began to get less and less, until the Kuri line could not be traced back any further. Still, it had been followed back about 150 years anyway, which was commendable. But what really impressed Morrigan was the Strife line, which now dominated the remaining pages now that the Kuri line had stopped. As he scanned the last few pages, he was amazed at the information available on these people. He assumed that they must have been very important people a long time ago. As he scanned the last page, he ran across two very familiar-looking names, Cloud Strife and Tifa Lockheart, parents of Terra Strife and Magus Strife. Morrigan could not believe what he had found. He felt like kicking himself in the ass for not thinking of this sooner. He had found the family tree of the ancient warrior Cloud Strife. He grinned at the thought of how Karen would react when she found out the news. He stapled the pages together, and put them in a manila folder, along with a job application for an assistant to him. He then stuffed it in an envelope and scribbled her address on it and sent it down the mail chute. He sat back and yawned. His coffee was gone, and he was very tired. It was times like these that he was glad that he had taken the Executive Penthouse inside the Needle instead of having a house outside of the building. Of course that meant no pets, no plants, and no parties, but Morrigan didn’t go for that sort of thing anyway. He yawned again, and made a mental note to check the gene charts for more of the old heroes when he got to work the next day, but for now he just wanted to go to sleep. He walked to the private elevator in the corner of his office that connected his office to his Penthouse on the 35^th floor, and got in. He was immediately flown down to his room via a pneumatic tubing system. When he arrived, he wasted no time in preparing for his long awaited sleep. However, he did notice that his home answering machine was beeping, indicating that he had a message. He walked over to the machine and pressed the flashing red button. The machine instantly started up.

"You have one new message."

The machine then started playing the message.

"Dr. Morrigan? This is the Presidential Secretary. The President would like to speak with you." A very quiet "go ahead sir" was heard from the phone, and the secretary hung up.

"Morrigan? This is President Rachwell. I just remembered what I forgot to tell you before. That Cole fellow, the one that you had taken away by the White Men, has apparently escaped through some unknown means. However, from what I hear of his escape, he is to be considered extremely dangerous. Normally I don’t give a rat’s ass about such matters, but he might very well come looking for revenge on you. I’m calling because I think that the work you are doing now could prove beneficial to the future of Rachwell Industrial Manufacturing. I want the work on it done to the best of my company’s ability, and because of that you are consequential to the assignment. That is why I am warning you."

After that, the machine shut itself off. Morrigan sighed and plopped down on his bed.

"Why do things like this always happen to me?"

He decided that after setting up an appointment with President Rachwell for Karen, he would go and check out the asylum where Cole had been kept. Perhaps he could find something out there. If, in the entirely too possible event that Cole might be out gunning for revenge, he figured that the best course of action would be to get to Cole before Cole got to him.

Having decided that, he slowly drifted into a fitful, dream-filled sleep.