A woman in her late twenties turned around to regard her six-year-old son with a questioning look. "Yes?" she inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Where are you going?" the boy asked. His expression was that of curiosity mixed with concern. He watched as she gave a long sigh, kneeling so she could be eye to eye with him. Her hands gently held his face as she looked into his eyes. He smiled at her. He loved how his mother's hands always seemed to caress him so tenderly. He loved how she looked upon him like no other did.
"Away." she answered simply. She gave no other explanation. No time, no place--nothing. But at that time, he had accepted the answer with a nod of his head when he should have protested and cried about it. He should have known something was horribly wrong the moment he witnessed the first tear to fall from his mother's eyes in years. It splashed against one of his cheeks and he had been hard pressed to wipe it away himself. "I'm going away for a while." she added, the vagueness of the statement not shedding any more light than her last statement had.
He had many questions to ask her. Like when she was going to come back; how long was she going to be gone; was she going to get gifts and...
The boy reached up and placed a small hand on his mother's cheek. "Mommy, you're crying."
She let out a small chuckle and hastily wiped her eyes. She sniffled a little as she smiled for him. "William," she began, "I love you. Remember that." He made to reply with his own 'I love you', but she shushed him. Spontaneously, she kissed his forehead, a sensation that lingered even when she brought her lips away. "Remember William...Do not regret. Do not blame. But love. For all else will be your undoing..."After this, William's mother held onto him, rocking him gently in her arms. And then she was gone. Just as soon as she had let him go, she had been spirited away from him...
This had been the last few moments shared between William and his foster mother--the only mother he had ever truly known. The one he constantly searched for once he had been old enough to do so. Sometimes he dreamed of her--bits and pieces of something long locked away. No one had erased his memory--no one had the audacity nor the heart to do so--but time had slowly eaten away at what he did manage to recollect, which were a very few things. The day she had gone stood out the most, quite possibly because it was the last one he spent with her.
And his next mission was to assassinate her.
December 23rd, 2032
Things were looking bleak now. What once was had been reduced into a mockery of a head quarters. There wasn’t a place where you stepped that was not covered with something. Blood. Fertilizer. Debris and sliced wires, lost limbs and poured guts. Sparks were flying out every once in a while from the wires that were hanging loose from the ceiling. Broken glass and plaster crunched underfoot.
The main power core that usually kept PPC Head Quarters running had been blown into several microscopic pieces in the last raid by the Sue Hordes; whatever was left of the place was now running on auxiliary power, at least…until that ran out. Many had fled after the Sunflower Battle of ’29, where many of the Flowers That Be had fallen, most notably the Sunflower Official who went down in a blaze of glory against the invasion of Mary Sues. Some stayed, if only to try and find any sufficiently advanced technology that they could use to keep up the fight against the dreaded Sues.
William was there at the moment, having been called in by Makes-Things (who only survived the Sunflower Battle of ’29 by getting cybernetic parts and new implants) who still resided within the old place along with the Sunclover Official, despite knowing that the new agents had established a new head quarters inside the old OFUM building. He was supposed to meet up with the man some time ago, but had decided on taking a stroll through memory lane...a stroll through the place, which he often called his home during his childhood.
At least, he thought he called it that.
William placed a hand along the charred wall of the PPC Nursery, frowning at the fact that even its wall didn’t escape the ravages of the current Sue War. He glanced around, wondering if certain things were still in their proper places and if others had been blown to bits. There was Anna’s Legolas voodoo doll in its corner, still pinned to death with needles. He saw the height chart lying on the floor next to its original spot on the peach walls. And the piano. No one knew how to play it. His mother had tried, but if he remembered correctly...she stunk.
He pressed a few keys experimentally, hearing sour notes from years of disuse and being unkept. The agent supposed that no one would want to tune it, even if he asked to have it pulled back to the new head quarters.
Next to the piano, he found as he walked around, was the Kaiba Couch. Back in its day, it had been pristine and always had that new car smell—just because it had been made of genuine Corinthian leather, or something akin to it. He used to play upon it as a child and it used to give him whatever he needed. The Poppins Bag in couch form. Now it was in shreds and sliced in half-- lifeless. The couch used to eject whoever tried to sit on it that it didn’t like or approve. What William wouldn’t do to have it chuck a cold can of cream soda at his head again.
The man tensed as he heard shuffling behind him, pulling out an old gun and aiming it for whoever or whatever it was that had sneaked up on him.
You forgot to turn the safety off. Sunclover told him as he came rolling in on his wheelchair. The Flower That Was gave a small smirk as he regarded William—or whatever semblance of a smirk his flowery head could make anyways. I knew you’d be here. Thinking about, Mum, eh? The Sunclover had been one of the many Sue children to be raised within the PPC Nursery during its hay day. He too looked about at the place where he had once been a seedling.
William shrugged, then put his gun away. “Whatever. It’s not like I can really remember her. I was six when she left.” He said taking a seat on a wooden chair that collapsed the minute he set his rear on it. Cursing, he painfully got back onto his feet, dusting his clothes off. “So, why the call here?”
There is a special mission for you, Agent William, should you choose to accept it.
The agent rolled his eyes at the old para-quote and crossed his arms. “And that mission is?”
The Sunclover said nothing for a while, choosing to look over at the wall where a door to a dimension of flowers had once been—the place where he had been so painstakingly raised by the agent of the PPC nursery. He twiddled his leaves for a few more moments, stalling for time—until William got impatient with him and threatened to rip off every single leaf and root on his body.
To stop the Sue War from ever occurring. He told him quickly, his stem shivering a bit. William’s twinkling blue eyes widened at him. Stop the war from ever occurring? Was that even possible? Frowning and feeling just a little suspicious, he stared down the Sunclover as he inquired about it.
Makes-Things has jerry rigged one of the last operating Consoles to take you into the past. The Flower explained carefully, keeping a close watch on the agent in case he did something rash. Arrangements will be made so that you will succeed in this mission. Failure cannot be accepted at any cost!
William nodded. That was understandable. He didn’t like the current situation as much as the next PPC agent. “So, what do I do in the past?” he asked. “What event do I...have to change...?” He winced at his own words. He hated the thought of changing events for their favour. It was Sue worthy behaviour—one that could certainly have him killed. But there was no helping it.
Well, it’s not a matter of change; so much as it is an assassination, Agent William. The Sunclover stated. What we need you to do is go back into the past...worm your way into PPC during the year of 2006 and...
...assassinate Agent Shinra.
Author's Note: So, how did I do? If there's any problems with this don't hesitate to tell me. I'm more than happy to hear any suggestions--unless they're dumb ones. Dumb suggestions will be turned into flames and then chucked at your head.
Thank you and have a pleasant day.