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The Artifact	By : PandaBearzh Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy XIII-2 Views: 2037 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the final fantasy fandom. I do not make $$ from this fiction.

Chapter List
- 12
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[NAN]

The trip to Cocoon from New Arcadia had been a short one, especially with the expertise that Rosch possessed concerning the taming of the wild creatures of Pulse. He rarely needed any sort of saddle or reins, and was perfectly content with sliding off of the back of the beast before it had touched ground. Today’s ultimate destination was commonly referred to as the Pure Tower of the Inner City. The tallest single edifice as far as the eye could see loomed a height of over 950 feet from the ground level. Empress Farron resided at the very top of the tower with her aide, and from the giant balcony enveloped in jade, a person could see all of the inner city and beyond. It was extremely rare however, that any person was able to visit her chambers. Rosch even, had never ascended the tower higher than Raines’ office.
The streets were aflood with people, even being as early in the morning as it was. The sun hadn’t completely risen yet, and all of the vehicles that zipped along the streets still had all of their lights on. Each vessel was a different color and seemed to display a different light show against the glass-plate roadways. All of the vehicles had their wheel glows turned on, and while some only illuminated a single color, others bragged a fireworks display or spinning vortex graphic in multiple colors. The glow under their chassis served to warn of their presence, and all matched the glow of the wheels perfectly. Unlike in other worlds where wheels were used to propel a vehicle over a certain distance of space with traction, the wheels on these vehicles were designed to create a vortex of air that would pull it along a wind tunnel seamlessly. The true beauty of these vehicles however, was the simple efficiency of the design. In such a contained society, space had very quickly risen to be one of the number one problems that Cocoon’s citizens faced aside from the untold energy crisis. Engineers’ solution was to create a wand—instead of a vehicle—that could manipulate the invisible particles and bits of matter in the air to construct the form of the working vehicle on command. This wand measured at about 10” in length and 3” in circumference; perfectly light enough and discrete enough to slip into a purse or jacket pocket. Rosch, finding himself more interested in speed than splendor, had elected a wand that generated a motorcycle with blacklit wheels. Upon arrival, the machine disintegrated around him, and he slipped the wand into his pocket as the advertisements suggested. What time was it? Ah, 7:48. Not bad, Rosch considered, allowing glass doors to open for his passing. It wasn’t great, but at least he’d still be a little early.
The interior of the Pure Tower was similar to the exterior, but only in the reflective nature of the finish. While the walls were constructed of the smoothest ivory, the 14” square tiles were quite literally dark tinted mirrors. In some areas, such as the lavatory and certain offices, the tiles weren’t used. Rosch had long since grown accustomed to it though, and he was well aware that the floor in Raines’ office was laid wood of a beautifully dark walnut color stain. He marched through the halls of the tower as if he were its rightful owner, and upon sights of Raines’ office door, continued right on marching through the soft pleas of his secretary. Cid was by the window on the right, speaking to someone through his earpiece. He turned when he heard his visitor’s footsteps enter the room, and abruptly hung up on the person he was speaking to. The door slid closed behind him with a soft swish and a beep, leaving the two gentlemen in nearly perfect silence. Raines’ eyes met his for just an instant before he beckoned him professionally.
“Ah, Director. You made it. I was starting to worry.”
“I doubt that very much,” Rosch answered stiffly, allowing his attention to sweep over the room. It had the same ugly green chairs, ugly red rug, and same archaic dark wooden furniture that his wife probably would have married in a second. “You wanted to see me; of course I would make time.” It was hard for him to keep his voice from being sarcastic, and Raines must have been very aware. “I suspect this request may have been about contract trivialities?” Cid smirked and nodded lightly.
“Take a seat,” the Guardian Corps invited.
“I’d rather stand thank-you.” PSICOM responded flatly.
“Stubborn as ever I see.”
“I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, Mr. Raines.” He watched as his client moved from the window to his desk to retrieve a folder. He cracked it open and began to review the thick document inside while he paced back to his previous location. He made no gesture that he had heard his comment, and continued as if he hadn’t.
“Do you have any information for me concerning Noel Kreiss?” Rosch frowned and crossed his arms in the entryway. As far as he could tell, Kreiss didn’t even exist. It would have been a stretch to say that Rosch would have immediately reported his appearance, but once he possessed information he would eventually obviously pass it along. “I’ll take that as a no,” Raines concluded with a disappointed sigh. “Tell me, Yaag, what work do you expect you’ll be getting back to after you leave my office?”
“Let me make something clear—right now,” Rosch answered, advancing in Raines’ direction until the two men were only an arms’ length apart, “I have no problem owning to that Jihl was better at dealing with you than me. To be honest, I find your disposition to be annoying and juvenile. However, that’s not going to influence the way PSICOM operates. Nothing has changed and nothing will change except the name on that document,” he added, jolting an accusing finger at the document that his client held in his hand. Raines began to nod his head gently.
“I see,” he answered after a moment. Rosch’s brow furrowed lightly. He knew Raines well enough to have his suspicions aroused. “This is the original contract,” his client informed, waving it in front of him as if he didn’t already know. “It states here that…” he paused to read directly from the first lines, “The Guardian Corps, as represented by I, Cid Raines, agree to the following provisions incorporated into this binding contract as described herein, and whose actions shall be carried out by PSICOM, as represented by I, rightful owner and lawful agent of PSICOM, Jihl Naabat, signed and dated today, this fourteenth of the third month in the year 2653.”
“…Okay?” Rosch commented after a moment of silence. “What, do you want me to get Jihl down here?”
“Oh no,” Raines answered glibly, “This contract is null and void with the vacancy of her position as PSICOM director.”
“If you don’t have something for me to sign, then you don’t need me here,” Rosch scowled; irked that he had apparently made the journey for nothing.
“You don’t seem to understand. I’ll use smaller words…” Cid trailed off and thrust the document onto Yaag’s chest. “We’re done. You’re done.”
“Done?” Director Rosch echoed, snatching the document out of his client’s grasp to review what it might say. “What do you mean, done? You mean dismissed?” His temple quirked with unaddressed frustration.
“Done as in your services are no longer required,” Raines explained in a slow, condescending tone. Rosch wanted to knock that stupid grin off of his face. It couldn’t be possible that Cid was saying what he thought he was. The idea of not hiring PSICOM was absolutely ridiculous, and entirely laughable if the director was the sort of person to take his work less seriously. As it was though, Rosch was very rarely in a jovial mood toward any subject matter. In place of humor, his temperament demanded honor, respect, and honesty. This immature manner of conduct was directly insulting, and very overtly exemplified few of the many of the qualities that his client possessed that made him so easily loatheable.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, kid?!” he challenged, feeling the document crumble to the way a fist had just formed around it. “You think you can fuck with me about something like this?” he threw the expired contract down on the floor between them. “You can’t do jack-shit without PSICOM! Do you know how many millions of lives you’re gambling with, you clueless adolescent git?”
“To the contrary,” Raines answered carefully, “I am saving lives.”
“Saving lives!” The director laughed wholeheartedly at the idea and moved to the window, leaning his forearm against the glass to peer at the city below. “What screwed-up washout fed you that crap?” he murmured. Cid followed him quietly, standing behind him in a place that Rosch could see his reflection in the glass.
“You are an insubordinate, uncontrollable man,” his client informed. “If you cannot adhere to simple guidelines, then I cannot hire you.”
“Insubordinate?” Rosch whirled partially around in bewildered surprise, leaving his arm still pressed against the chilled window. The sun was high enough off of the horizon that it settled behind the floating black speck in the distance. Looking at New Arcadia reminded him of what had taken place merely twenty minutes prior, but it wasn’t anything that Raines should have heard about yet. No, it wasn’t about Rygdea. He could see the man’s stern consonance in his glass pane reflection: it must have been something personal if he was keeping his emotions so distant. His focus readjusted to the glass itself, recognizing the fog that was appearing around his arm as heat generated condensation. He let his arm fall to his side and watched as the ghastly print dissipated into nothingness. An idea struck him suddenly, and firmly took hold. As soon as he had incepted it, he knew that he had finally understood Raines’ motivations completely.
“Oh. I get it,” Rosch began, embarking a step away from the window and so that he might draw himself against his former client menacingly, “So you think that just because I scratched your little butt-bitch that it’s acceptable to put the nation’s health on the line. This is about Estheim!” The level of volume and testosterone in the room was increasing with every word the commanders expressed, but neither of them parted from one another, refusing to yield to their opponent.
“You did more than scratch him,” replied a defensive growl coldly. “You stab your victims with needles. You beat them, sexually exploit them, and torture them until you hear what you want to hear! Did you honestly think that I—”
“And he loved every stinking minute of it, the little pervert!” Rosch interrupted, unaware of the way that his temples and ears were starting to hue rose with anger. Raines tried to hide his response, but the tightening muscles in his jaw and jerking twitch over his cheekbone were too prominent to miss. Rosch had already hit a nerve, and the director was excited that he was only just getting started. Raines thought that he could hurt Rosch’s feelings by canceling their contract? He would show him what true pain really felt like. It was something of a specialty of his, and he was eager to demonstrate his skills.
“You should have seen the way he responded to me,” he taunted with an evil seething sneer, “I can see why you like him. His skin was smooth like a woman, and that throat? I never knew a person could make such sounds until I had the little whore writhing like that…” He trailed off and studied the other man. He appeared to be doing everything that he could to not attack him, and it made Rosch chuckle and continue. Raines would know better, of course. Rosch was the one who had trained him in hand to hand combat, and there was no way that either male would cast violent magic in the glass tower. “His eyes irritated me though. Every time I looked at his face they were wet, but at least the whole ‘innocent’ act didn’t last long. He still cried for you. His mother too, but mostly for you. Heh, oh yeah, and Lightening. I bet he never told you that. I bet there was a lot he didn’t tell you. I spent less time with the little fucker, and I know everything about him—inside and out. That faggot had plenty of demons before I even started to fuck—” He was interrupted by Raines’ sudden gesture. Ah, he had finally shattered the cool façade. When the taller man reached for him, Rosch spun precipitately to face the window. Soon it was just a quick and easy twisting maneuver to roll the younger male over his back and flip him onto the floor in front of him. He let his elbow descend into his ribs as he brought himself down and pinned him against the floor. “What was I saying? Oh, right,” he leaned in and whispered harshly into Raines’ ear, “The pleading.”
The man bucked beneath him, twisting his hips with surprising agility. An arm raised under his bicep, lifting the pressure from his chest. Rosch turned with him, preventing him from effectively stealing control of their positioning to his advantage. The two threw themselves to their feet and faced each other—and now Rosch was the one with the smug look and Raines with the sour scowl.
“C’mon,” Rosch coaxed, his grin expanding as he gestured gently to the other. “Scared?” Raines didn’t move. He wasn’t going to permit Rosch to engage him out of emotion any farther. “You should have stayed down,” his elder continued, pulling back his left hand to distract Raines’ attention. It worked. The second that Cid’s gaze broke from his center, he reached behind him with his right, ready to pull him into his assault. Raines was ready for him, and grabbed his right arm, slipping underneath it seamlessly.
From behind, he brought his arm over his opponent’s jawbone, jerking his attention sharply to the left to better expose a weak area between the man’s neck and shoulder. His knee slammed into Rosch’s back, jerking his balance off of his feet and continued the combo with a dangerous elbow to the exposed area above his clavicle. Yaag yelped at strength of impact, and Raines felt his muscles slack for a moment, giving him what he needed to pull his mentor down before him. While Rosch struggled on the carpet to recover his senses from the hammering, Cid knelt and located the spot where his jawbone met the top of his neck on either side of his head. His thumbs dug in mercilessly, applying firm pressure equally on both sides.
“You’re finished, Rosch,” he whispered, increasing the pressure significantly to produce another growl of pain from the demon below him. “You’re as good as dead.”
“Who’s dead?” the director demanded, reaching for the semiautomatic 92FS that he always wore. He didn’t always use his own gun knowing that it could be traced, but in this situation he was overly eager to be the cause of Raines’ death. Raines saw him, and rolled sharply to the left immediately avoiding Rosch’s shot. “Freeze, scumbag!” he warned, knowing exactly what was racing through Cid’s mind about disarming him. Immediately, Yaag pulled himself to his feet with a wobble. The pressure in his head was making him dizzy, and the entire right side of his body seared with pain from the injury. “You know—I’ve already perfected every trick you can imagine.”
“If that’s the case, then you’re not very adept at defending yourself,” Raines accused, holding his hands in front of himself as if signaling surrender. Very slowly he slipped his foot forward and began to stand. Rosch knew him well enough to know better, and raised his Beretta.
“Grow some balls! You have a problem with me? Keep it with me! My troops—bigger, smarter, and stronger than your scrawny GC pansies—are going to hit you so hard your grandmother will feel it,” Rosch chided. Raines chuckled.
“What troops?” He asked. Rosch had time to furrow a single brow in confusion before Raines abruptly covered his eyes with his forearm.
Two flashes illuminated the room through the window behind him; one white, and then one orange. A soft crackling reached his ears, and Rosch glanced over through the window to see what had caused it. It was the glass. A large crack had just slashed through it. His brows closed together, and his focus immediately passed through the crack and into the distance, seeing the cause before a distant thunder rippled over the city. The view from the Pure Tower was incredible. Various colors whirred and zipped through the alleys of the city from machines, but all of their fluorescence was unmatched in comparison to the natural sun-like hues that had crawled and flashed over the rooftops. Their origin wasn’t however, wasn't astrological. In the distance, a fireball had conceived itself around New Arcadia. Its white arms slapped and caressed the ship, consuming it bit by bit. Smaller explosions were still erupting, shattering glass and developing a thick black smokescreen between the vessel and Cocoon.
Rosch immediately thought of his men. His gun became quickly holstered, and took a half step away from the window in shock. He definitely didn’t have time to deal with Raines right now. Surely, the moron would understand when he saw why, too. He turned his attention inwardly to the room, and charged towards the door. Raines grabbed his left forearm in passing.
“I don’t have time for your shit right now,” Rosch barked, swinging a knee against Cid’s front. Raines dropped his arm and caught his kick. He gave it a quick twist, but Rosch had enough time to haul off his right fist and land a direct hit to Raines’ nose. While the PSICOM director landed on the floor with a pained grunt, Raines landed against his desk with a crash.
“Yaag Rosch,” Cid began, pinching the bridge of his nose and willing that his eyes would stop watering, “I am placing you under arrest for high crimes against your nation. I’m sure a man in your position would know which rights are not afforded to you.” He pulled his hand away from his nose momentarily, sighing when he recognized the red drops of blood dripping from it.
Treason? Raines was charging him with treason because he had hit him? “Suck it up,” he demanded, continuing toward the door and beginning to kick angrily at it when it refused to open for him, “it’s just blood, fairy! Did you see what just happened?! We’re under attack, and you’re worried about a little nosebleed? Or is it that you just can’t take the truth about your little—”
“You are not leaving. You are under arrest,” Cid reminded with finality, “Not for the assault you’ve childishly engaged with me, but rather the deaths of the countless innocent lives aboard New Arcadia.”
“My men! Why would I, of all people!” Rosch argued, halting his abuse on the exit. It didn’t appear to budge, and the security light flashed red when he swiped his thumbprint. Why wasn’t it opening? “Your tune would be different if your men—” Abruptly, he stopped himself. It was a realization that made his blood boil and his respiration cease in his throat. “Your men—weren’t there this morning. You did this, didn’t you…” The expression he turned to confirmed his accusations. Raines appeared as a madman with his eyes twinkling and wet, his nose running rivers of red, and his lips contorted into a satisfied, sly smile.
“The evidence we have gathered against you in insurmountable,” he informed, replacing his hand to his nose. The director couldn’t believe what was happening. The gravity of the situation was so thick that he was nearly drowning in it. Raines, he had known about Estheim the entire time. He had hired Jihl in order to terminate PSICOM’s contract without arousing suspicion. He removed the majority of his agents from New Arcadia, but left a few dispensable characters in order to not attract attention. The docks had been empty when he had left—it should have been a clear signal to him that something was wrong! His hand rose to his chest and felt where Jihl’s glasses were tucked into his pocket. He had been so eager to see her—this could have all been prevented. Those men had trusted Lieutenant Colonel Rosch with the safekeeping of those lives, and in the largest oversight of his life, had suffered the highest cost of that trust. It was all out of revenge! Over four hundred people had drawn their last breath in chaos. He had no doubt that Raines had laid enough false evidence that there was no way that he would be able to clear his name. All of those people… men with families, women with sisters and mothers to take care of… they would never see true justice. All because of one lowly captain…
“You really cared about him, didn’t you?” Rosch asked slowly. Raines’ smile twitched, and Yaag had his answer. “You didn’t kill him. He’s alive, isn’t he? He’s somewhere, hidden, safe, away from me?”
“Who are you referring to, exactly?”
“I’m going to find him,” Yaag promised, drawing his weapon and aiming it at Cid. “I’m going to find him, and I’ll make you watch.”
“That’s going to be hard for you,” Raines answered with a grin, “considering your charges. Even if you shoot me, you’ll never escape this crime. I don’t care if I die, and I’ll certainly care less once I’m already dead. There is nowhere you can go. The door won’t open for you. You have only one option left. Be a man, and accept it.”
Rosch nodded, “I know.” His aim shifted from Cid to the window, and began to fire. As the glass clinked straight down onto the rug, Raines spun off of his desk, reaching for Rosch to prevent him from jumping from their height. His gloves closed on air as the man slipped away from him, diving headfirst out the window from over eighty floors in the air.
Raines pressed himself against the window frame, crunching fragments of glass beneath his boots. Somehow he hadn’t expected Rosch to embrace death over a treason charge. As an afterthought however, he couldn’t believe he had missed the possibility. It didn’t matter, the reputation that he held so dearly would be ruined posthumously anyway, and even if Yaag didn’t live long enough to experience that suffering, Raines looked forward to the date that school children would start memorizing his traitorous name for exams. A far off whistle retrieved his attention from his daydream and after realizing what he was seeing, jerked away from the window to alert the Guardians.
Yaag twisted the wand he had retrieved from his inner jacket, and held it in front of him. The vehicle unraveled and assembled itself around him in a matter of seconds, requiring only a few more to rotate the wheels that would use the gravity of his descent to increase the speed. The chassis located the side of the building automatically, and suddenly, instead of falling from the Pure Tower, Rosch was speeding down the length of it. He hadn’t done this in a motorcycle before, but many times in airships, and he expected that it would behave in a similar way.
The ground was rocketing every closer now and the wheels only vacuumed his speed faster. With a strong grunt, Yaag jerked the steering wheel back and pitched the front wheel into the air soon enough for it to nearly seamlessly transfer from the Pure Tower to its welcoming entry steps. The timing was perfect, and earned him a satisfied grin. He needed to get out of the region as quickly as possible now; Raines had likely seen him—and the Director was glad if he had. Rosch had no intention of living his life according to Cid’s rules, and he absolutely refused to accept the title that Raines had bestowed on him. Though, if he was truly considered an enemy of the state, Raines at any moment he could reverse the polarity of the roadways and temporarily disable all mechanical devices until he had been apprehended. It was a large stake, but if he had been willing to blow up New Arcadia out of mere vengeance, Rosch reasoned that there probably wasn’t much that he wouldn’t do to catch him again.
He sped through the roadways, weaving in and out of traffic, pedestrians, and GC units as if they were traffic cones. He was painfully aware of the limits to where this vehicle would take him, but left clouds of upturned debris where he passed nonetheless. He didn’t have time for dragons—not at this distance, anyway. He was going to have to make the leap on his own, and hope to god that enough mana had been restored for him to survive the descent.
The pressure against his chest was hard, no matter how close he leaned into the chassis. Raines certainly had done something to his clavicle, but it probably hadn’t been any more than a small fracture, so he didn’t bother wasting his resources to cure it. Rosch had had that bone broken before in another place, and during surgery it had been reinforced with small metal rods as to prevent aging from weakening the spot in the future. He kept his focus on a spot in the distance however, and ignored the way that his nerves vibrated warning signals from the area. He needed to get to Pulse. If he were Raines, he would undoubtedly use the warship’s demise as an excuse to execute all PSICOM soldiers on the ground. Perhaps, he would reason, Rosch would be driven to those bases too, and would be exterminated in the process. It would be a fine way to clean up the temporary mess that Yaag had created by unexpectedly escaping from his grasp.
Sirens were beginning to shriek in the far distance behind him, and the man clenched the steering with such will that he thought it might erupt under his grasp. Already the shell of the city was in his sights, but the vehicle he was driving was losing momentum quickly. Of course it would do this. The farther from the city these vehicles got the more power they would lose. It was to prevent citizens from using the airspace outside of the nest. No matter—a solution was already in his sights. It was a Svarog Tour House. These pens were starting to crop up around these parts, and were mostly for civilian use with exotic tastes. Well, if it wasn’t a Wyvren, it wouldn’t matter. It would be trained enough that Rosch would be able to ride it, even if the Svarogs were more accustomed to flying about the Nation of Cocoon than their home on Gran Pulse.
His bike folded neatly into his palm, and he handed the wand to one of the beast attendants before scaling the fence and climbing onto the back of the first Svarog that curiously approached him.
“Waiiiit You can’t!” The beast attendant pleaded, waving his arms about in the air madly. He continued calling to Rosch, but his voice rapidly got lost over the shrieks and ringing of Guardian Corps sirens. Rosch jerked his sights to his right and kicked his heels into the Svarog’s side to express orders. Damn those sirens were loud. There sure were a lot of them too.
“Director Yaag Rosch,” a feminine voice announced over a loudspeaker. Rosch turned the Svarog’s attention toward her, and it dove at her. The glass roadway shattered under the sudden impact of her vehicle, and Rosch wove his beast through a cloud of bullets that showered in his direction. His heels dug again, and switched his weight to a sharp left, directing the Svarog through the open gap in the nation’s shell.
From this distance, the heat of New Arcadia’s explosion was enough to form beads of sweat behind his ears. The closer he flew, the stronger the heat became, and Rosch found himself coughing from the thick blanket of smoke that his Svarog fearlessly aimed for. Would this be enough to lose his tail? He let his arm cover his nose as he coughed, trying to see the dark world through stinging eyes. He was so close to New Arcadia now. Would he be able to save any of the lives caught within? Would it be worth it to even try? He was so close now that if he jumped, he was positive that he would only miss the ship by a few inches. Just a little closer…
Suddenly, the beast he rode shrieked and withdrew on itself, wrapping its wings protectively around its center. The Guardians had located them using sonar, and had landed a hit—then another. Rosch pitched forward against the creature as it howled and flexed, clutching the bridge of one of its wings in his palm as they began to sink into a downward spiral. Rosch tossed his head back, taking one final glance at the airship and the Guardians that were descending aside it. They would do nothing to save them, he knew, and the only way he would ever be permitted to return to Cocoon would be in a body bag. He would never get the chance to return the glasses he possessed to their owner.
His cheek pressed against the scales of the abruptly still and quiet creature, sighing with forlorn regret for the way that the morning had quickly spun out of control. He would trade almost anything to go back in time and make it a boring one, but even as he imagined the idea, he knew that it was an impossible idea. His grip released on the wing he clutched, and he felt the air whisk his body apart from the creature. He wasn’t in a decent position to be falling in, but the shower of bullets aiming for him twisted about his frame in such a way that movement wasn’t wise. It would be better to feign that he had already died.
As the height from New Arcadia grew, the time it would take for his free fall expedited. At any moment, he would make contact with the forest canopy, and his final gamble would have to be played. He forced his eyes to remain open as the Svarog made first impact next to him. Not a single second would escape his witness of the death of his men; he was the only person alive who truly knew what had happened to them.

[NAN]
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The Artifact