Adult-FanFiction.org : Final Fantasy

Copycat	By : Chikara Category: Final Fantasy VII > General Views: 815 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Copycat
- 1
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 = Not Mine
He didn't know where he was, who he was, what he was doing. He didn't know what they wanted of him, what they expected, what they were trying to get him to say. But whatever they wanted, they were determined to get it, and no matter how much he begged, they wouldn't listen, they wouldn't stop smiling at him. They were disgusting, and when they got near him, when they tained and touched him, they made him disgusting, too.
They were wearing what he thought was masks and white gloves, all but the exception of three silver-haired demons, all of which reminded him so painfully of Him: that man who he onced loved but now loathed, that man who smiled as he took him, dark and grim and violent screams blooming in the depths of his mind as sweet nothings were whispered into his mind, followed by promises of death and resurrection. Cloud knew that he couldn't trust Him, not after what He did, but in this sort of situation, it was hard not to feel a shimmer of hope when the Dark Man appeared, it was hard not to wonder if even the smallest fraction of what He was saying could come true - that Cloud could be happy again with a little co-operation, that someday he'd live in peace, that he'd be back with his friends, that he'd be able to lay down at night and rest easy.
And then the dark man left, and the three clones would come.
Kadaj would always be first.
Cold fingertips poked and proded and the smell of mako filled his lungs and wrapped icy fingers around his throat and squeezed but then another pair of hands came down on him, tanned and long-fingered, like hungry little spiders, clamping on his wind pipe mercilessly. Kadaj mounted him without a word, smiling darkly as he ground their hips together, smiling as the boy beneath him fought against his bindings. He thrust violently into his small body, and Cloud's skull slammed against the back of the table. Stars burst before his eyes like fireworks. He felt a trickle of blood begin to seep through his skin and tint golden locks pink.
Cloud squeezed his eyes closed, drawing attention away from Kadaj to Hojo's thick, shaking hands - juggling needles and knives and injecting some awful something into his viens - and found the sight, somehow, more comforting. He hoped it was novicane. But what flooded him, instead, was another strong surge of mako, thick and crawling into his viens like starved lions ready for kill.
Or maybe, he thought, this time, it was Jenova cells that flooded him. After all, with Sephiroth still alive, with Hojo here beside him, who's to say that Jenova hadn't returned to haunt him as well?
And soon he'd be in that damn tank again, only Zack wouldn't be there. And - though he knew it was disgusting to even want Zack by his side again if it ment his friend would suffer - the thought that there was no one to glance to, no hope to lean on...it was torture, really. And what made it worse - Zack was dead.
And no, he couldn't be sure of that. Because he'd seen Sephiroth die, he'd seen Jenova die, he'd seen Hojo die as well - and yet here they were.
So who was to say that Zack hadn't lived as well?
Voices loomed over him, smooth and calm and observant.
( ? he's not reacting ... are they jenova cells ? )
( he's a fuck up, you know, and that makes reactions unpredicatable )
( just wait )
( ? and what about the others ? )
The others... Cloud opened his eyes, searching for the owner of the voice that had just echoed around him. At that moment, Kadaj drew away and climbed off the table to be replaced by his brother. The sensation of Yazoo's bare thighs clenching against him and his thin hands crawling hungrily across his chest was maddening.
He had seen a group of strangers a few minutes ago, all wearing the same battered uniform as he, one worried smile in particular caught his eye, comforting in the midst of everything, china-doll face framed by dark, sweat-drenched locks of hair, arms littered with small, purpling bruises from inept scientists injecting mako energy into a tanned body.
( Sephiroth will see him next )
And at that moment, it seemed that Yazoo changed. He morphed and sighed and the wind seemed to break him, his face fell inward like melted wax but his smile stayed, and then it was Sephiroth on top of him, Sephiroth fucking him into nothingness, and as if the God above him had heard His very name mentioned in the senseless inferno of Cloud's mind, pale fingers tightened over his throat and a fire erupted in his chest, bringing out a child's voice, a begging, colorless scream of horror.
A sharp sensation of knives and sandpaper against vulnerable skin overtook him, raping him as he lay there, bound, helpless as a ragdoll, and his thoughts tore away from the others and came to focus on the unending pain buried inside him. In it's own twisted way, though the sensation of being filled had long since lost it's novelty, it was worse knowing that He was the one doing so, that He had somehow found a way to humiliate him even more, and it hurt, God, it hurt, he was screaming, all of him, all of him begging and shrieking and
( !!! OH GOD OH PLEASE STOP PLEASE STOP !!! )
another deep thrust tore a ragged scream from his throat, a sickening penetration that tore through his body and seemed to settle deep into his abdomen, tangled with tears he refused to shed. A sharp slap hit his face; a sound that matched a gun being fired in the stark silence of night, and then a hard, satisfied grunt of approval as Sephiroth withdrew, exhausted and drenched in sweat.
Cloud's body tensed as he surpressed the violent urge to vomit that always followed after sex. The older man watched him with mild curiosity, the shaking form of a child on the hospital bed, strapped down with leather and iron, his bare arm chained down against steel and particularly marred from dozens of blue and black penetrations - marks left behind from butterfly needles.
He sat on top of the young blonde, stradling him, watching as his body adjusted to hard pants and furious, husky curses, eventually subsiding to slow, even gasps, and finally, silent breathing.
"Can you hear me?" Sephiroth whispered.
Cloud nodded. He knew the drill. The wrong answer would only bring more trouble, and nothing would stop until he said what they wanted to hear. By now, it wasn't even worth seeing their enraged, insulted expressions anymore. They always got back at him in the end. Always.
"You are worthless." Sephiroth continued, tone firm and even somewhat amused. It wasn't something to convince him of anymore. Now, it had become a fact. "All you'll ever be is a failed attempt of a human. The most you'll ever amount to is a good source of information - selling out those too-trusting friends of yours." He grinned, for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Even though you don't want to, you're too weak to say no. And the only person you have to thank for it is yourself, Cloud. Do you understand me?"
They were watching him, he realized, disgusted. They had all stopped, gloved hands frozen, faces grinning sadistic grins, eager for his response, eager to see him punished again. They expected this failure of a thing to talk back, to question them, to say that he was real when he was so obviously fake. Being in this situation was bad enough, but being watched by people he didn't even know, people that only liked him when there was blood in his hair and a scream on his lips...it was humiliating. In all honesty, he'd rather be dead. He'd rather be torn apart and murdered, buried in Aerith's lake and never damned to be in their sight again. But with everything he had done by now, Cloud seriously doubted he'd live happily in death. He'd sold out too many friends, lost too many fights, gave in to their torture too quickly, lost his fire too easily. All that was left now was a nameless something.
"Do you understand me?" Sephiroth repeated for the third time.
Cloud nodded obediently. Carefully, making sure He was too occupied with climbing off the table to watch, he tugged at his restraints. Hard leather, no give, and certainly too much to hope to breath through. Cloud would have sighed, but the last thing he needed was more attention. He let his eyes trail over himself, naked and bruised, bleeding where The Dark Man had bit him, black and blue bruises becoming a sick display of abstract art. Ankles tied down, torso restrained with a single leather strap, arms a crosswork pattern of ropes and loops and cuffs so that when Hojo wanted to inject, he could do so without any problems.
Cloud closed his eyes once more.
Mako energy ran through him, certain unspeakable somethings, maybe even Jenova cells contaminating his once flawless body. He had killed Jenova himself, but that proved nothing. Because he had killed Sephiroth too, hadn't he? And yet here he was, real and solid and hungry for more.
He could still remember a time when he was young, before he even knew what ShinRa was, a time when he never dreamed he would met the fierce General, when he never imagined an adventure like this, and even past that, never considered he could have been caught, he could have been captured, that after their happy ending, Sephiroth would have the power to come back and break him.
There were certain things he refused to believe, even if they did come from the silver-haired deity's flawless lips. But one thing he knew for sure was that he was weak - just as He said - because he had killed Hojo, because he had killed Sephiroth, and yet here they were, torturing him and experimenting with his body just as they had all those years back when he was with Zack, mocking him and raping him, leaving him in this dark room, alone with strangers that wanted nothing more than blood.
But over time one thing became certain - somewhere down the line, Sephiroth had changed from human to God, from known to unknown, had thrawted death and resurrected, had came right back to Cloud, a mere human, and had taken him. Every time Hojo injected mako into his blood, every time the strangers in white would snicker, every time Sephiroth fucked him raw and told him that he was worthless, that he was disgusting, that he could never amount to anything: it was all punishment for what he had done when Sephiroth was just a General, punishment for thinking he could save the world, punishment for daring to tred where only the immortal could tred.
And soon he realized that there was no way out. The restraints were unbreakable, the glass was too thick, his body felt so weak, even when left untouched. Hojo could carry him bridle-style without even the slightest strain, stick him in one of those god-awful tubes like a rag-doll, and as it would start filling up with mako, realization would hit him and he'd scream, he'd scream, he'd fucking beg as pathetically as his wounded pride would allow until Hojo shoved his oxygen mask down his throat and snapped it over the back of his head and tested the locks and walked away as if things like this happened every day, leaving Cloud in the coffin-like embrace of Hojo's lab; a place he both hated and feared, and now...
Now...
They were constantly watching him, ready to take him at any time if he tried to escape. Getting out of the tubes was useless, he thought. Getting out of here - period - was not. There were may sharp edges to use, Hojo had dozens and dozens of surgical knives and torture devices, hidden or not, needle tips, poisons, all at his disposal. All he had to do was have a second or two to reach them...
But that was impossible, too. There were camras everywhere, gaurds, locks, too may restraints to get out of before he even began to get close to any one of those devices. There had been times in his life when he fought desperately to stay alive, where he would have done anything for the pleasure of breathing. And now... - what irony! - now, all he wanted was death. Sweet death, death where he'd no longer be able to feel those tireless devils inside him, thin needles tearing apart his brain and changing him, shallow smiles falling over him like phantom shadows. It was a dream he would wake up from, he had thought, but as the days went by, it became clear that this was no imagined sensation. He'd live forever, even. Live forever - just to feel this.
The walls closed in on him. There was nothing besides the darkness and stonewash marble of Hojo's lab. There was no such thing as a human being that didn't wear white lab coats and grin knowingly at him. There was no more question of whether or not he was a Sephiroth-clone, a failure, not even given a number. He was a copy, a copycat - oh, isn't it funny? Isn't it funny that now, now that he could face the truth, there was no one there to see it?
And then his God loomed above him with those awful green eyes and vampire-like smile, silver hair that seemed to go on forever, and asked him teasingly;
"Are you ready to die yet?"
( please no, please god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just let me go, don't tease me, don't look at me like that, oh god, oh god I'm sorry just leave me be, leave me be, lea )
"I'm never ready." he said finally.
"Good." he said, and the lights came on, the stonewash color of the walls seemed to close in on them - alone, now - just the two of them in their world of one winged angels. "Good."
- 1
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