[He can hear it in Cloud's voice, the unspoken implication, a reminder of what happened the last time chaos exploded around a mako reactor and there were witnesses to see it. Nibelheim. Of course he remembers Nibelheim, fire and blood and the clinical, ugly phrasing in status reports that he'd seen in the past like "witnesses purged", "area secured and cleaned", buzzwords to inform the Shinra superiors that people were murdered and everything so neatly covered up. Nibelheim burned, Banora was bombed, and if given the opportunity Shinra wouldn't hesitate for a second to wipe Gongaga from existence. It's nothing to them. A podunk little spot on the map, hardly worth remembering. The people here, sweet and kind and cantankerous and so very set in their old ways, are barely a statistic.
Cloud's right.
Cloud's right, and he hates it, too. Zack's gaze shifts urgently between Cloud and the door, back and forth, desperation rising, until by some miracle - or mostly due to the steadying hand on his chest - the logic wins out, and Zack practically snarls and twists away, fists balling so tightly at his sides that his knuckles are stark white, pale beneath the shadow of his gloves. Instead of moving to the door (and the open street beyond, where his old neighbours and the Turks will see him coming) he stalks towards the back, to the only window that would fit them. He wrestles with the lock for a moment, but his SOLDIER strength only snaps the old wood and sealant- damn thing's probably been locked for decades to keep the worst of the bugs out, the screen long-rotted. The Zack of this morning would have been careful with it, experienced hands finding something sharp to slide under and pry open with, freeing them with minimal damage to the property of an innocent man who at worst threw a book at him for sneaking sweets from the cabinet while no one was looking. This morning it was fun, they had time.
Right now the window is a barrier and a target for his fury, and they don't have time anymore, we gotta go, so he grabs the shopkeeper's wobbly old stool and smashes it right through the glass, shards and wood splinters scattering outwards. The sound is barely noteworthy over the chaos in town, lost in a sea of screams and violent crashes in the distance. He braces both hands on the sill and hops out, waiting only the handful of seconds needed for Cloud to follow before taking off for the jungle at a dead run. He can't breathe right now, he can't think, he can't stop, and he won't until Cloud tells him to halt. If he stops within range of the town, he- god, he doesn't know. He'll go back. He'll scream. He'll find something - someone - to kill.
So he doesn't stop. He runs, and runs, and he tries desperately not to think about the fire and the smoke and the voices shouting for help that he's abandoning to save his own skin. Some hero.]
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momijizukamori
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Date: 2020-06-06 10:02 am (UTC)Cloud's right.
Cloud's right, and he hates it, too. Zack's gaze shifts urgently between Cloud and the door, back and forth, desperation rising, until by some miracle - or mostly due to the steadying hand on his chest - the logic wins out, and Zack practically snarls and twists away, fists balling so tightly at his sides that his knuckles are stark white, pale beneath the shadow of his gloves. Instead of moving to the door (and the open street beyond, where his old neighbours and the Turks will see him coming) he stalks towards the back, to the only window that would fit them. He wrestles with the lock for a moment, but his SOLDIER strength only snaps the old wood and sealant- damn thing's probably been locked for decades to keep the worst of the bugs out, the screen long-rotted. The Zack of this morning would have been careful with it, experienced hands finding something sharp to slide under and pry open with, freeing them with minimal damage to the property of an innocent man who at worst threw a book at him for sneaking sweets from the cabinet while no one was looking. This morning it was fun, they had time.
Right now the window is a barrier and a target for his fury, and they don't have time anymore, we gotta go, so he grabs the shopkeeper's wobbly old stool and smashes it right through the glass, shards and wood splinters scattering outwards. The sound is barely noteworthy over the chaos in town, lost in a sea of screams and violent crashes in the distance. He braces both hands on the sill and hops out, waiting only the handful of seconds needed for Cloud to follow before taking off for the jungle at a dead run. He can't breathe right now, he can't think, he can't stop, and he won't until Cloud tells him to halt. If he stops within range of the town, he- god, he doesn't know. He'll go back. He'll scream. He'll find something - someone - to kill.
So he doesn't stop. He runs, and runs, and he tries desperately not to think about the fire and the smoke and the voices shouting for help that he's abandoning to save his own skin. Some hero.]