"Your assignment is to eliminate the entire group," said Instructor Meil. "Winhill doesn't have the long-term resources to resist the renegades in a drawn-out engagement, and has had to negotiate a barter contract with Garden for our services. You will be split into teams, and your results graded competitively. Only one 'A' will be awarded, then two 'B's, four 'C's, and so on. You get the idea. Good luck, cadets."

The class dissolved into chaos as the cadets formed themselves into teams. Seifer was, of course, the first to have a team of three formed; his posse never far from him, the three cadets looking like poster candidates in their black and silver uniforms.

Squall would have preferred to work alone, but rules were rules. Zell attached himself to Squall the moment he had the chance, but that still left one slot open. He groaned inwardly as he realized that Quistis would probably join them. It wasn't that he didn't like Quistis; he liked her no more or less than he did Zell, who was on average tolerable. What made Quistis joining them bad was that Quistis had just made SeeD - the youngest candidate ever to succeed, and she'd done it with flying colors on her first try. In general, SeeD were only used in cases where cadets failed in their duties - for Quistis to be in his group, his group would automatically be designated as backup; he could go the entire mission without a single fight.

Sure enough, four SeeDs were designated as backup for the mission; one team of three, and Quistis with the two cadets. Quistis would go in first, to see whether properly led cadets could succeed. If even she failed, the all-SeeD team would take care of matters.

"I see you managed to get the cushiest job," sneered Seifer at the trio. "You better hope the others fuck up badly, brat, or your grade's gonna suck. Not that you could've gotten better than a 'B' in any case."

"Be quiet, Seifer," ordered Quistis. "You know the grades aren't determined by how many fights you get into. Squall has at least as good a chance to get that 'A' as you do."

Seifer's eyes narrowed, and his posture stiffened - his posse immediately moving into flanking positions. "I don't know how you made SeeD," he said venomously, "when your judgment is so incredibly lousy. We'll see who gets that 'A' when the day is over." Then they moved off; the Instructor was watching the two groups too closely.

* * * * * *

The ride down to Balamb was quiet...well, mostly quiet. Zell was punching and kicking his way through some kata, but Squall had gotten used to his roommate's innate hyperactivity over the past two years and knew better than to tell him to sit down. Zell always had to be moving something, and Squall preferred that he move his body rather than his mouth. It was easier to ignore.

He rested his hands on the butt of the Revolver, and his chin on his hands as the point of the gunblade dug into the vehicle's floor. This was the first mission his class had ever been on where the targets were human. All through the last year they'd been on 'monster patrol' just outside the Garden, and the year before that it had all been Training Center practice only. He'd heard it was different when it was a person. Different how, though - no one seemed to have an answer for that.

"It'll be all right, Squall," said Quistis reassuringly.

Squall blinked; had he been so obviously worried, then? He picked at a loose silver thread on his worn cadet uniform, wondering what it would be like next year when he could prove he'd finished growing and could get permission to wear casual dress. He tended to wear older, more worn uniforms - the threads had smoothed and the uniform was less scratchy. As long as he still presented a properly sharp image, he wasn't reprimanded for it.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked Quistis quietly. "Do you know more about this mission than what we were told?"

Quistis smiled. "Of course I do," she said. "But that doesn't mean I'm allowed to tell you. You'll just have to trust me."

Squall turned away from her then; he didn't trust anyone, even Zell. He could rely on Quistis as a dependable comrade-in-arms, but she was asking for more than he would give.

Once in Balamb the entire class got on a SeeD transport vessel and crossed the narrow strip of ocean to Dollet. Squall and Zell stared wide-eyed; neither could remember ever being off Balamb island before, and Dollet was in its way a beautiful town. Quistis just grinned; she had never seen Squall with such an unguarded expression of wonder, and moved them along quickly so that Seifer wouldn't see them and ruin the moment. Each team would take its own rented car, just as they had in going from Garden to Balamb. As first backup Quistis' car led the way, with the three SeeDs in the last car.

Zell soon got bored with staring out the window and returned to his kata, leaving Quistis to drive and Squall to stare out the window. The unfamiliar scenery was breathtaking. What sort of people lived here? Did they, too, stare in wonder out their windows every morning? He looked up; there was a high plateau up there - what must it be like to live there, with all the world at your feet? Squall didn't remember ever being so far from Balamb before; away from the Garden, it almost felt like he could stretch out his hand and touch the horizon, free of orders and discipline.

Mentally he shook himself. What would he do, without orders or discipline? There was nothing else to give the day shape or purpose. He couldn't remember a time when he had not risen a half-hour before dawn and gone through classes and practices until well past sundown. But...looking out at the high plateau and the rolling hills beneath it, a small treacherous part of him wondered - just briefly - what it might be like, just to get up when you felt like it, and live with such scenery all around...

He let his mind go blank, feeling an unusual contentedness suffuse him. Something about the high bluffs they were approaching was...right. It made him feel more comfortable than he had been in...well, a while, anyway.

It ended too soon, as such moments always do. The convoy of cars rolled to a stop with Winhill just visible in the distance. The groups of cadets assembled in front of Quistis.

"We're under orders not to enter Winhill itself," she said. "They've paid us to rout the renegades, but they don't want us to take their place, so we're forbidden to enter in anything less than a life-threatening situation. Now - about the renegades. These are defectors from the Galbadian army who've decided to play robber baron out here. They're armed with guns, and probably knives as well. You're to kill any of the renegades you come across, except the leader. He's wanted for questioning by the Galbadian government. We're not sure where the hideout is - probably somewhere in the bluffs. Find it, and eliminate the rogues; that's our mission. Dismissed."

Seifer, Fujin and Raijin immediately stood up and marched off, heading for the bluffs. After a few minutes, other teams also formed up and moved off in slightly different directions. Squall and Zell just waited.

"Awww, man," whined Zell. "Quistis, couldn't you have gone with Seifer's team? We're not gonna have any fun, staying back here!"

Quistis just shook her head with a smile. "You've got a little too much faith in your classmates," she said. "We have two backup teams because we're almost sure there's going to be trouble. These renegades aren't the usual street trash, they're ex-army. They won't be found or eliminated easily."

Squall just listened, with his whole body. When the renegades were found, there would be gunfire. He wanted to know where it came from. When it did ring out, he was able to pinpoint the area of origin.

"Sounds like our cue," said Quistis. Sure enough, a few moments later a bright red flare shot up; call for backup. The three immediately set into motion, Quistis leading the way.

It wasn't anything like monster combat, when they arrived on the scene. It was a pitched battle; the number of renegades had been badly underestimated. Seifer and his posse were doing better than any of the other groups, slicing, dicing, and thumping away, but even they were wounded. Some teams had been completely annihilated. Quistis immediately sent up the green flare that called for the three other SeeDs to come into the fray. "Come on," she said. "We've got to do whatever we can. Get the wounded ones who can survive off to one side."

"We're nursemaids?" said Zell, amazed.

"Shut up," said Squall, and moved to assist Quistis in dragging a bloody cadet out of the way of the carnage. After another moment, Zell joined them.

When their foes saw what they were doing, they immediately moved to stop it; if the cadets survived it would be harder to cow Winhill's citizens into coughing up goods. A group of six moved to surround the trio, guns at the ready.

"Attack!" ordered Quistis, and snapped her whip around the barrel of the first gun, yanking it out of the man's hands. With the next crack of her whip, she took off his head.

Squall felt his mind go numb. He'd had practice sessions against other cadets, but that was just it - they were practice, and you didn't kill. He moved automatically, swinging the Revolver up in a diagonal cut that yanked a gun out of a foe's hands, then spun around in a downward slice that clove the man in two.

It was disturbingly easy, the heavy blade slicing through flesh and bone like butter. Blood splattered on his face and uniform, but there was no time to be sick - another foe was attacking, firing, pain blossomed in his shoulder as he charged...

It was timeless. Sweep, slice, cleave, charge, fire, dodge, cut. Pain bloomed in his thighs and once along his arm as his enemies shot at him, and somewhere in his head was a little boy crying his eyes out, but there was no time for any of that. This was what he had been training to do for as long as he could remember, and his body knew the movements to make. Faces dissolved in sprays of blood as he spun and slashed, the redness sheeting off his well-tended blade as he carved his way through man after man. More than one shot at him before he could strike them down - sometimes, he was able to use his gunblade as a temporary shield to deflect the bullet away from his body. More often, he could not - but he didn't let the pain stop him. There was an instinctive awareness that to fall was to die, and right here and right now he didn't feel like doing that. He just had to hope that the bullets he couldn't stop didn't hit anything vital.

It wasn't so bad, if you didn't think about it. There wasn't time to think about it, anyway. There were screams and shouts of pain and rage all around him, gunfire and the crunch of bones breaking under Zell's punches and the snap of Quistis' whip nearby, but it was all muffled somehow. As the fight wore on, Squall felt like there was a wall of cotton forming between him and the rest of the world...something separated him from the battle, shielded him from it. More than one body exploded into shapeless gore as he pulled the Revolver's trigger halfway through a slice, the blasts of flesh and bone soaking through the black uniform. He understood, now, why the uniforms were black. It didn't show the blood as much, though the silver embroidery would never be the same.

Then it was over. There were no more enemies? He turned, and was surprised that his legs didn't hold him up. They twisted under him, and he landed heavily on one leg. He coughed and spat blood - was it his? There was blood everywhere; on the ground, on his uniform, dripping from his gunblade and smearing the proud lion etched there. Of the three of them, only Quistis looked relatively unharmed - but then, she was SeeD, and her whip had a longer range than either his gunblade or Zell's fists. When she saw him, she frowned.

"You all right?" she asked, and then noticed the gaping hole in the left shoulder of his uniform, the tattered gunshot holes in the thighs of his pants. "You idiot," she hissed. "How long ago? Think!" she snapped as she began casting Cure spells. Pain eased, and only with its easing did he realize how strong it had been. The feeling of being wrapped in cotton was stronger now. Almost, he could believe that if he took off his glove and touched Quistis, he still would not be able to feel her. With the cessation of pain, it was almost as if he could simply float away.

"I...don't remember," he mumbled, feeling a little dazed. He was too tired to flinch away as Quistis roughly grabbed his jaw in one hand so that she could look into his face with her own worried eyes. Then he realized with vague surprise that it didn't matter. Her touch only registered as pressure on his face - he could not feel her, after all.

Shock, she noticed, looking in his eyes, and a lot of blood loss by his skin color under the gore. It was amazing he was even as upright as he was, though she wouldn't lay bets on his condition once the adrenaline wore off. But that wouldn't help, to say so. "It's different for all of us," she said instead. "You never forget what it's like, and you can't describe it to someone who's never done it. You'll be all right, Squall. Just give it time." Then she moved on, casting her healing spells on others of the wounded who could be saved. Those beyond the aid of magic she dispatched cleanly with her combat knife.

Give it time, he thought as he sat numbly on the field of battle, watching Quistis give mercy-strokes. How many did I kill? That one, I suppose, and the one over there, I'm the only one with a bladed weapon...did I really go halfway through his neck? Easy, so easy...what were their names? Why were they here? So much blood. Can't even see the right color of the grass through all of it. How much of it is theirs? How much is mine? How can she walk so calmly to people she's known, and kill them like that? Why did I use the charges when I didn't need to?

I'm as bloodthirsty as she is, as Zell is. I used more force than I had to. I blew the soldiers apart because it was them or me and I didn't want it to be me...was it fear? Or am I really this...killer? When the time comes, will I be the one to give the mercy-stroke?

Or will I be the one to receive it?

"You okay?" came a familiar voice, and he turned his head to see Zell kneeling down. "Quistis said you took a lot of shots. You don't remember, do you?"

It was easy to talk to Zell; the boy had learned to interpret any number of small grunts, gestures, and nods. He, too, was spattered liberally with blood - he looked like he was wearing form-fitting red silk gloves that went all the way to the shoulder, though there was plenty of blood elsewhere. Squall gave him a small shrug; he didn't know if there was any way to describe the events of the battle. Looking around, he wondered if anyone would ever want to. The ground was red even where it should be green, and in far too many places were unidentifiable bits of gore...or worse, mangled bodies of cadets he knew by face if not by name.

"Whoa, man, I knew you were good," he grinned. "Even Seifer didn't get as many as you got, I bet, and he was here before us. C'mon, let's get back to Garden. We've done our job here."

What an incredibly stupid thing to say, Squall thought. As if the dead are tally-points in a contest. They lost, we won. That's all that matters. I don't think I could live with myself if I started counting bodies. Leave that for Seifer, and Zell if he wants to play that game. Squall used his gunblade to lever himself up off the ground, feeling a bit guilty for using it like a cane but so damn tired it was either that or crawl. Zell noticed, oddly enough, and pulled Squall's left arm over his own shoulder, supporting him and letting him put the bloody gunblade away. It will need to be cleaned later, Squall thought inconsequentially. Zell's cheerfulness seemed vaguely wrong in this setting. But then, Zell had always liked to fight.  And Quistis had said it was different for everyone...so it probably wouldn't do any good to talk about it. Neither of his teammates seemed the least bit concerned; Zell looked eminently satisfied with the way things had turned out, and Quistis had a coolly businesslike approach - as though it were only a job, no hard feelings, and she wouldn't mind buying the men they'd killed a drink in the next life.

What could he say, anyway? I killed them and it was so easy? It would sound like he wanted them to be harder to kill. Which he did, but not in the combat sense. It shouldn't be so easy to use a piece of sharpened metal to end a life. He'd blown up one or two as well, pulling the trigger on the Revolver as he sliced into his enemy's body, sending that charge right into the center where it would literally blow a man apart. It had been dreadfully easy, and now those lives were gone. Better them than him, of course, but there was wrongness in it. It seemed vaguely unfair that they should fight as well as they had and yet be dead.

He didn't notice the scenery on the trip back to Garden. He was too busy trying to sort out how he felt, knowing that for the rest of his life this was his life - to kill. To kill strangers at the Garden's command. It wasn't as though he'd ever had much of a choice about it, though, so it was probably best just to get used to it. Unlike Zell, he had no family. Nowhere to go but Garden, nowhere that would take him in. Garden wouldn't accept squeamishness, and it was a case of them or him. He looked at Zell, with his cheerfully bloodthirsty approach, and realized that he would probably never look at battle that way. Zell hadn't even noticed how many teams had been split up just to get all the rental cars back to Dollet. Nor did it seem to bother him that only a few of the fallen cadets' bodies had been retrieved - just those cadets with families. Far more space had been taken up with the weapons of the fallen cadets, and the weapons of the enemy, which would either be used by Garden or sold for profit.

Well, of course that wouldn't bother Zell. He had his mother in Balamb, after all. Squall knew that if he fell, he would simply be left there for the birds to pick clean - and his gunblade would be taken back to Garden for another cadet to use someday. He fought down a sudden urge to laugh; it was one way out of Garden, anyway. He looked over at Quistis, who didn't seem to be any more affected than if they had gone out for a business meeting.  She was sitting on towels, and had wiped her hands on another towel so as to not get blood on the seats or the steering wheel. The perfect SeeD, careful of any property she wasn't sent to destroy. Squall's seat, and Zell's, probably would need extensive cleaning.

If Quistis had a family, she'd never mentioned it. Perhaps that was why she fought so ferociously - knowing that she too, if she fell, would be left for the crows and monsters. But at the same time she took no especial joy in it - it was just a job, no different from any other job. Of the two choices, hers seemed the wiser model to follow. If he could pretend it didn't bother him hard enough...maybe after a while, it wouldn't. He could wrap himself in cotton and let the blood touch someone else.

He would do better, next time.