In the Archives

In the Archives originally started as a Final Fantasy VII fanfiction. In this storyline, Reno is held captive for seven years as one of the deranged scientist’s experiments in a secret laboratory while ShinRa rebuilds what once was Midgar after its nearly destroyed by Meteor at the end of the game. It’s revealed throughout the storyline that Professor Hojo’s experiments did detrimental damage to Reno’s psyche that causes Sephiroth, the original villain of the game, to split control of Reno’s actions.

I fell in love with this storyline and had an absolute blast writing it. So much so, that I started trying to find ways to convert this into its own stand-alone storyline outside of the realm of Final Fantasy. After all, E. L. James converted what started as a Twilight fanfiction into Fifty Shades of Gray. Why couldn’t I do it with mine?

However, so many deep and unique components of the game tie into the plotline that I struggled to make sense of outside of the Final Fantasy VII world; things like Mako, Lifestream, Jenova cells versus Cetra cells. I tried building a world with similar features, but it felt too much like copyright infringement. When I started building a more modernized or post-apocalyptic world where something similar might make sense, I couldn’t get the elements to connect. Unfortunately, without these key components that are so deeply rooted in the world of Final Fantasy VII, the storyline falls flat and feels incomplete – like something happening without knowing how it happened.

Ultimately, I gave up on building this into its own piece, despite how much I love the storyline and the work itself. Below is an excerpt of one of my favorite scenes, affectionately dubbed “the shower scene” by my sister and me. While this scene could be written outside the Final Fantasy fandom, it hits differently that it does in context of the game’s world. This scene is one of my favorites because it was initially very flat. It wasn’t until I took an ice-cold shower with nothing but a glow-stick to see by, paying close attention to how my body felt, how it tolerated the frigid water that it blossomed into something more.

We, as writers, don’t always make a habit of suffering for our work, but when we do, the results tend to shine.

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Absently, he clicked the light switch, blinking wearily against the blinding vanity light. It was clean and well kept, but a bit dusty.

For the first time, Reno gazed up at his reflection, and nearly jumped out of his skin, which was no longer the warm, creamy color he remembered. Instead, it was sickly pale, almost gray, and pearls of sweat glimmered on his face and neck in the white-orange glow. Cheeks had hollowed and his frame was more slender and boney that it had once been, lean muscle having worn away. Vibrant red hair had faded, now dull and streaked with thin strands of sliver. Beneath strands of red, eyes gleamed back at him, no longer the mischievous ice blue glimmer he remembered. Instead, fluorescent green met his gaze. Reno blinked, pale purple lips parted as he gaped, leaning across the marble sink so he could study them closer. Specks of blue mingled among striking jade, swirling into an onyx pupil. They were sunken slightly beneath dark, puffy circles. Brows furrowed as he studied his unsettling reflection, and part of him now understood why Elena had seemed uncomfortable.

Pupils narrowed into needle-thin slits, the change barely noticeable at first glance. A smirk tugged at his lips, the expression smug as it took over his features. Heat swelled in the pit of his stomach, nervousness shifting into something else entirely. But it was fleeting. The redhead blinked uncertainly, eyes fixated on his unfamiliar face briefly. He shook his head; he was tired – physically, mentally, and emotionally. Malachite eyes found his gaze in the mirror and he sighed; finally, fingers found the light switch and flicked it off.

Even in the pitch dark, enhanced eyes could pick out the outline of the dark room, as though it was illuminated in night vision. It was somewhat dimmer, painted in hues of black and soft greens. Shuffling, a hand found the countertop behind him, balancing him as he turned. The other found the chilled metal handle of the shower door, and he pulled. Tracks scraped as it slid open, metal catching on the stopper. The redhead stepped closer, reaching inside and twisting the faucet on. Water hissed as it spewed from the showerhead, cascading over tile and tempered glass. Hands groped at starchy clothing, now nearly dry and stiff with the Mako solution. Fabric rustled as he undressed, piling them onto the floor. He undid his belt, unskilled fingers fumbling with the metal clasp as he tried to pry the leather apart. Fabric slid down to his ankles, and he nearly lost his balance as a pant leg caught around his foot. Finally, he snatched an unopened bar of soap and bottle of shampoo from the cabinet and opened the steam-fogged door.

The redhead stepped inside, nearly falling as he jumped back from the frigid waterfall. He turned quickly to adjust the temperature, cursing quietly as he pulled himself from the wall. Vision hesitated, fingers lingering over the knob. The lever was all the way over to the small red H, indicating that the water should be hot. Curiously, he tilted it towards the small blue C, wondering if perhaps they’d been attached backwards. Icy water nipped his fingers as he ran a hand beneath it; the water was colder. Sighing, he shifted it back to the H; bracing for the cold stream, Reno held his breath as he stepped back into the stall. Goosebumps crawled over pale flesh, and a chill crept up his spine. Unwillingly, he trembled, unable to resist the shivers that rattled through his body.

Quickly, he lathered himself beneath the cold fountain, mentally noting to tell Elena he didn’t enjoy cold showers. His body began to quiver less, somehow adapting to the pins and needles that pricked over his skin. Suds slipped off of his skin and gathered at the drain like sea foam, and he leaned against the tile wall distantly. The overly sweet perfume of soap mixed with the strong chemical scent of Mako, and his stomach turned at the bitter combination. He frowned, scouring himself with the soap once more. But soap didn’t wash away the thick foul layer of Mako that seemed to have melted on top of flesh, and he finally decided he would have to scrub the layers of his skin away before it would disperse.

Water poured over him, his body now accepting of the bitter sensation. Legs trembled meekly, and he allowed himself to fall gently against chilled glass. The Turk didn’t protest as his knees began to buckle, and he slowly slid down until he folded to the bottom of the stall. Strands of red caught in his vision and water drug the longer tresses over his shoulders. They matted against pale flesh, and he idly dragged a hand through tangled locks. His gaze absently studied the water tracks as teardrops streaked down the tempered glass; they seemed to tremble in place, as though frightened, before falling forever and eventually rejoining the frigid stream that flowed into the drain.

A tear slipped from his eye and rolled across the bridge of his nose. It quivered there for a moment, as though it was frightened, then seemed to fall forever before he distantly heard it splash… Reno shook his head, blinking himself back awake. His whole body ached, and his mind even more.

‘…Seven years…’ he repeated to himself, somehow hoping that stating again would make it seem more real. Lids closed heavily over green eyes, and he rested his head against the glass for a moment. The sound of crashing waters lingered over him, and the drain gurgled like a distant roll of thunder. He drifted away, somewhere far…buried beneath an avalanche of ice and powdered snow.

Cold air swept over his body, and he shuddered in protest. Coughs pulled at his lungs as he choked for air, swallowing against a painful throat. Like breathing smoke; like inhaling water. Meekly his eyes opened, blurring colors dancing over his vision. Disorienting, like a kaleidoscope, and he tried to blink the haze free; but no amount of attempts seemed to make them any clearer.

‘I’m…alive…’ The thought resonated distantly against his mind, and he blinked. Weakly, the redhead stumbled to his feet, staggering as a hand found the nearby wall. A fluorescent green glow caught his eyes, and the room began to spin. Clammy fingers pressed against his forehead; it felt like a hangover, like he’d been cracked over the head with the backside of a pistol. Eyes clenched tight, and his heartbeat throbbed against his aching skull, but he forced his mind to focus.

The room materialized before him, and dim lights strung across the walls lit each step of the nearby landing. The crimson ambience was muted by the fluorescent jade glow behind him, and drunken limbs didn’t heed his command to move. Suddenly, a sound cried out in protest, and he winced against the shrill sound. He whirled, the impulsive movement sending the world swimming. Knees buckled, and he collapsed to the dark linoleum. Heavy footsteps echoed over his fading mind, almost in slow motion as they reached his side.

Again, the sharp sound penetrated his mind, and he winced away. Starch white came into his vision and he tried to force his head to look up. Weakly, he lifted himself, shaky arms pushing him from the icy tile. An unexpected pain shot through his shoulder, and the sound that pried itself from his throat sounded inhuman. Limbs quivered as he fought to get back to his feet; another prick tore into his arm, and he tried to move away from it, swat the source or else escape it; but his efforts became less and less fluid as the lingering strength in his bones faltered and faded. Vision blackened, and joints gave beneath his weight. He crumpled, falling for what seemed like forever. Words strained free of his chest, but they lost coherence somewhere between chapped lips and frostbitten air.

Reno started as he woke, shivering unwillingly against the frozen fountain that poured over him. Blinking as eyes tried to focus on the dark room, he vaguely realized that he had dozed. Wincing, sore muscles protested as he pulled himself to his feet, balancing himself against the tile. He leaned there a moment, the remnants of the strange dream lingering over his mind. Finally, the redhead shut off the cold water and pulled back the glass door. Steam had filled the bathroom and coated the mirror in a thick layer of fog as he grabbed a towel from the linen closet. He inhaled, the faint perfume of fresh cotton touching his senses; but it was buried by a musty odor, and he could tell they hadn’t been washed in quite some time now. He ruffled it through long hair, drying the matted locks before letting them fall to his back. Coarse fibers trailed over sensitive skin as he wiped pearls of water from his body.

Opening the bathroom door, cool air swept over him, and Reno shuddered reflexively. He shuffled through drawers, finally locating a set of pajamas in the dresser. Toes caught on fabric as he tried to slide them on, and he nearly fell flat as he lost his balance. Deciding he was too tired for a repeat of earlier, the redhead reached for the faded bathrobe that hung on the inside of the bathroom door. Like the towels, it smelled faintly of laundry detergent but was otherwise stale. Exhausted, Reno collapsed on the soft cotton comforter, dust swirling in the evening twilight, and he fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.