Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He smelled flowers. 

The scent was light and sweet, airy and gentle like the memory of a tentative first kiss. He heard a woman’s voice, speaking words he couldn’t understand that somehow sounded familiar. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t even crack his eyelids to look around, he was so tired. The scent of flowers and the grass beneath him was so comfortable, too…

He awoke with a groan. Despite feeling as if he’d slept for days, fatigue weighed him down like armor made of lead, so much that even opening his eyes and looking around threatened to send him to sleep again.

Solomon White sat up and found himself in a ruined church, laying in a flowerbed that seemed to have punched its way through the floor. “…What the…” He poked one of the flowers, a light yellow cream-colored cup that swayed under his touch. Carefully pushing himself up to avoid crushing any more of the flowers, he stumbled out of the patch and collapsed into one of the pews, unknowingly kicking a small blue and white bottle away.

The church was surprisingly intact for a ruin; the windows had most of their glass, the roof only had a few holes in it, and the floor was clean-swept except for the holes where the flowers emerged.

“Where am I?” He muttered, vainly attempting to rub the fatigue out of his eyes. “How did I even get here? Was I portaled in?” His eyes flickered around, seeking answers and finding none. “Local Scan.”

A ring of blue energy emanated from his feet, then faded into mist after only a few inches of travel.

Solomon gasped as a wave of exhaustion slammed into him, black spots dancing in his vision. With an incredulous inhale, his head lolled back as he blacked out again.

He blinked awake, finding that the light had changed a bit. Judging by the length and position of the shadows, it had been nearly two hours since he passed out. “...holy hell , what’s happened to me?” He rasped, slowly sitting up and rising from the pew. “Sunlight…!”

The wooden doors felt as if they were made of lead as he pushed them open, stumbling outside. He felt his heart drop as he looked up. Instead of clouds, the sun and a blue sky, there was steel. Steel, pipes and scaffolding, stretching out into a wedge that connected to a massive central pillar. To his left was another wedge, and another beyond it, though to his right there was only most of one mid-construction.

“Indirect sunlight,” Solomon sighed, feeling a trickle of energy flowing into him. “A circular city held off of the ground…why does this seem so familiar?” Shaking his head, he raised his left forearm up and twisted his wrist.

A display should've appeared on his skin; nothing happened. He blinked and shook his arm, and still nothing.

“...Am I really so tired I can't even access a function that basic?” He frowned, starting down the steps of the church. His foot slipped on the first step and he tumbled down the thankfully short flight, coughing dirt as he lay on his back. “ God…damn it…all…”

Struggling once more to stand, he barely had the energy to brush himself down and look around. There were more ruins of a similar stonework as the church, nearly buried under a sprawl of shacks made of rusted, corrugated metal that piled on top of each other. Surrounding all of it were rough rock walls and mountains of junk, with a path helpfully cutting through.

With heavy steps he set off down the path, the indirect sunlight and internal kinetic dynamos adding a bit more energy as he walked. As he went, his eyes took in everything around him. Whoever lives under this circular city has a very poor understanding of recycling, he thought as he passed what looked like a tank half-buried in junk and something that seemed to be a primitive mech.

He met no one in the path, and it eventually split. One fork led to a shantytown he could just make out in the distance, and the other to a junkyard. “Who knows what people here are like, I should search the junkyard for any trashed data modules, or batteries I can leech from…” Solomon blinked and shook his head, “I'm so tired I'm talking to myself…yeah, avoid people for now.”

Heading into the junkyard, he didn't find much; the trashed vehicles had only primitive onboard computers, as did the intact construction mechs. The lack of more advanced tech was annoying, but the amount of scrap would be useful. Unfortunately, what batteries he found were long dry, and feeling tired from searching for what had been hours, he found a relatively clean spot to sit down.

He'd closed his eyes, just to rest a bit, when he felt a tug around his neck. Opening his eyes slightly, just enough to peer through his eyelashes, he saw a hand pulling on his necklace.

“Hey, this looks like real gold and gems!” A rough male voice whispered, giving it another tug.

“Shhhhut up, don't wake the guy!” Another voice replied.

“I think he's dead, see how limp he is? Besides, what kinda dumbass would take a nap here?” Yet another voice added.

“Well in that case-” The hand on his necklace curled into a fist.

Solomon grabbed the man around the wrist and squeezed, getting a series of yelps from the surrounding men. “Don't,” he warned, tightening his grip until the fist fell away, then pushed them back as he stood up. He was glad to note that he had a good three inches on the tallest of them; looming over people was always nice.

“Woah, woah, woah!” The foremost of the four men, a greasy man with greasy goatee, held his hands up while shaking one out, “No need for the hostility, pal! We're just trying to wake you up before you got munched on by a fiend, right fellas?”

“And ‘waking me up’ involves trying to pull my necklace off?” Solomon asked dryly, “Thank you so much for interrupting my nap, please leave.” He quickly checked the shadows; his ‘little rest’ had taken about an hour and while he felt a bit more energized, he was still more tired than he could ever recall.

“Hey now, don’t be like that,” the greasy man smirked, “We did a good thing, me and my boys, and you know what they say about good turns, yeah? You got them fancy clothes so you gotta have some gil, why not share the wealth a bit?” By the grins and nods of the other men, they agreed.

Gil? It’s obviously money, but what kinda name is that? Is it based on fish scales or something? “You’d be wrong there,” he replied, turning out his pockets to show their lack of contents, “There’s also the saying ‘goodness is its own reward.’”

The greasy man’s smile turned down into a frown, his friends fanning out behind him as he cracked his knuckles. “Ya see, words are nice n’all, but that just ain’t gonna cut it for me, ya know?” He grinned nastily, “I mean, if you don’t have money, you don’t have money, so here’s the deal: hand over that shiny jewelry, that fancy vest and maybe , we won’t break your legs and your arms and leave you as a snack for the fiends.” His grin widened. “I'll have that belt and those shoes, too.”

Solomon arched an eyebrow. There were more of them, yes, and he was very low-energy but he was also a Nanite-Enhanced Cyborg and at his weakest he was still capable of punching through concrete. “How about, instead, I hand you your teeth after I’ve knocked them out of your mouth?” The men were lean and appeared fairly muscled, but he could tell that was because they had very little body fat as opposed to being that strong.

The man scoffed.

His senses twinged as a fist was swung at his head, his eyes widening as the air rippled from the force of the punch. What the-they’re fast! Solomon ducked and weaved as best he could with four enemies attacking, but a punch clipped his shoulder and made him stumble. Strong, too! The hell- A fist buried itself in his stomach and he folded over, air and spittle escaping his mouth, and a follow-up hook crashed against his cheek.

He found himself sprawling out in the dirt, skull ringing as he curled up, covering his head with his arm as blows rained down on him. All he could do was take the kicks and try to hold onto consciousness as a foot cracked against his ribs and pain threatened to overtake his senses.

Eventually, he wasn’t sure how long they’d been beating on him, they stopped and stepped back, breathing hard and laughing over his beaten body. Solomon slowly uncurled, bolts of agony lancing through his body as he tried to push himself up. Something bubbled inside of him and he coughed up a spray of blood, collapsing back into the dirt, as mind was lost in a haze.

“What was that about handin’ me my teeth?” The greasy man crowed, wiping his knuckles on his jacket with his boys standing beside him. He looked down at the dark metal bracelet circling his wrist and the glowing green orb slotted there, and an idea occurred. “Stand back boys, I’m about to light him up!”

Two of them clapped and cheered for the incoming light show, though the third frowned. “Er, boss? Won’t that damage the stuff we want?” he pointed out.

“Nah,” the leader waved him off, “They might be a little toasty, but it’ll be alright. Besides, I just bought this baby and I wanna use it!” He clenched his hand into a fist, an ethereal green glow surrounding him before he thrust his hand out.

A bolt of lightning blazed out of nowhere and slammed into Solomon's downed form. He jerked as a jolt of energy flowed through his body, the haze of pain retreating. What the… he blinked and groaned, feeling his nanites slowly getting to work, repairing the damage done to him.

“…What?” The boss said, looking down at his wrist, “That shoulda killed him…”

“Hit him again, I guess,” One of the boys shrugged.

He concentrated, calling in the magic flowing through the planet and himself, and cast Thunder again.

Solomon huffed as the rib puncturing his lung was removed, blinking as the fatigue that had been so prevalent was washed away by another bolt of lightning. Turning his wrist inward, his eyebrows arched as he saw the display active and reading 72% . Coughing to clear some of the blood away, he pushed himself up and rasped, “…What's the matter? Don't have enough juice to finish me off, huh?” He chuckled lowly, knowing what that would do.

The boss growled and clenched his fist, motes of magic glowing around him.

“Boss, maybe-”

Whatever the man was going to say was drowned out by the leader of the four shouting, “Fry, asshole!” And a third bolt struck Solomon.

100%

Saul shot to his feet and stretched, the bones in his torso cracking as they settled themselves back in place. “Ahhh yeah,” he practically purred, rolling his neck with a smile, “That's the stuff…”

His eyes snapped open, the blue and yellow orbs practically glowing in the dying light of day. The four men stepped back, unsettled by his eyes and smile.

Solomon lifted a hand, palm up and curled his fingers beckoningly. “Care to try again?” He asked casually, opening his arms as if for a hug.

The leader of the bunch, for all his many faults, at least had guts. He snatched a club from his belt and lunged at Solomon with a shout, charging across the short distance and bringing the club up for an overhead swing.

There was a moment right before the attack connected where the other man moved , a fist crashing against his sternum before he flew back, weapon leaving his hand while skidding across the dirt.

Solomon caught the club before it could fall, turning it over in his hands. It was a simple length of worn wood with what appeared to be duct tape wrapped around the handle for extra grip, and a primitive blunt head of metal planted with extra bolts for more damage. He bent it experimentally in his grip and was a little surprised to find that it didn’t break. Whatever’s made these guys stronger than they should be affected this, too. Some sort of environmental factor, then. His eyes found the leader of the thugs, winded and rubbing his chest as he tried to stand back up. A full power Tiger Drop from me would paste a normal human. That wasn’t full power, but he should be struggling to even breathe, let alone get back up. Hm. Something to investigate.

“W-what are you waiting for?” The head thug gasped, waving his arms, “Kick his ass again!”

The other three, though taken back by the sudden reversal of fortunes, charged forward as directed. Solomon winged the club at them, the blunt weapon bouncing off one thugs head and ricocheting to hit another, leaving a single enemy rushing towards him to throw a wild haymaker. He caught the swing with his arm, the other rocketing forward to land a palm strike to the bridge of the thugs' nose, swiftly followed by a sharp elbow to the temple that became a hand hooked around their neck, yanking them down to meet his rising knee. The thug barely had a second to register the spray of blood from their now-broken nose before Solomon whipped a kick to their chest, sending them rolling backwards.

The tumbling body tripped up one of the other goons just as they’d gotten back up; the other tried to jump over their friend, but caught one of their feet and landed with an awkward stumble before Solomon lunged forward to clothesline the man hard enough that they flipped and spun, landing on their knees. The other scrambled to their feet with a yell and charged only for the a hook to crash into their sternum, both of Solomon’s hands clapping over the thugs’ ears to make them reel; as they did, he spun, backhanding the kneeling thug and following through with an uppercut to the chin that lifted them off of their knees and back to their feet, spinning on his heel to grab the first man and reel them in for a headbutt that cracked their nose, turning again to land a thunderous slap on the second thug that had them twirl in place; Solomon snatched the man’s arm and spun him like they were dancing, leading the thug into colliding with the other.

As the two dazedly grabbed at each other, Solomon aimed two swift kicks at the inside of their knees to make them kneel, planted his foot and spun tightly with a hook kick that had his heel lashing against their skulls. They collapsed into a tangle of limbs that he swiftly stepped over.

The leader of the bunch, eyes wide with fear, stepped back as the taller man approached.

“What? Not as much fun when they fight back, eh?” Solomon asked casually, “It’s pretty fun for me, though I’m also not a coward who attacks a half-unconscious man with three guys for back-up.”

The greasy man snarled and lunged forward, and unlike the others his stance was at least decent, keeping his elbows tucked and jabbing swiftly. Solomon fended off the blows, deflecting them with tight, circular arm motions that redirected most of the force, though even that made his bones throb.

With frustration mounting, the greasy man yelled and unleashed a speedy combo of one-two-three jabs, the last aimed at Solomon’s stomach. Unlike last time, when his fist met the other mans’ abdomen, it didn’t sink into the flesh.

It felt much like punching a rock.

Howling in pain, the leader swung. The cyborg’s hand flickered out, grasping his wrist and twisting sharply, making his arm straighten painfully, before using it as a lever to lock his arm and bend him over to avoid dislocating his shoulder.

Solomon quirked an eyebrow at the metal bangle set with a glowing green marble, idly pulling it off of the thugs’ arm and pushing the man away. “So this is the source of that magic,” he muttered to himself, experimentally sliding it onto his own arm. A tickle of something like a memory brushed against his mind, and he knew that if he drew on that tickle he’d be able to call a lightning bolt down; it also told him that the orb was nowhere near its maximum power. “…Interesting.”

He heard the whoosh of displaced air and leaned back, letting the curled fist pass harmlessly in front of his face before retaliating with a punch to the leaders’ gut, bending the man over and following up with another to their face, sending them to the ground. Solomon looked over and found the other thugs groaning as they tried to stand; with a nod, he stepped over the boss, backed up a bit, then planted his foot and swung a rib-cracking kick into the downed man’s chest, launching the lead thug through the air to bowl the others over.

They didn’t try to get up again.

The second part of the fight had taken maybe a minute.

Solomon cracked his neck and gathered the four together, quickly looting their pockets and themselves of anything valuable; turnabout was fair play, after all. Then he grabbed a length of rebar sticking from a chunk of concrete and tried to pick it up, but it was too heavy to lift. Frowning, he drove his heel against the concrete until it cracked and broke, leaving rusty rebar in his hands and on the ground. “That’s not good,” he mumbled, eyeing the four and grabbing another length of rebar, twisting their ends together to make them longer, then looping it around the four and closing the loop. He spied the metal-tipped club he’d thrown and pointed his hand at it, the metal end twitching before it sluggishly rolled towards him.

His frown deepened as he looped portions of the rebar around the ends of the club and twisted it three times, pulling the loop closed and locking it, kinda. With that done, he looked to his loot. All of them had carried something between a wallet and a coin purse, though the leader’s had been the heaviest, laden with a handful of golden coins. Each had a head and a tail represented by what looked like a bird of some kind along ‘100’ stamped on the metal, which meant they must’ve been the ‘gil’ the thugs were looking for.

Why money was named after fish and had birds on it was the real question.

Still, by his account the foursome had carried around two-thousand three-hundred gil on them; though if the coinage was as similar to yen as it seemed that didn’t amount to all that much, but money was money.

Among the other loot was a pair of red armguards that seemed to have some sort of passive enchantment on them, which he’d study later, and a few white and blue bottles of a drink. Holding one up, he saw that they were a commercial product branded as ‘Health Potion Energy Drink!’ So is it just called that for branding, or is it actually a potion? Solomon popped the cork (which was weird in itself) and took a small sip, shivering lightly as soothing magic trickled into his body. Okay, so it is a health potion that they market as a drink. If this is as readily available as it seems, no wonder people are tougher - they’ve got to have more innate magic than apprentice mages on Earth!

And it tasted pretty good, too, somewhere between Sprite, cold mineral water and ginger ale.

Licking his lips, he stored the bottle in a pocket and kicked dirt at the leader’s face, making the unconscious man cough back to wakefulness. “Morning, princess,” Solomon greeted the paling man with a sharp smile.

“L-look man, we didn’t mean nothin’ by-” the head thug tried to push himself back, only to realize he was bound by rebar with his three cronies, all of whom were starting to wake up.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Solomon rolled his eyes, “Here’s the deal: you’re going to tell me everything I want to know…or I’ll break your arms and legs.” His grin sharpened as they paled at the callback.

The four thugs nodded quickly, chattering over each other. “Y-yeah, w-whatever you want!”

He held up his shiny new bangle and jiggled it, the glowing green orb glinting. “Let’s start with this… ”

…

“…Huh,” Solomon muttered, rubbing his chin in thought, “Midgar, Shinra, Mako, Materia, Lifestream…this all sounds familiar, but I can’t remember where I heard it before.” Something about Heaven? I think the number ‘seven’ is important, too, and the weather?

“I mean, yeah, this is all basic stuff,” the head thug pointed out, “What, you never went to school?”

“Hey, I never went to school,” one of the others protested.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re stupid,” another added.

Solomon looked up at the city and shrugged. Oh well, time to get to work. “You’ve been helpful gentlemen,” he said to the thugs, making them sigh in relief only to stiffen in outrage as he bounced a coin purse in his palm, “Thanks for the cash,” he flashed the bangle, “The bling,” then tapped his temple, “And the info. Seeya!” He gave them a cheerful wink and began to walk off.

“Wha-hey! Hey, get back here!” The leader shouted, kicking his feet fruitlessly, “You said you’d let us go!”

The taller man looked back at them, blinking. “…No I didn’t,” he said simply, “I said I wouldn’t break your arms and legs and hey look at that, I haven’t. I’m sure if you worked together you’d be able to bend the rebar enough to slip out, but frankly, I don’t give a shit.” He threw a wave over his shoulder before slipping his hands in his pockets and striding off, whistling.

Their shouts faded in the distance, and was that the roar of a fiend mixed in there somewhere? Oh well.

Solomon walked further into the junkyard until he found himself in a section that was a bit less cluttered than most. Sheets of thin metal were stacked everywhere, likely for some sort of construction project that had been abandoned or forgotten. There were no fiends or thugs there to ambush him, so it would work for a time.

Licking his lips, he called on his power and pointed his hand at a sheet, the metal rattling as it slowly levitated into the air. Sweat dripped down his face as he lethargically guided the sheet to lay down flat in front of him, then latched his power onto another. The second was placed standing vertically on one edge of the first, the metal screeching as he clenched his fist and forced the metal to conjoin. The join itself was messy but seamless, and the effort left Solomon panting for air.

Popping the cork of a Potion, he downed the whole thing in three quick gulps, sighing as energy flooded through his body. It wasn’t quite as filling as being struck with magical lightning, but it felt damn good all the same.

By the time he’d formed a box out of the metal sheets and carved a door out of the front, he’d drunk all but half of the Potions. “Shit,” he murmured, shaking the bottle to hear the liquid slosh inside, “I’m way weaker than I used to be. Time to find out.”

Stepping inside the shelter and shutting the door, he twisted his arm up and tapped a quick code into the display that lit up, getting a click that seemed to echo from his stomach. Flipping an invisible latch, his stomach, clothes included, slid to the side as a handle emerged from inside. Gripping it, his thumb pressed a button as he withdrew what looked like a small server from his torso, his torso sliding back as he set it on the ground. With a series of rapid, echoing clicks, the rectangular device unfolded up and out, becoming a double door made of matte black metal wide enough to fit four people walking side-by-side.

“Glad to see my Dimension Door still works,” Solomon muttered, tapping the door to open it, “Considering I grafted it to my soul , I would’ve been mad if it hadn’t…” he paused as he stepped inside, blinking as he took in a bare room, with only a bed, a fridge, a bathroom, a stove and a sink. The walls were a stark white and seemed to stretch out with the same amount of space as an empty warehouse. “…What the hell is this?!”

The Dimension Door should’ve led to his Lab, a theoretically infinite space that was almost its own town with around eight buildings; a private home to relax, a place each dedicated to furthering knowledge of Technology, Mechanics, Magic, Soul Harmonics, the Supernatural, a Matter Reformatter the size of a house along with a classic hotspring and a garden/farm.

Despite his dismay, Solomon didn’t despair. “Good thing I came prepared,” he whispered to himself, tapping in another code on his arm, a section of his stomach sliding away to reveal another handle, though this one was silver. Pulling it out revealed a small briefcase that then grew until it was larger than his torso; flicking the locks and popping the top showed only a black void that he reached into, retrieving a large technological cylinder that glowed from within, as it seemed to contain a miniature sun. Pulling a cord from the top, he inserted it into a small panel in the back of the briefcase which swiftly shifted forms until it barely resembled a briefcase.

The first was small Fusion Powercell, which could generate enough energy to run a small city for month, and the second was Portable Matter/Reformatter, or a ReforMatter as he called them, and the instant it had the power the machine began running the first program using the stored Omni-matter, programmable material in the form of white cubes, which was to create the pieces of a much larger ReforMatter and another powercell.

It would take time for the pieces to be made and assembled, so Solomon sat down on the bed. “Run deep scan,” he ordered, a holographic representation of his body appearing in front of him. As the scan progressed, his frown deepened.

Being a Nanite-Enhanced Cyborg was not the same as being a regular cyborg; a regular cyborg typically used machinery to replicate the processes of an organic function, such as hands, feet, entire limbs, organs, eyes or even sections of the brain depending on the level of technology. Nanite Enhancement was quite different, as the name implied it was less replacement and more bettering; with the nanites, he’d threaded his bones, muscles, veins and nervous system with various alloys that increased his strength, speed, reflexes and durability well beyond human capabilities and, of course, making sure that they would absorb excess electricity as power. 

They were much more useful than simple cybernetic prosthetics, as a man with a robot arm would need added support structure and restraints unless he wanted to tear his fancy new arm off by throwing a punch. The latest version of his nanites had allowed him superhuman feats, able to leap forty feet in the air from a standing position, punch through several inches of solid steel and the reflexes and durability to catch a .50 BMG round without injury, along with almost literal infinite stamina.

What made him a Nanite-Enhanced Cyborg were the devices he’d built into himself; a Caloric Reformatter that would literally change the food going down his throat into whatever his body needed most at the time, a gut biome that could digest and use almost the entirety of what he ate with the remainder being converted into fresh nanites for maintenance or storage; with no waste, his intestines were converted into nanite storage and battery space; his spine was a specialized device that could amp his nervous system to inhuman levels and sheath his body in an electromagnetic film that allowed him to stretch a single second to thirty from his point of view.

None of his enhancements dampened his humanity, either. He could still taste, touch, hear, smell and feel, as well as sleep and dream and, on one memorable occasion, have a psychotic break. He could dampen his emotions, but preferred not to.

Solomon was, simply put, the perfect combination of man and machine.

…Except that something was wrong .

“What the hell…?” He murmured, taking in the data the scan presented, “These are barely Gen 1 numbers!”

His Generation 1 nanites increased his physical attributes to the point that he could sweep the Olympics, but the fact that a group of untrained thugs had nearly put him into the ground even with them meant that they would be nowhere near enough. More pressing was his Magnesis; before, he'd been able to effortlessly lift, take apart and rebuild a car and have it run perfectly. Building his ramshackle ‘house’ would've knocked him flat on his ass if it hadn’t been for those potions.

“My Local Scan knocked me out, too,” he muttered, tapping his chin in thought as he peered at the green materia set into the bangle, “The Lifestream is the source of magic as well as the soul of the planet and everything living on it, and materia is the Lifestream crystallized from the liquid form, mako. Obviously, the magic here is much different from how it was back home, or other places…” Holding up a hand, he traced a small, simple magical circle in the air, one that would create intense friction in a small area to create a fire. Before he could even finish the formula, it fell apart and dissolved into motes of light. “…Okay, make that very different.”

Checking the progress of the ReforMatter and finding it close to halfway done with the first piece, Solomon flopped back onto his bed with a sigh. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift into meditation. Now to find out why I can’t remember how I got here… Searching through his memories, he found a gap. He’d been traveling through the Oversoul searching for something…and then there was nothing. Concentrating, he tried to focus on those lost moments but ran into something unusual; a seal. Not a lock on his memories, which would indicate someone was keeping that knowledge in an attempt to damage him, but a seal with his own signature no less. Why he’d sealed his own memories was, naturally, unknown but he trusted himself enough to know he wouldn’t set himself up to be destroyed, that the memories were removed for his own benefit.

Or because it was funny, he was an asshole like that.

There was something there, though…a message from a female voice that sounded familiar.

Cloud Strife…Aerith Gainsborough…they must survive.

Interesting. Again, those names sounded familiar, but he wasn’t sure why. The number seven, something about heaven, a very long sword, a reactor of some kind exploding, but nothing else came to mind. He dug a little deeper, not trying to unlock the seal but just get a bit more from it…and there was that voice again.

“If he can stack the deck in his favor, then so can I, dammit!”

Solomon opened his eyes and sat up. “So, I’m in a new world, again , no Jade, no Ddraig, with all of my capabilities weakened like I’ve been busted back to level 1…” A grin crossed his face, “Excellent! A new adventure, just like I wanted!” He gazed thoughtfully at the empty space inside his Dimension Door. “Yup, there’s plenty of room for a hydroponics garden.”

Part of his Dimension Door soul-graft included a kit filled with data and samples of various plants and animals, enough that if he had ended up on an empty planet he could populate it with flora and fauna like Earth. It would take time to set up the machinery and resources needed to begin growing, but there was plenty of junk in the scrapyard.

“First things first, I need to make some assistants,” Solomon murmured, “And I’ve got just the designs!”

…

There were many questions when it comes to beginning in a new world the first being:

Money? Yes.

While it would be fairly simple to just print it, depreciating the economy always had a way of coming back with a vengeance, which led to another question: how to make money?

There is a universal truth, one that is exemplified no matter the world, magic or no magic, technology or not, post-apocalypse or not…

People Gotta Eat.

…

Her name was Tifa Lockhart, and she was hungover. Not the serious kind of hungover that would leave her bedridden until she fixed it, but just enough that she internally cursed the sun for being too bright, the ground crunching under her feet for being too loud, and everything else for just generally being too much. She wasn’t that much of a drinker despite owning and running a bar, just the occasional drink after work to wind down, but she’d had a good reason last night.

The month before had marked her fourth year since her hometown had been razed to the ground and she’d lost her father. The day before had been her father’s birthday. She had a drink in her father's memory, then another for her mother's memory, another in her home’s memory, and then another to repress those memories again.

On her way to her bar, hoping she didn't look quite as miserable as she felt, Tifa felt her stomach grumble. The thought of waiting for her oven to kick on and warm up what would inevitably be a greasy, cold-in-the-middle meal made her gut churn, but a scent carried on the breeze made her mouth water. Following that scent led her to a food truck not that far from her bar, one that had popped up the day before with no warning.

Saul's D-Lights, the sign read. She'd seen it while taking part in a bit of rubbernecking along with basically everyone else in Section Seven, but the mysterious owner had made no appearance. At the time she'd shaken her head and moved on, certain that the new truck would eventually leave; under the plates, being ‘mysterious’ usually meant ‘criminal’ and not in an acceptable way like Avalanche.

Not so this morning, though, as steam wafted out of the open truck and carried with it the scent of breakfast. Her carmine eyes swept a sign planted just a bit away from a mismatched collection of chairs and tables.

Tifa blinked. The prices listed for dishes were more than reasonable, almost suspiciously so, especially the ‘Special’ which only read: A meal designed specifically for you! Sucking her teeth, the bartender rolled the idea around in her head before convincing herself to bite the bullet. If it turned out to be some sort of scam or the food was trash, her gut could take it and then she'd let the rest of the neighborhood know. If it was some kind of scheme to trap people, she’d kick their ass…if it wasn't, though, then she got breakfast.

“Um, hello?” She called tentatively as she approached the counter, looking over it into a rather neat and well-ordered kitchen with the remains of a sandwich on a plate. Tifa debated whether or not to hit the small bell before a door further back opened, a man emerging from within with a music box tucked under his arm that he set nearby and activated, a peppy acoustic guitar playing from the speaker. She let her eyes sweep over him, cataloguing all she saw.

He was well-dressed, with black shoes and pants, a belt around his waist and a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Over that was a vest of what looked like leather, colored a rich burgundy with a tree etched on the back. Then he turned around to face her, and she saw the rest. A few buttons near the collar were undone, displaying a necklace of some sort of blue bird, and there was a design of a sun and moon interlocked inside of an infinity symbol on his breast pocket which contained a white pocket square. All in all, it was a little flashy and the clothes were obviously pricey, but not the kind of pricey that meant millions of gil, and fairly practical.

The man jumped, bumping against the table and nearly knocking the music player over. “Oh jeez!” He coughed, patting his chest. She noticed a pair of rings on his fingers, one a simple gold band with a green stone and the other blue and gold, along with a band of some red woven material around his wrist. “I didn’t see you there! Sorry, didn’t mean to jump outta my skin here…” He coughed into his hand, a bit of color in his cheeks. “Ahem…hello. How can I help you?”

Tifa allowed herself a smile. “Hi,” she greeted him with a cheerfulness she didn’t exactly feel, “Are you open? I was hoping to get some food…”

He blinked at her, nonplussed. “A customer…” he pointed at her, “My first customer! Here, anyway…alright!” He clapped excitedly, bouncing on his heels, “Yes, we’re open for business! One sec-” He pulled the door open and hurried inside, where there was a quiet shuffling before he reappeared at the counter, now wearing a plain white apron. “How can we D-Light you today?”

Feeling a bit more pep at the sheer excitement he was giving off, she gave the menu a once-over and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “…What's this Special all about?”

“Ah, I'm glad you asked!” He replied, rubbing his hands together, “The Special is my signature, it calls upon the special bond between cook and customer, maker and consumer, which will reveal to me the meal best suited to you, and only you. The process is a little esoteric, but the results are always worth it.”

Tifa mulled it over for a second, thinking of her regulars and how some enjoyed drinks that were slightly different from the original recipe. “…Alright, I'll try that, then.”

His smile faded into a serious look. “Very well,” he nodded, holding out a hand, “Hand.”

She blinked and laid her hand on his, palm up, her fingers relaxed but her arm tensed in case he tried anything funny. A part of her noted she'd forgotten her armored gloves, which she blamed on her hangover.

The man peered at her palm searchingly, eyes tracing the lines in her pale flesh, almost touching them with the tip of a finger. He nodded to himself and looked at her, and she realized his eyes were blue and yellow, the yellow spreading from the pupil like the arms of the sun. “Look up,” he pointed and looked up himself, and she followed. “Look down,” she did and felt a tap on her head as his hand withdrew.

He stepped back, holding a single, long black hair between his fingers before curling it up into a little thread, drawing what looked like a small perfume bottle from under the counter. He flicked the lid and a small purple flame emerged from the tip, which he fed the thread into. It burned away and he followed the smoke with his eyes, nodding to himself. “Alright!” He clapped his hands with a confident smirk curling his lips, “I know what to make!”

Tifa leaned on the counter as the cook seemed to forget she was there, watching with interest as he almost danced through the kitchen.

He pulled off his rings and bracelets, washed his and dried his hands before drawing bowls, whisks and a pan from beneath and getting to work. He cracked eggs into one bowl using only a single hand, separating the whites from a few before tossing a couple slices of bacon in the pan. As it cooked he whipped the whites into a foamy froth, adding milk and spices to the eggs and blending them into a creamy batter. He flipped the bacon and pulled a loaf of bread from a drawer, cutting a couple hearty slices from it before soaking them in the batter and tossing them in the pan. Pouring the whites into another pan, he molded it into a rectangle before flipping the bread then slathering a generous portion of peanut butter and jelly on either side.

Taking the now crispy bacon, he folded it into the egg whites before placing it on one side of the toasted bread, making a sandwich with the other. Using a spatula, he picked up the sandwich and poured the rest of the batter into the pan, letting it cook for a bit before placing the sandwich in the center, making a few small cuts before folding the batter around it like an envelope and giving it a flip. As it cooked, he poured steaming water into a teapot etched with lavenders and dropped a few pinches of sweet-smelling herbs inside.

Then he grabbed a napkin and flipped the sandwich over his shoulder into it, pouring the steeped tea into a cup and presenting both to Tifa with a grand gesture. “Behold! Your special: The Ulta, the Ultimate in Breakfast Sandwiches…and jasmine oolong tea.”

She clapped obligingly and giggled as he bowed, taking the sandwich in her hands and breathing in the scent before taking an impolitely-large bite. It was…everything she wanted at the moment. Sweet, hearty, a little salty and a little tart, every element of the sandwich combining together into an explosion of flavor that satisfied her stomach (and dealt with her hangover). Tifa blinked and suddenly her hands were empty, the torn corner of a napkin in her mouth. It took her a second to realize she’d practically inhaled the thing, her face burning at the knowing look on the cook’s face…and the realization that she still hadn’t gotten his name.

He handed her a second sandwich and poured himself a cup of tea with a satisfied smile on his face. “And that’s what makes the Special, so special,” he said more than a bit smugly, “Everything you want and need.”

“This is really good,” she murmured, taking a small bite and chewing slowly, “So…I’m guessing your name is Saul?”

He paused, teacup poised to be sipped from. “…Oh hell, I forgot to introduce myself,” he muttered, tapping himself on the temple, “Solomon White, at your service, though you can call me Saul. A pleasure, Ms. First Customer.” He toasted her with the teacup and she took the one handed to her to do the same.

“Tifa Lockhart,” she replied, noticing him pausing and squinting.

“Tifa Lockhart…” Saul whispered, rolling the name around in his mind, “Why does that sound so familiar…?”

She jacked a thumb over her shoulder at Seventh Heaven behind her. “I own the bar.”

“…Oh yeah,” he nodded, “The guy I bought this spot off of mentioned something about not being able to compete with you…along with some colorful invectives I won’t share.” He tilted his tea cup at her, “A pleasure to meet and serve you, Ms. Lockhart.”

As Tifa made to take a sip of her tea, a familiar, eggy scent hit her nose. “…You know the water quality isn’t the best down here, right?” She asked, setting the cup down.

He blinked at her. “Well yeah, I’ve got filters for that kinda thing.”

She buried a smirk in her sandwich and watched him take a drink of his tea. His lips puckered, expression curdling as he barely resisted the urge to spray the tea from his mouth, instead turning and spitting in the sink.

“What in the hell?” He coughed, rubbing his arm against his tongue, “I just put those filters on yesterday, there’s no way…” He disappeared under the counter, and she could hear the shuffling of goods and quiet clanking of someone vainly digging in a cupboard. “What?! How the hell did they…oh, crap.” He emerged from under the counter, a harried look on his face. “Shit, I can’t use water that tainted…” he scrubbed a hand through his hair, eyes darting about for a solution before landing Tifa. “Hey…you’re a local, right? You…wouldn’t happen to know where a guy could get some extra strength water filters, do you?”

Tifa smiled, carmine eyes sparkling. “I might, yeah.”

Saul clapped his hand together. “Please, you gotta help me out! I’ll comp your meal!”

And just like that, another source of revenue for Avalanche was secured. You know what, this guy might not be too bad to have around, Tifa thought as she made a deal.

…

…

…

…

…

…

A/N: I’ve been meaning to post this for a long time, but I keep forgetting. Here’s the first chapter of Integrate which, as the title says, is about Integrating this Saul into the world and story of FF7, the Remake and Rebirth continuity. I’m curious to see how people like it.

Also, this Saul is technically the same as the one from Deus Ex Machina (kinda), but you don’t need to be familiar with that story.

Not much to say in this first note, besides that chapter 2 is already finished.

Stay Awesome.

~Soleneus

Chapter Text

Business was slow.

Turns out, living quite literally under the shadow of the upper class meant the communities under the Plates tended to be quite close-knit, who knew. Solomon had set up shop in Sector Seven for over a week now and even with Tifa’s endorsement (she'd gotten breakfast and even lunch almost every day) his customer base could generously be called ‘threadbare.’

There'd been a few new customers, including a man whose neat suit stood out compared to how most dressed under the plates, a larger man with a friendly demeanor and a skinnier man with a friendly smile, along with a rather pretty woman with…almost too friendly eyes. Those last three all constantly wore bits of armor and carried weapons, as they were apparently part of the local militia that kept the fiends in line, and all wore red bandannas, too, which the other members of the local militia didn’t…hm.

Solomon nodded and smiled at the old woman with the poofy hair as she returned her bowl. She was the landlord of some apartment building nearby, with a rather sharp tongue and critical eyes. Thankfully he hadn’t had any real problems with the locals, just suspicious looks. Checking the time on his watch, he washed the bowl and set it to dry, clicking his tongue at a pair of BBs hanging out in the back of the kitchen, directing them to close the truck down.

Lunch was long over and the dinner rush was about to begin, but he’d made the decision to close before the ‘Long Walk Home’ began, where the typical nine-to-fivers stumbled off the train and down the street, bracketed by other shops. It was in the name of fair play, really, as those other places didn’t have access to a Personal Dimension with a large hydroponics garden or cloning vats where they could grow fresh fruits, vegetables, cow, pig, chicken and herbs in a fraction of the time it would take in reality, nor did they have robotic assistants to handle said garden and vats.

If he really wanted, Saul could’ve overtaken the other shops, they simply couldn’t match the quality of his food. Instead, he let them have the dinner rush, more in the hopes that it would make the locals a little more trusting. Maybe they’d think he was generous…or more likely they’d think he was a pretentious idiot for leaving money on the table, but as long as it made Tifa give him an appreciative (if bemused) look, it was worth it.

Saul stuck his hands in his pockets as he moseyed around Sector Seven, lost in thought. There was something about the bartender that stuck with him, and not just the two big, obvious reasons…naturally red eyes were a rare and dare he think it, beautiful feature. Almost the color of fresh blood, but softer and far more intriguing.

He blinked as something rubbed against his leg and glanced down, finding a cat purring as it pushed its head against his skin. Kneeling, he scratched it behind the ears and stroked- he made a quick check- her head. “One of Wedge’s cats,” he muttered, “Hope he’s not still mad I thought his name was Biggs. I mean, it makes sense, don’t it?” The cat meowed at him and threaded through his legs. “Yes, you won’t judge me on anything besides my scritches, will you kitty?”

There was something about Tifa that niggled his brain, something that told him she was just as important as ‘Cloud Strife’ and ‘Aerith Gainsborough,’ whoever they were. And not just because she was stunning…which brought him back around to the whole ‘closing before the dinner rush’ thing. Honestly, it wasn’t like he needed the money from the truck; like he’d done last time, he’d acted quick to establish some passive means of income.

About a Month Ago…

“Midgar Records? Yes, I’m Saul, thank you for meeting with me. These guys? They’re part of the band, don’t worry about them. Yes, I have a few tracks I think you’ll want to hear…”

Now.

With a memory like his and complete control of his body, it was child's play for Saul to recreate massive musical hits from his original world and pass them off as his own. It wasn’t like the original band was around to protest, and with a couple word changes here and there those hits were now being listened to on another world. He’d like to think the original band would be glad to hear that, knowing their songs were being heard even across time and space.

And if there was some sort of multi-dimensional Copyright bureau, they’d have to serve him the Cease and Desist in person…and also kiss his ass, he needed that money.

Besides, they’d also need to serve him another for the books he’d copied.

Generating passive income through media took a bit of time to gain steam, but it only took one song going viral to rake in some cash. And he knew quite a few bangers.

Petting the kitty one more time, Saul stood and continued his wandering. His lips quirked as he heard one of his songs being played as he passed the potions shop, though it faded as his thoughts wandered off.

His reasons for needing money were manyfold and just as varied, but boiled down to one simple fact: his tech level sucked. The Gen 1 nanites that he had currently put him on equal footing with most people in this world, with a couple of boosts coming from his other upgrades, but that was nowhere near enough…and making the necessary alloys and circuits needed to level him up was taking far too long.

The level of magic on The Planet had done something to everything, where wood, metal, plants looked and oftentimes acted similar to what they did on Earth, but were somehow way stronger than they should be. The magic wasn’t just an extra layer on top of the atomic structure, it was built into it. Magic was completely natural, completely saturated and it threw off every single one of his calculations. And when it came to creating nanites for himself, there had to be no margin for error.  Unfortunately for him, even something as simple as iron had a completely different atomic structure.

It all came down to data, and he didn’t have enough of it. He’d modified his ReforMatters to scan and compile everything they broke down, but that took time in their primitive Gen 1 states, time that could better be spent on making more money.

There was another issue with the magical saturation. Every breath of air he took, every sip of water or bite of food introduced more magic into his body, and while his nanites were excellent at keeping him in top shape, they weren’t able to seamlessly integrate it into his body. He’d been reduced to primitive channels made to keep it from joining his systems, but simply existing on The Planet was pouring more and more of it into his body. Eventually, he would have to integrate it, but his nanites wouldn’t be able to handle it…and they would start to break down.

If he was lucky, he’d just die. If he was unlucky…being slowly reduced to a pile of gooey flesh and inert metal was not his idea of a pleasant death.

He needed more data, and fast. Unfortunately, he had no way of getting his hands on it in the quantities he needed. The best tech would give the best data, and all the best stuff was made by Shinra, and they charged an arm and a leg for it. Being an up-and-coming singer/author did not give him the clout or cash he’d need to get his hands on the type of tech he needed…not yet, anyway. And he didn’t particularly trust his abilities enough to make infiltrating them viable.

The clock was ticking.

Also, the materia connected to his soul so he could still cast magic, but nowhere near the highest levels it could reach and that was just unacceptable. He’d been considered an Archmage on Earth (though he preferred the title of Sorcerer Supreme ) and being stuck at basic bitch-level spells was bullshit he couldn’t stand for.

“Guess I know what I’m doing tonight,” Saul muttered to himself, sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, “Tinkering with tech…like always.” He blinked and looked around, realizing he’d made a complete circuit of the Sector and was now standing at the steps of Seventh Heaven. “…A couple of drinks wouldn’t go amiss.”

He would also freely admit that he’d seen Tifa training one morning, and she'd been using a piece of steel siding wrapped around a concrete pillar as a punching bag. She'd been putting dents in that thing with her bare hands, and he could tell she was holding back. There was no way in any Hell that he would stick to the sidelines in whatever adventure she would eventually get pulled in to, and he was sure as shit no benchwarmer.

Walking up the steps, he pushed open the doors and heard a hushed conversation go silent as he entered, seeing Biggs, Wedge and Jessie huddled around a table with another large figure, both literally and figuratively.

Barret was a big man, nearly a head and a half taller than Saul (who was no shorty) and definitely twice as wide. Thickly muscled, dark skinned, wearing sunglasses even at night and just plain loud… Barret was also very suspicious, which probably had to do with the fact that he was the leader of AVALANCHE, who, as far as Saul could tell, considered themselves freedom fighters rebelling against Shinra. He'd heard the big man loudly (and often) espousing the virtues of Avalanche and how big of bastards Shinra were for exploiting the Planet, a lack of subtlety that should've gotten them all blackbagged by said corporation…except that they were also part of the local militia who policed the town.

The fact that he had a large gun for an arm probably also had something to do with it.

Avalanche were considered terrorists, but by his short time interacting with them, Saul found he liked them quite a bit, so he pretended not to notice Wedge panicking and trying to stuff what looked like blueprints down his pants and Jessie slapping her hand down on top of them to stop him. They pretended not to notice his pretending not to notice.

Barret scowled at him. “Do you mind?” He growled, “This is a private function!” Jessie neatly folded the plans up and slipped them in a pocket, sending a friendly wink Saul's way.

“Probably should've locked the door then,” Solomon replied dryly, leaning on the door jamb. A small girl in a pink dress leaned over from behind Barret and waved at him excitedly. “Hey Marlene! How are you?”

Marlene was Barret’s daughter and a very sweet girl, and the big man was very protective of her which he could understand. “Hello Mister!” Her bright smile turned into a frown as she pointed at him, “Smoking is bad!”

“That’s right, Marlene, it is bad,” Tifa agreed, shooting the cyborg a small, apologetic smile, “Can you do that outside?”

“Yeah, you tryin’ to choke my daughter?” Barret grumbled, glaring at him.

Solomon rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. “Alright, alright, I’ll take my deathstick outside,” he sighed, pulling a chair over near the window and sitting with his back to it. Both to give them a clear sightline of him so they could see he wasn't eavesdropping, and so they could see that the smoke he exhaled was a light red. His deathsticks were actually heat-activated nanites that scrubbed and repaired the lungs and esophagus, and also tasted like strawberry. Marlene getting any of his ‘smoke’ second-hand would probably make her healthier, ironically.

He could feel a couple pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head, so he entertained himself by trying to blow smoke rings in the shape of a heart. He wasn't completely successful at that, but it let his mind wander as he heard a muffled plan of attacking a Shinra depot from inside.

Back on Earth, magic was something that A: had to be channeled by someone capable of doing so (not to say accidental magic didn't occur) and B: was a separate if natural element. Making a truly magical weapon, armor or equipment was akin to adding carbon to iron to get steel, while simply layering magic over top of an existing weapon was just lazy and stupid and really not all that smart in the long run.

Here, on The Planet, it was Nature. Again, it was in everything. Every molecule of oxygen carried an extra molecule of magic, every drop of water held a drop of magic, everything down to the wood he sat on had more magic ingrained in it than an entire temple back on Earth. An active temple.

In several ways, it was a very exciting development because it was an entirely new method of science and magic. In several other ways it was complete bullshit. Magic on Earth could be used to skip steps in ways that made sense- instead of rubbing two things together to produce friction, allowing one of those things to exceed its limit and burn, you could simply write the proper formula to skip all the work, pour in some power and bam, a handful of fire. Then you needed the proper formula so you didn’t burn yourself and could project it or do whatever, but here…

On Earth, magic was 1 + 1 = 3

Here, it was 1 + 1 = 42

From what Saul understood, Materia was condensed, crystalized memories of previous magic users…that's what was considered common knowledge, but he knew the truth: it was soul. If the Planetologists were right and the Lifestream and the Mako it produced was the afterlife, and he was sure they were, then it explained much.

Using the soul to exceed the capabilities of the body wasn't new to him, but the sheer amount was surprising, and how neatly it was set up, too. Some parts of a soul were condensed and crystallized into Materia, someone else got their hands on it and used it for whatever, attuning their own soul to it to the point they eventually wouldn't even need it…then, when they died, that part of their soul could serve as the basis for another of the same Materia or more. It was very much like planting a seed to harvest the fruits for their future seeds.

More than that even, it explained just how regular people could take hits that would've splattered a normal human on Earth, besides having Healing Potions sold in every store and vending machine, cheaper than regular unfiltered water, even. As well, it was a well-known phenomenon that when people fought, if the battle lasted long enough, they could break past their limits and bust out some crazy shit. Every hit taken was absorbed by both the body and soul, and with experience both could tank frankly ridiculous amounts of damage.

The videos of SOLDIERS he'd seen on the internet (or whatever it was called) had been enlightening.

Feeling heat on his fingers, Solomon blinked and realized he'd smoked down to the butt. Snuffing the end with his thumb, he stood from the chair and walked into Seventh Heaven, flicking the butt in the trash as he went. Evidently by the way no one made an excuse to stop him, Avalanche had finished their planning and broken up into little groups. Barret was sitting at the counter next to Marlene as she showed him a drawing, while Biggs, Wedge and Jessie sat at a table a bit away and Tifa manned the counter.

He pulled up a stool with a sigh as she approached him with a welcoming smile. “So, what'll it be?”

He hummed in thought for a moment before lightly slapping his hand on the counter. “Chocolate milk, please.” He said simply.

Barret slowly turned to look at him. Marlene giggled into her hand. Tifa met his gaze levelly, slowly arching an eyebrow until he finally chuckled. “Your usual, then?” She replied with amusement on her face.

“A Bitter Springs, yes,” Saul nodded, laying some gil on the counter and watching as the beautiful bartender mixed his favorite drink together.

One part cranberry juice (or equivalent) with one part vodka (or equivalent) and a twist of lemon (or equivalent) mixed with club soda. Bitter but refreshing, hence the name. She set the bright red drink in front of him as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a lunchbox that definitely didn’t fit inside, cracking it open and pulling a barbeque pork sandwich from within, which ironically received more attention.

Boy hadn’t that been a brain-twister, realizing ‘Bags of Holding’ were so common literally everyone had one, or multiple? It’d taken all of his self-control not to react that first night when Tifa had come back to his truck and pulled a pair of filters seven inches in diameter from her skirt pockets. Though, this was the same place where their vending machines not only sold health and magic potions, but also magic foci and enchanted armor.

The salty-sweet meat of the sandwich paired perfectly with the bitter refreshment of his drink, and Saul nodded to himself as he ate. Then he looked up and saw Tifa glancing at his food while trying not to look like she was, and in the reflection of the bar in his glass he could tell Wedge especially was doing the same. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat and swiveled on his stool, turning to look at them. The larger man hurriedly looked up at the ceiling, whistling ‘inconspicuously’ while Biggs silently shook his head and Jessie openly eyed him rather hungrily, “Would anyone else care for a sandwich?”

“If you’re alright with sharing…”

Solomon silently pushed the lunchbox into the space between himself and Barret and gestured to it. He’d made plenty, after all.

There was a little rush as a certain foodie made to go first, but was held back by his slimmer friend.

Tifa bit into one of the sandwiches and hummed, nodding. “Mmm, this is really good,” she muttered, eyeing the gun-armed man with a small smirk, “Barret, would you like to try one?”

“No, I’m not hungry,” Barret replied gruffly, only to glance over as his daughter tugged on his arm.

“Daddy, can I have one?” She asked, eyes pleading.

The bulky man sighed, completely unable to resist. He turned to ask, only to find Solomon holding a pair of sandwiches out to him. Barret took them both, handing one to Marlene, who dug in happily. “Smug little…” he grumbled to himself, taking a grudging bite and going still. His shoulders slumped minutely. “…This is really damn good.”

“Told ya, boss!” Wedge lightly thumped the larger man on the shoulder, “You should totally get a Special sandwich! We’ve all got one- except for you, Marlene, sorry- we could make it an Ava- a group thing!”

“Hey, not all of my Specials are sandwiches,” Solomon pointed out, the ice rattling in his cup, “Yours are, for some reason, but not everyone’s…at least I hope so.” He blinked as Jessie slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Aw, does that mean we’re extra special?” She teased, fluttering her eyelashes. “How sweet-”

There was a sudden grinding and the lights flickered and died. “Oh dammit, the generator went out!” Tifa exclaimed in the sudden darkness, “Er, I mean… dang it. Sorry.”

“It’s probably that ancient converter of yours again,” Jessie sighed, and Saul could feel her hair tickling his cheek, “I keep saying you need to get it replaced.”

“It’s not like brand-new converters get dumped all that often,” the bartender replied, followed by a click and a beam of light shining at the ceiling, “Would you mind-?”

“Nope! I’ll go take a look, just be sure to have my reward ready!” The redhead chirped, agilely hopping the counter and recovering admirably as her foot got caught and she stumbled into Tifa. “Back in a bit!” Then she snatched the flashlight and disappeared out of the back door.

There was another quiet click and an electric lantern lit up, bathing the counter in light.

Solomon studied the bartender in the low light,watching her quietly fret over the lack of power just before rush hour, the light glimmering dully off of the metal reinforcing her gloves. He jumped as a meaty hand clapped his shoulder.

“-a burger, right?” Wedge asked.

“What?” Saul blinked, glancing at him. Biggs was repressing a knowing smile while Barret was glowering.

“Barret's special sandwich! You think it'd be a burger, right?” The friendly man asked.

Solomon glanced at the big man, still wearing his sunglasses at night in a dark bar, thickly muscled arms almost as large as his torso, scars and all. “…No, it'd be…a crepe with peanut butter, clotted cream, strawberries and chocolate drizzle.”

Barret stuttered, stumbling over an outraged exclamation. “Wh-you-what- are you makin’ fun of me?!”

“Of course not, I take my Specials very seriously!” Saul shot back, rapping his knuckles on the countertop, then held his hands out to indicate size. “…It’d be a big crepe.”

The big man grumbled under his breath and silence fell, broken only by the cook rapping his knuckles gently on the counter and the quiet cursing echoing from the back of the bar.

“…You know-”

“-Alright, I gotta make one,” Saul announced suddenly, standing up and nearly knocking his stool over, “Be back in a minute!” And then he practically rushed from the bar.

“...I was going to say,” Biggs continued a little awkwardly, “That actually sounds pretty good. Boss, don’t you think you’re being a little bit hard on the guy? I know he’s new and all, but he seems nice.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem,” Barret growled, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses.

Tifa cocked her head thoughtfully. “Being reasonable is a problem?”

“He’s too reasonable, too nice,” the cyborg replied, fidgeting with his gun arm, “Tryin’ to ingratiate himself with Avalanche…I smell Shinra. Might be tryin’ to take us down from the inside.”

Biggs shared a grimace with Tifa, knowing the possibility was all too real. “C’mon, boss, no one who makes food this good could be a bad guy!” Wedge interjected, lightly bouncing on his heels, “We should give him a chance! And plus, my cats like him!”

“Probably because he smells like food,” Barret pointed out, tapping a temple, “I bet he does it on purpose, just to make you think that! And-”

The doors burst open as Solomon reentered the bar, a tray carried on a hand. “-Crepes!” He announced, looking somewhat harried as he set the tray down on the counter and quickly gulped down the rest of his drink. “Sorry about that, when the idea popped into my head I just had to go and make it…” He shook his head with a sigh, looking to Barret and waving at the largest crepe wrapped in a napkin, “Go on, try it. I wanna see if I was right.”

Barret glowered at him, gun arm clicking. “No,” he said bluntly.

Saul stared at him, brows furrowing. There was a moment where the observers figured the cook would let it lie as he had before, except… “…The hell you mean, ‘no?’” He puffed up indignantly, “I had to turn my oven back on and dirty like twenty dishes to make those!”

“And who’s fault is that?!” The big man shot back, shoving back from the bar to loom over him, “I don’t remember askin’ you to do a damn thing!”

“You didn’t have to ask, I did it because I wanted to see if I was right!” The cook retorted, glaring up at him, jabbing a finger at the other man’s massive chest, “I reopened my shop, dirtied my dishes and I’m not even asking you to pay for it, the least you could do is try the damn crepe!”

“Guys…” Biggs interjected, trading bewildered looks with the others, “Are you seriously fighting over free food?”

“Daddy?” Marlene interjected, making Barret look back at her, “It smells really good…can I try one?” Her eyes were wide and pleading, and not just because of the food.

Barret inhaled sharply, seemingly building up another head of steam before he sighed explosively and slumped. “Yeah, but let Daddy try one first, okay?” He hesitated before grabbing the largest crepe and biting into it, his features growing taut. “…S’good,” he mumbled, carefully tearing the treat apart and handing the smaller section to his daughter.

Solomon nodded to himself and quietly hummed a victorious tune, going to take a drink before remembering that his glass was empty. The lights snapped back on, drawing a whoop from Wedge and a relieved sigh from Tifa, and a triumphant Jessie returned to the bar with raised arms like a champion. The bartender mixed her a drink that the redhead downed with gusto as she sat next to Saul, her eyes sparkling. “So, it wasn’t because I had my head stuck in Tifa’s generator, did I actually hear someone shouting at Barret?”

The cook coughed into his hand. “Yeah, I…sorry about that, Tifa,” he shot her an apologetic smile and shaking his head, “Crepes…can't believe I got that worked up about it, that's gotta be one of the dumbest things…”

The bartender shrugged good-naturedly. “Well, it's not like I'm unfamiliar with people shouting in here. Though they usually have a few more drinks in them…” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, a teasing tilt to her lips.

He pushed his empty glass towards her. “A house special, please,” he asked obligingly.

As she went about putting his drink together, Wedge leant on the counter. “Why did you get worked up about it? Believe me, I understand the importance of good food, but that seemed a little over the top.”

“It's a creative thing, you know? You get an idea, you pour your heart’n’soul into it and then they don’t even wanna try it?” Solomon shrugged, cheeks red as he scratched his neck, “I mean, wouldn’t you be kinda mad?”

“Yep!” Jessie nodded brightly.

“I mean, maybe a little,” Tifa commented, setting his red drink in front of him and grinding a bit of salt into it.

“‘Heart and soul,’ though?” Biggs added, leaning on the counter with an amused smirk, “Might be an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

Saul gave him an offended look. “Dude!” He scoffed, gesturing towards Barret as the big man listened to his daughter telling him about her drawing with rapt attention, “That crepe right there is perfect for him. It’s got peanut butter, with my blend especially being packed with extra protein, clotted cream for a little light sweetness, strawberries for a little tartness and chocolate to tie it all together. It’s not too sweet, not too tart, a little fruity and a little earthy, it’s got everything a big man needs and a few things he wants, but especially…it’s fairly healthy and big enough to share.”

He pointed to Marlene, who was happily munching on the bit her dad had torn off for her.

“Oh…” Biggs hummed thoughtfully, “You know, when you put it that way, I can kinda see it.”

“What does mine mean, then?” Wedge interjected, eyes bright.

“The Everlong, sausage diced and sauteed with mushrooms and onions then scrambled with eggs and served with whipped cream cheese on a toasted hoagie,” Solomon listed off, “Most people hear the sausage part and think it’s unhealthy, but it’s packed with enough calories, protein and carbs that it’s practically breakfast and lunch in the same meal, perfect for someone who works a lot and has a big appetite.” He pointed at Biggs. “The Checker, made with peanut and almond butter, strawberry and grape jelly with a scoop of marshmallow fluff then toasted. On the surface a simple sandwich, but more complex under the surface and also sweet and gooey on the inside.”

“Gotta admit, he’s got you nailed there, Biggs!” Jessie chuckled, lightly punching him on the shoulder before turning to Saul. “What about me? What does my sandwich say to you?”

“The Wahine, spicy pineapple jelly, cured pork, white cheese on toasted bread,” the cook replied, tapping a finger against his glass, “Spicy, sweet, a little salty and very complex-” the redhead turned to Tifa and preened, waggling her eyebrows, “-and also definitely not to everyone’s taste. Tifa’s is the Ulta, French toast with peanut butter and jelly, egg white sponge and bacon covered in a batter envelope. It’s hearty without being heavy, with everything a fit, working stiff needs to start the day.”

“…Why an envelope?” Biggs asked.

“Also what’s ‘French?” Wedge added.

Saul stiffened for a second then blinked. “Oh right, it refers to the method of battering and cooking bread, and the envelope, well, it’s an envelope. However pretty the outside of a thing is, it’s just meant to hold all the good stuff on the inside and protect it. The best things are always beneath the surface.”

Tifa’s eyes widened, a bit of color in her cheeks. The (worst? best?) part had been that he’d said it so casually and without hesitation.

“…Well,” Jessie said after a moment, a flicker of some unknowable emotion in her eyes, “You put a lot of thought into these sandwiches, huh?”

“Well yeah, they’re called ‘Specials’ for a reason,” he replied with a shrug and an easy chuckle, “What, did you think that whole ritual was just some kinda gimmick to give me time to come up with some random recipe off the top of my…” He narrowed his eyes at them, noticing the sheepish expressions growing on their faces, even Tifa, “…you do think that…” Saul checked his phone before scoffing and scowling dramatically at them. “Jerks. Thinkin’ I’d use the sacred bond between cook and customer as some kinda gimmick…” He downed his drink a quick gulp and stood up, slapping a handful of gil on the counter. “See if I make any more Specials for any of you!” He began to strut away, nose pointed firmly in the air. “Jerks, I say!”

“Wha-bro, don’t say that!” Wedge protested, looking heartbroken.

“We are kinda your only customers at the moment~” Jessie pointed out, wiggling her fingers at him playfully. “Are you sure you wanna deny your only source of income?”

He paused and looked back at them, eyes squinted. “…True,” he bobbed his head, “But you did hurt my feelings, and I have my pride as a man and cook.”

Tifa couldn’t resist a small smile, even as part of her worried they’d inadvertently poked him a little too much. Not very neighborly. “Sorry, I’m sure they didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!” She said honestly, giving him an apologetic look, “You don’t need to go, I’m certain they’ll be more considerate, right guys?” She gave them a narrow glare that made Wedge gulp.

“Actually, I do need to go, this was just a funny excuse,” Solomon replied, waving his phone, “Gotta talk with one of my suppliers up on Plate Four, so I’ve got to jet if I want to catch the last train.”

“At this time of night?” Biggs asked, brows furrowed in concern, “There aren’t a lot of round trips left.”

The cook shrugged carelessly. “Yeah? Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to find a cozy alley for the night,” he said, stepping to the side as the door opened and the first of the night rush began to pour in, “Looks like you’re about to be busy. See you in the morning, hopefully.” He tossed a wave over his shoulder as he strode out of the bar.

Solomon lit another smoke as he walked, quietly humming to himself while he slipped through the crowd of nine-to-fivers returning home after a long day. He took in the murmur of people, the press of bodies and the smell of various foods blending together. Life might definitely be rougher under the plates, but there was a certain charm to be had in the slums.

Narrowly sliding through the closing doors on the train, he took a seat on a bench, relishing in the empty car. Stretching his legs out, he took a puff and let his mind wander. There was no need to worry about the identity scan standard one every train ride, one of the first things he’d done was build and insert a citizen profile for himself, because as opposed to how weak his Magnesis had become, his Technopathy was strong as ever.

In a world as dangerous as this, he needed protection and his fists and feet weren’t going to cut it. Whatever training Tifa had gone through would probably take too long if he could even get her to teach him in the first place, but there was the pure satisfaction of punching things in the face to consider.

The answer was fairly obvious: powered armor, though a full set was a bit out of reach with his current tech being tied into the whole ‘not possibly melting into a puddle of flesh and circuits’ issue. Gauntlets, boots, perhaps a chestpiece to start…and by ‘start,’ he mentally corrected himself to mean ‘in progress.’

Pulling up a display over his vision, he checked on his current simulations and data. While nowhere near as powerful as when he had Jade to run them, they still served adequately for the purpose of keeping his ass alive. 

A frown tugged at his lips. The current data, working on integrating magic and Materia itself into a set of armor was promising, except for the fact that every simulation so far ended with every piece catastrophically failing and exploding, unable to handle the energy load of the magic. Even making the nanites inert after shifting into armor still led to the casing fraying and then erupting. While socketing the materia into regular forged armor was an alternative, it wouldn’t work in the long run and in fact worsen his condition. He needed armor he could integrate into himself for a boost, letting the plating do the whole job of ‘taking hits’ it was made for, at least until he figured out how to build Gen 2 nanites.

And, most importantly, it just wasn’t cool enough.

Idly, he constructed a model for testing, basic bracing along the arms, sockets for a pair of materia and knuckledusters, and low-level thrusters on the elbows. Simulations were never one-hundred percent accurate, and the best way to get a feel for it was to punch and kick some shit. He already had thrusters built into his boots, a crude method of upping his speed and force until he could pull it off himself, and subtle armor under his pant legs. Doing as he had, buying some of the enchanted armor from a vending machine before breaking it down and lacing it into his clothes would work, but not forever.

…And that was the thrust of the issue. ‘Not forever.’

The bell rang and this time it broke through his reverie paired with an alert from his system informing him that he’d reached his stop. Sitting up and noticing the train car had filled up a bit with others taking the round-trip, he slipped out of the doors and headed for Midgar Records. The first batch of songs had seen enough success that his agent was willing to sign him on for a bigger deal, and more money was always good.

It was odd, Saul reflected as he walked along the Plate, just how much like a normal city Midgar looked like on the street-level…even if that street level was hundreds of feet above the ground. There were shops, apartments, restaurants and everything else, the sidewalks lit by soft green lights powered by mako. Despite it being circled by Reactors quite literally sucking the Life out of the planet, a city was a city and the people were people.

A sharp wind suddenly blew, snatching the cigarette from his lips. Nearby, he heard a woman quietly curse and grumble to herself, and he couldn’t help but glance over.

A woman in a pink dress and red jacket was kneeling on the sidewalk, picking up flowers that had spilled from the basket dangling from her arm. Her brown hair was pulled back into a long braid and tied with a pink bow, the bracelets on her wrists clinking against each other as she plucked the blooms from the concrete.

Shrugging to himself, Saul stepped over and crouched down, gathering a couple in his hands before depositing them in her basket. As he reached for the last, he didn’t notice the woman glancing at him, her eyes going wide as her knuckles went white around the handle of her basket. He was looking at the soft, cream colored flower in his fingers, realizing that it was the same as the bed of blooms in the church he’d woken up in.

He did notice her scrambling to her feet and scuttling away. “Hey, miss!” He called, holding up the flower, “You forgot one!”

“That’s okay, you can keep it as a thank-you!” She shouted back over shoulder, giving him a glimpse of a green eye. “I gotta go, can’t miss the train!” And then she turned around a corner and vanished.

Obviously, there was more to it, but it wasn’t like he could run after her to ask. Saul frowned to himself, bringing the flower to his nose and breathing it in. Even surrounded by the chaos of the city’s scent, he could still smell the floral gentleness. Twirling the stem between his fingers, he slipped it into a button and resumed his journey, though a thought percolated.

Who said a food truck had to only sell food?

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A/N: And there you go, the second chapter of Integrate. As you can tell, the integration with the characters is going well, not so much on the magic side, but things are advancing and who could that mysterious flower seller be?

It’s Aerith. Obviously. But what’s with her reaction, eh?

Not too much to say, this was more a world-building chapter than plot-advancing, though there was definitely some of that. Next chapter, even more of that and some more of that other thing too.

The response to this has been pretty nice, I’m glad y’all are liking it. Keep letting me know, eh?

Big thanks to NSG for being the bro, go check him out and tell him to update his JJK/Sekirei fic for the love of god I want more.

Big thanks to all m’peeps in the discord on and that other website, who all got to read this chapter nice’n’early.

And a big ol’ thanks to you for reading. I hope you enjoyed and look forward to more.

Stay Awesome!

~Soleneus

P.S.: It’s gonna be a bit before Cloud shows up because this is set a year before he arrives/gets out of his coma, but he’ll be here eventually and the main plot of the game starts. But before that… stuff. Plot, even.

Stay Awesome Some More.

~still Soleneus