"Bloodline" and the general overall concept of "Bloodline" is completely copyright Orin Drake 2002-2004. Everything else is owned by Squaresoft, as this is a Final Fantasy 7 fan fiction piece. And a damn good one, may I add.
Background: This is the highly anticipated (pretend with me, folks) sequel to "Chrome". Recoil fans may realize that, yes, "Bloodline" is also a Recoil song, and that's what spawned this. Whoo hoo! Look forward to a third... some day. Then I'll have a nice little Recoil trilogy, in a FFVII fan fiction, so I can tick off people of the music and video game industry. Sa-weet. Let me warn hardcore FFVII fans that this plot may not be considered exactly how the game presented it. This is how it's formed in my own mind over the years... and, yes, The Sins of Two Fathers and Retribution Nor Redemption have played quite a part in that. So, for Kyrie fans, or those just curious about exactly what happened "way back when"... keep reading. There will eventually be a third story to this tale, too.

Bloodline
by Orin Drake

He reached toward the nightstand for a bottle he knew wasn't there. All the same, he felt the instant need for more liquor. That man. That man again, in his dreams, that he had--he shivered. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn't he shake such a sick vision? He was a fucking lady killing, sharp shooting, deadly and dangerous bastard, dammit. He needn't be dreaming of that... chrome creature. He didn't really want that. He couldn't possibly really want that.
Aggravated, he cursed himself for not loading up with free booze from the night before. The bar was all his, and he should have taken something with him. He'd sobered up way too fucking fast last night.
He drew his palms up and down his face several times with a grunt. What a morning. He might have actually felt better with a hangover. Anything but a dream like that. It wasn't even that fucking good, really. It was just a dream about what had happened the night before; only in the dream, he hadn't been alone. He'd woken up with the image of that man grinning up at him knowingly, a trickle of his blood falling from the corner of his cold metal lips...
He growled, violently throwing the covers off and getting up. This was not what he wanted to think about. Not after all of that. He ought to be as embarrassed as all hell to have been jerking off in a deserted bar after his girlfriend--the love of his fucking life--dumped him. To another guy. He ought to be more than embarrassed, he ought to be ashamed.
With that thought taunting him, he took a quick, cold shower. He didn't even feel himself shivering, too busy trying to keep the vision away from his head. Instead, he was going over slow and deliberate ways to kill Hojo. One thought lead to a worse, and he'd hoped that eventually there would come a point at which there could be no worse so he would be able to decide upon that. Sure Shin-Ra would decide they had no use for him anymore, but they'd have to fucking catch him first. Though he'd likely be kicked out of the Turks, as well. They could handle him as he was. They could handle him killing Hojo, and maybe even gutting Lucretia. But if he tied them to something like strangling a man with his own intestines, there may be second thoughts regarding the safety of the rest of their organization.
He toweled off, wondering how in the hell he'd slept through his alarm. The window in the bathroom was letting in early afternoon light. Not that it mattered, really. He was probably more or less expected to show up late, if at all.
Fucking nightmares. Granted that this particular one had been more pleasant than most others, but it was the idea of the thing that so bothered him.
He realized that he was still obsessing about that dream--about that impossible man that had caused all of this. He suddenly wished the silver bastard were real so he could beat the shit out of him.
Ah, but that's not what you would really do to him, is it? That unwanted, unruly part of his mind insisted.
He couldn't take this. He got dressed quickly and left, out the door with as much rush as possible. If he got to work quickly, he'd be either too distracted or too bored to care about this shit. Not wanting at all to deal with cabbies on that of all mornings, he simply walked, spending an hour and a half navigating the streets. Navigating the whores and dealers was made easier by the fact that not only was he recognized as a Turk, but a very pissed off Turk.
It wasn't bad time, frankly. He was worn the hell out by the time he walked into the building, getting a number of curious glances--but their eyes darted away as soon as they fell. They knew better. And no doubt some had heard of Lucretia's new choice.
He stormed into the room that he'd come to know as his "office". The Turks didn't really keep offices, they simply inhabited a room they liked until they trashed it, or simply stopped liking it. Then they'd move on to another room with a better view, or maybe closer to the bathroom. Whatever felt appropriate at the time. Truth be told, he didn't have a fucking thing to do. No one was being a menace to the President of late, so he wasn't really needed. And it's not like he'd be sneaking off to see that bitch anymore. Back to the bar?
Nah. it might prove more fun (and more distracting) to wander around Shin-Ra headquarters. He'd heard stories of all sorts of weird shit going on. It killed time before lunch. Oh, what the hell, it was almost lunch already. He'd grab something to eat first, then wander.
On second thought, fuck food. Hojo was more than likely around. Now that would be quality entertainment.

Stepping in with only the most absolute silence, each breath carefully measured and perfectly timed, he found the outer room of the laboratory empty. Almost a shame, really. But then, it did grant him the opportunity to go over some of the paperwork.
The corners of his lips pulled wickedly, changing direction for the triple-enforced steel panels, behind which held drawers full of information that Hojo didn't even inform the President about. And those electronic locks? Ah, child's play--from his inside pocket, he pulled a tiny device, pressed it quickly against the metal an inch from the lock, and pressed a button. The familiar buzz and beep of success sounded, and his expression became a self-assured sneer as he pocketed the device with equal ease.
Ah, this was so going to piss Hojo off. What a glorious thought the look on the man's face would be... he almost chuckled in spite of himself. Instead, he checked his breathing to remain as silent as possible, his fingers sliding cautiously over the metal to find the pressure point--there it was. A soft press was all it took to get the simplistic spring device to release the panel, letting it fall open like a door. Behind the panel were six drawers, none of them labeled. What fun.
Picking his first drawer with a childhood nursery rhyme, he pulled the recessed handle forward. Smoothly toward him slid hundreds of classified, categorized documents, each pristinely kept in plastic coated folders. It took a great deal of his will not to let out a laugh of triumph as he pulled one randomly selected folder... letting the contents of it fall onto the floor. Then again. And another. And another.
Simple minds... he reminded himself, not at all caring. It was the little things that etched into the madness of the doctor. And how he would enjoy making as big a mess as he possibly cou--
A name on a piece of paper caught his attention instantly. Lucretia Loire. His eyes narrowed on the page, then moved to the folder still in his hand with the label Jenova Project: Initial Research.
His heart must have skipped a beat. Maybe more. He felt a pain in his chest of which was some combination of being stabbed and being punched--but it fell away into dizzying numbness. Picking up the page that had called his attention, he read.
Halfway down the page, his eyes widened. "This can't be right..." he didn't even know he was speaking his ranging thoughts. If this report in his hands was accurate... he threw it down, darting off in the direction of the inner lab, where all of the actual experiments took place. If that piece of paper were right...

There he was, that little rodent. Leaning over a desk with some sort of tube to his right and a microscope in front of him. No doubt he'd just come back from torturing some innocent creature under the guise of protecting the President. Well, this was the last time he'd be silent in the matter. "So. There you are."
Hojo pretended for a long moment not to have heard him, rather taking his time with his latest experiment than answering to a lowly Turk. Especially that one. After finally having accomplished all he could, he only glanced over his shoulder. "And what do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Yeah, I see that." The taller man actually let himself drawl confidently. Hell, there was even a bit of a swagger in his walk, his hands comfortably in his pockets as he approached closer. "I have an issue with you."
The doctor huffed quietly, looking back into the microscope. "So we have something in common after all."
With a mild growl, the Turk shot forward and grasped the scientist's hair, pressing his head down until the tension was obvious; just a little bit further, and that eye would never look through a lens again. "I want to know what you're doing with Lucretia."
Pissing the other man off even more with his seeming indifference to the possibility of losing an eye, he made a snickering attempt at laughter. "Please, Mr. Valentine." His voice was edged with false concern. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Enraged, the Turk yanked the man's head back, away from the microscope, nearly pulling him out of the chair. "That is my unborn child you're experimenting with!" he accused, dropping his hand from the doctor's hair in favor of being ready to grasp his pistol...
Hojo cackled heartily. "You are too blind to be a part of your precious organization of miscreants." He verbally struck, looking terribly cocky even with a watering eye. "You think it is your child she carries?"
His whole body seemed to lose feeling. For one moment in time, sound did not seem to exist. He felt like he might vomit, or worse... Had she been with Hojo long enough to have--
His thoughts were crashed to the ground by sudden glint of a pistol... that was not his. He looked uncertainly at the barrel, thinking that there was no way the little weasel would actually shoot... but the look in the other man's eyes said different. As blatantly stupid as he thought the scientist was... he was holding the gun, with purpose.
Before there was any chance to voice the multitude of questions and curses, the room echoed with the roar of the pistol. "Fuck!" he cried, the pain of getting shot tearing through every nerve. "Hojo, you--you fucking..." Blood gushing, shock setting in, consciousness slipping... The last image before black was that goddamn smirk on that bastard's lips...

Swirling, jittery, all encompassing darkness. It was so... fuzzy. Dreary, but warm. Almost like a good sleep you had no desire to get out of... but something in the back of his mind urged him forward, like some nightmare beast was waiting behind him to strike unless he sat up--
Searing pain sparked throughout his body. Oh yes, he felt his flesh again in a sudden burst of agony and adrenaline. Why was it so cold in here? Come to think of it... where was "here"?
The pain slowly gave way to pins and needles, all of his body tingling as though it had lost circulation for several minutes. He tried to sit up in the midst of it, finding his muscles not quite ready to support him as he thudded back down.
Wait--what had that been? He remembered lying on a floor... for what reason, he wasn't able to remember. But now it seemed he were laying on something metal. At least, it rang when he'd hit his head on it. Come to think of it, it felt like metal, too--
What was that awful noise? It had sounded like fingernails across a chalkboard, when--
There it was again. But only when he moved the fingers on his left hand. How very odd. He swallowed, realizing only then that his eyes had been closed all that time... how strange. That wasn't natural, not for him. Upon opening them, he gazed upon... a dimly lit ceiling. Well. Nothing to write home about. Regarding that noise, however... he tested his left hand one more time, getting that same squealing from it as he pulled his fingers across the metal underneath him. It felt like lifting a whole human, trying to get his arm above him to see--
"My arm..." he whispered in horror. There wasn't any flesh there anymore. It was metal--gold colored metal with claws at the end of it. But... but he could feel it there. It wasn't at all like a prosthetic, it was... Fighting against the effects of seemingly far too much gravity, he ran his flesh hand up the artificial one from wrist to elbow and felt the touch through it.
In that instant, everything came flooding back to him. From his own name to the very second that all had gone black, it hit him like a physical force. Only one thing could have happened... only one man could have turned him into this. The simple knowledge seemed to shatter the excess weight of his limbs, waking him up completely.
"What did you do to me, you bastard?" he asked breathlessly, unable to scream it. Both hands were shaking now, his entire body tense with the fear of not knowing. He put his flesh hand to the side of his face, an unconscious motion that only served to discover how long his hair had grown. Almost calmly, he inspected a length of it, taking note that it didn't exactly grow quickly even when he'd taken to eating healthy. And here he saw it was clearly shoulder length... how long had he been here?
"Mr. Valentine." He heard, somewhere behind him.
That fucking Hojo. He'd meant to demand what the living fuck had happened to him, but a sudden and all-encompassing anger got there first. He bolted upright and flung himself from the table in one motion, then thrust the scientist into the nearest wall, not giving a damn what happened to him at that point. An overwhelming survival instinct even stronger than the one he remembered like an old flame kicked in, and he ran for it. If all of this had already happened to him, there was no telling what else Hojo had planned.
He ran through the outer lab and toward the nearest exit on wobbly legs, not bothering to slow down. Weak or not, at least his legs worked. As he passed chamber after chamber full of what were undoubtedly the scientist's own creations of odd blue mists and disturbing sounds of gurgling--choking--he had a chance to recall Hojo's appearance. Had that been a touch of gray in his black hair? Dear gods, if it had been...
No time to think of that now. He saw the end of the science sector just up ahead and immediately knew where he was. It would be a trick to get out without getting spotted, but he hadn't lost any of his instinct. If anything, a general paranoia made it all the easier to stay out of sight.
Back against the wall, he slid easily and quietly into a corridor (in part thanks to the cheap and unnatural fabric of whatever military grade crap he was wearing). Picking up his pace, his mind stopped racing only to reflect on what to do should anyone see him. He had no weapons, and certainly he must look like an awful freak... though perhaps now was not the time to care. Regardless of how long it may have been, his senses all felt as though he'd only slept a few hours, if that. He remembered how to slither through the more abandoned places, trying to find the best way out. Once he was safely outside the compound, away from the past, then he could figure out what to do next.
Coming around another corner, carefully sliding once more against the wall, some feeling gripped him. He tried to pull back, unfamiliar with that particular instinct, but his body would not obey. Perhaps that was because of what his eyes had unwittingly focused upon.
No... it couldn't... Oh dear gods, it was him. It was that chrome creature of his dreams... his very nightmares. He could not control himself, he could not hold onto this; when he realized the gleaming metal man was real, and walking in his field of vision--like a fucking kid. Like a fucking horny fifteen-year-old, right there in his fucking one-size-too-big pants. That, somehow, was much more embarrassing than having found the man of cold silver so gorgeously attractive that there was no denying his obsession anymore.
He had to leave. He had to remove himself now. Shin-Ra be damned, Hojo be damned; he had to clean up and get a hold of himself as far away as he could possibly go. Dashing the other direction and down a different hallway, he hardly cared if someone were to see him. There were worse things than that.

It hadn't taken long... but he'd made certain it took long enough. There was no way he'd have been able to sneak out of Shin-Ra headquarters without his mind fully there. It had taken a lot of nasty thoughts and a complete miracle of will, but he'd done it. Having left all of what had just occurred behind, he was able to take off through a back door that some clumsy employee hadn't sealed tightly enough for the alarm to sound. What luck--and he would not deny that he needed as much of that as he could get.
The sky was dark with the middle of the night when he'd finally emerged. For that, he was unendingly grateful. It made it all the easier to step into the shadows and pretty much disappear. Pulling his unnatural arm out of its shirt sleeve, he tucked it tightly against his abdomen. Easier to be seen with what appeared to be no arm than whatever the hell this thing was.
Relatively comfortable weaving through the corporate wasteland (Glad to see that hasn't changed, he smirked), he allowed himself thought over the last several minutes. Or several years, for all he knew. Regardless of being perfectly aware that he ought to be planning the slow and painful death of a certain scientist, his mind kept going back to that man of chrome...
A thought. The cold metal man had worn the SOLDIER insignia, hadn't he? Granted, things being as they were, that he wasn't completely able to tell considering the moment... but he was pretty sure. His photographic memory couldn't have depleted much if his instincts were still sharp.
What a horrific, disgusting, wicked idea. But it's not like he had anything else to do now, was it? This was definitely one step better than going back to terrorize a bartender for a drink. Maybe even one step better than shooting Hojo's genitals off, little by little. With barely a change in direction, he had a purpose--to find the SOLDIER living area.

All he really knew was the general location of the SOLDIER buildings--finding a castle-like tower in the midst of one of the outer ones was quite the shock. Not to mention how close the compound had come to the rest of the city. Hell, they were right next to each other now; the only way to tell what was inside the "top secret" camp and the rest of the buildings in the corporate sector was a razor wire fence and a slight change in which tone of gray was used.
That tower, however... something twitched hard, deep in his gut. He had the immediate, persistent urge to climb up and peer in that lit window, three stories up.
He gave that idea pause for thought. Not because it was utterly fucking ridiculous, but because he just wasn't sure how to... Aha! Of course--only a few yards away from the window was the balcony of some long-dead company building. Perfect. And simply very easy to wander into a building with no working security system.
Three flights of rickety stairs felt like hardly a leap. He was simply too wound, too ready, needing to reach that balcony, needing to see what was in that lit window as if all of the universe could depend upon that one moment in time, bursting through the third story balcony doors, letting the already cracked glass fall over him with no feeling, no concern for the shards--
Yes. Ah, yes. Through the window... it was a SOLDIER's quarters. And the man inside... That was him alright. No mistaking the chrome creature, sitting at the end of the cot to pull his boots off. He certainly must have been important to have had a living space looking like that, all to himself. Top ranking, to say the least.
At that moment, the size-too-big pants felt a hell of a lot more restrictive. Part of him, a small voice in the back of his head, screamed at him. It told him what he was thinking of doing was sick. Disturbed. Fucking disgusting. But that little part of his mind was pinched out of existence like a gnat.
Watching... so intently... he sat at the edge of the balcony, right between the fallen portions of guard rail for a better look. Moving as slowly as he could force himself, in measured motions, he released himself from the pants just enough for an easy reach. This... this was a moment of... of so much...
It hurt so much but felt so good that there were tears in his eyes. Fucking tears in his eyes that he had to wipe away so he could see that silver creature through the window--slowly undressing.
The Turk's jaw went slack. The gorgeous man was actually beginning to take off his clothes, completely unaware of what was going on just outside. Oh fuck, oh gods, oh sweet surrender--this creature, this man was removing his jacket in unconscious motions of elegance...
All the times Lucretia had taken off her lingerie, smooth and sweet like some clean and beautiful personal slave girl, he'd never been this utterly driven. He'd never been that turned on before--by any act, any thought, any sight or any description--by anything. It was scary. It was nightmare scary.
But he was too far gone to care. His eyes were tracing the creature's defined chest, wondering what it would be like to draw his hands down them with a light touch. The flesh was moon pale but so completely beautiful, occasionally draped with silky locks of silver. How he desired to stroke that silver hair before grasping a handful and yanking his head back...
He closed his eyes and slowed down, not wanting anything close to a repeat of hardly mere hours ago, seeming further away in time than it really was. He wanted to build until there was nowhere left to climb, until he couldn't possibly go on. And most importantly, he wanted to be able to enjoy all of this for as long as his will could hold out.
Next in the window came the left glove. Slowly, almost lazily, it was peeled off the skin. That same milky white flesh gazed back at him, the fingertips somehow so masculine and strong but so feminine and delicate at once. It was overthrowing all of his senses, making him imagine what running a hand up those arms might feel like. The glove was tossed to a chair and the other one was pulled off like a lady might do after a long day, fingers first.
The voyeur bit his lip and tried to slow his breathing and strokes once again, feeling far too close to the highly desired edge. He'd seek it soon enough. He had to know, just had to--his breath hitched instantly as one of those delicate, pale thumbs edged its way just under the waistband of the chrome man's leather pants. It seemed like an eternity passed in the seconds it took for that button to release; a million years before the zipper was pulled down, tooth by tooth.
A desperate cry escaped the Turk, but he stifled it with a bleeding bite to the lip. He didn't think he'd be able to take the anticipation, that moment so sweet and beautiful that he had to force his eyes closed to blink the tears away. It was most certainly obsession, and that was alright with him. As long as he got to see, as long as he got to view--
Fuck! Fuck, no! But it was something that could not be helped. He cried out despite the bleeding lip, despite every ounce of his well trained and heavily disciplined being trying to keep him quiet and in the shadows. It was too good, too much, and he'd fallen over the edge of that delicious precipice with the sheer anticipation of what was to come. He gave in eagerly, though a little disappointed. He was certain that particular orgasm, which had officially beaten out the one (of what, years? decades?) before of the best he had ever had in his life, took so long that he wouldn't be able to catch a glimpse of anything once he finally came to.
When his eyes at long last opened, his whole body still shaking from the experience, that awful thing called the rational mind suddenly clicked into play. Shit. The elegant creature was no longer in the room. The leather pants were nowhere to be found laying about, either. He hadn't spotted him on the balcony, had he? No, not possible. He was facing the other direction, going off into the other room. There was no way.
Regardless of his fears being put to rest, he knew he had to get the hell out of there, fast. Someone else could spot him and have him reported. Maybe jerking off in a bar wouldn't have raised any eyebrows back then, but doing so as a transformed monster on the ledge across from Shin-Ra's pride and joy SOLDIER was a different matter entirely.

Well... was it worth the wait? Will it be worth the wait for the third and final installment? *grin*