Rufus stood in front of the glass with his hands clasped behind his back. His azure eyes regarded the city beneath his feet. Midgar, the city that never slumbered, was glistening with light, which paled the stars in the night sky above. One Plate amongst many was missing. Underneath it was the vestige of... He shook his head, reminding himself that it had been the necessary caution.

"I have to admit..." He trailed off, not taking his eyes off the scenery, which he had grasped from his own father's. It hadn't been a pleasant deed to carry on, to put it mildly. Moreover, the more he witnessed the unbelievable, the more his doubt grew. He unclasped his hands and stalked up to the man clad in an ominous hood.

Rufus deliberated to choose the right words to describe the thoughts which had been preoccupying his mind. "You were quite the man," he said eventually, his eyes glazing over in contemplation.

"Who, me?" The words were careless. The man in question lifted his head, revealing his face to the President. "I guess not." He sniggered, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was revelling in Rufus's distress.

Rufus regarded the nightly intruder wordlessly. It was a recurring nightmare: the supposedly dead man, the sunken cheeks, the piercing gaze. He was aware that this man did not wish to see the morsel of remorse on his face. What does he want? Rufus asked himself, his gaze lowering to the marble floor where his shadow stood, while the other man's didn't. Glenn Ladbrok, he crushed that name, barehanded, in his head over and over again.

"Anyway... you haven't seen Viceroy Sarruf, have you?" Glenn asked, droning his words. He glanced at Rufus with his eyebrow raised questioningly. "He failed to show at an important event—made us look like fools..." He raised his hand and looked at his nails boredly.

"Maybe he wouldn't have if you'd spent some money on that set," Rufus replied. He measured his breaths. He needed to find something—some weakness, some clue, just anything to eradicate the root of this haunting face.

"Ah, you're probably right. Rich kids—" Glenn scoffed "—do like things just so."

Rufus's fingers flexed agitatedly around the grip of his gun upon taking in the knowing smirk plastered on that ghastly face.

"Still got results, though, even without him. Resistance elements are more fired up than ever," Glenn continued, pacing the spot at leisure.

"You know, Glenn..." Rufus began, blinking slowly. "I'm onto you. This war's nothing but a ploy to distract me from Sephiroth."

The sudden burst of laughter accompanied by condescending claps of calloused hands nearly made Rufus take a step backwards.

"How very astute," Glenn commented, unceremoniously ceasing his act. The pregnant silence suffocated Rufus. Glenn's soulless eyes met Rufus's, and Rufus felt the familiar premonition of nausea. His vision fleetingly turned bleary.

"Regardless, the plan is already in motion," Rufus heard Sephiroth's voice in disguise of Glenn's words. "Our Promised Land will become reality. A father's dream... accomplished by his son."

The mention of his accursed blood finally made him lose something in him; Rufus raised his gun and aimed it at Glenn. "I want the real thing, not some imitation," he gritted out, his forefinger heavily hooked against the trigger.

"But an imitation's all you deserve." Glenn turned his heels and walked away. With a sharp inhale, Rufus pulled the trigger. The body fell to the ground, and it was nothing but an imitation again.

"Sephiroth..." Rufus muttered, his wild eyes regarding the body of the clone.

"In the back—just like old times." The nightmare sprung up on his face. Rufus aimed once more and pulled the trigger over and over again. The echo of ricocheting bullets was loud around the opulent yet hollow office, screeching enough to make his ears bleed.

He heard his own breathing, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He felt his own senses acutely. He dropped himself on the abandoned chair, his gun falling from his hand to the floor with a clatter. He closed his eyes and exhaled.