Crisis Core: The Novel

Chapter 2 - Zack Fair

Zack Fair, 2nd Class SOLDIER, 1st Class screwup, royal dillweed extraordinaire.

He'd been a member of the elite paramilitary unit SOLDIER for less than six months, and already he'd busted three carbon-fiber field swords, two laser-sighted assault rifles, one cellphone, and a partridge in a pear tree. No one could figure out how he did it. He had a natural talent for being a talentless wrecking ball.

They'd bumped him up from a 3rd—thank god—and assigned him to a senior member of SOLDIER for mentoring. Angeal Hewely was a hardened war veteran, a member of the famed trio known as the Silver Elite with a reputation that rumored him his own fan club.

The Silver Elite were the cream of the crop, special operators tasked with secret missions and high-profile assassinations, and Angeal was one of the best. Zack was ecstatic to be working with him—for about an hour. The man stepped up to fill a role Zack's father had apparently neglected, disciplinarian.

When Zack was late, he got the longest lectures of his life. Angeal harped on him about his honor, his sworn word that he gave when he signed up for SOLDIER to be the best he could be, a sacred oath that should extend to everything he did in life from protecting his friends in battle to tying his boot laces to being on time for work.

"How can being two minutes late be dishonorable!"

"Count 'em out." Angeal waved him off.

Zack sighed and started squatting. "1...2...3..."

Angeal came down hard on his new student, he was a man of stern principals and iron resolve. He held his word second to nothing, the kind of man who stood on ceremony and expected the same from those around him. As if being run into the ground on a daily basis wasn't enough for Zack, Angeal demoted him to his dog.

"This is my new puppy Zack," he'd say as he introduced him to other higher-ups with hands on his shoulders. "I just picked him up from the pound. I'm training him to be a fighter, but I've barely got him off using puppy-pads."

Zack slumped. Even his humanity had to be earned.

That training was nothing short of hellish. Angeal would spar with him for hours in the Training Room until he literally couldn't lift his sword, and then they'd go rounds hand-to-hand since his weapon became too heavy. Zack rocked a two-hander longsword—because he was "tough" and could handle it. So Angeal never let him put it down. If Zack was going to carry it then he was going to carry it. After all, Angeal had to carry his sword.

His Sword.

His sword was a family heirloom, a tungsten carbide devil cleaver with a torso as big as Zack, a ball-bashing Buster Sword. Zack watched him cleaning the thing, thinking he'd never loved a woman the way he loved that sword. Weirdo.

There were days when it just got to be too much though, the enduring grind too hard and frustrating. Zack would throw his sword across the training room and sit on the floor fuming at himself, wondering if he would ever get the hang of things, wondering if he was even cut out for SOLDIER to begin with.

"Hey," Angeal would crouch down to his level, an even tone in his voice. "You followed your dreams. You made it here. You deserve to be here, and when I'm through with you you're going to make a lot of people proud."

Those anecdotes had been coming more and more frequent lately, and after being deprived of humanity for so long, he only needed one kind word to jolt him back to his feet with a mad energy to please. Small jokes had been being exchanged, little ribbing insults in good fun, and Zack felt himself pining to be in his mentor's good graces...which is why he'd made double certain to be on time for work this day.