The Sherry in Shadow

Chapter 8: Sales Pitch

"Is this some kind of twisted joke?" Sherry sneered under her breath. Sherry couldn't help but cast a derisive glance at her outfit. Out of all the things they could've given her to wear, it just had to be this, this repugnant reminder of what she abandoned in her pursuit of revenge – except no, it wasn't even the original, it's an "updated" hack Mitsugoshi version. Gah! She almost wished she stayed in her birthday suit.

And the worst part? That sweet, oblivious dark-haired boy was probably dressed in something similar at this very moment. A chilling thought that made her shudder. She had severed all her ties, eradicated every possible leverage Shadow Garden could have had, only for them to strike an unexpected blow straight to her heart once more.

"Cid..." she muttered, an inadvertent whisper of worry escaping her lips.

"What did you say?" Epsilon asked bluntly. Everyone's ears were perked up.

"I-I said thank you for the clothes! I always wanted to go to Midgar, heheh." Did they hear her earlier remark? It's wiser to feign appreciation, much to Sherry's chagrin.

Ah yes, Sherry's current attire was none other than the latest uniform of the Midgar Royal Spellsword Academy. An iteration that Mitsugoshi had foisted onto the academy as part of their "reconstruction efforts" – efforts that only seemed necessary after every coincidental visit of Shadow Garden wrecking shop. Sherry clenched her fists, the elegant fabric of the uniform crinkling under her grip. She'd torch this blasted outfit the moment she returned to her lab.

"Oh, of course, I must've misheard you," Epsilon said, "I'm glad you like them."

Sherry smiled innocently back. She has to remember to keep her thoughts to herself and play her role flawlessly.

In front of Sherry, Epsilon sat, framed by the imposing figures of what Sherry has deduced to be 567, 568, and presumably 569. As far as they were concerned, Sherry was completely cured, having convincingly played the part of a demonic possession victim. Now it was time to play the part of a lost lamb. Things are far from over, but for the time being, Sherry could afford a moment of respite, as long as she ignored the nagging reminder of her Mitsugoshi-issued uniform.

"567, please serve our guest some tea," Epsilon said, her voice soft and gentle, "I'm sure she's parched after her ordeal."

The atmosphere in the room was one of practiced gravitas, a performance of sorts to underscore the importance of Shadow Garden's mission. The plush, velvet furnishings, the soft glow of the chandelier overhead, the delicate china tea service – all seemed an odd, almost decadent, contrast to the notion of 'working in the shadows'. But, as Sherry was quickly learning, Shadow Garden was an organization full of paradoxes.

567 proffered a cup of tea to Sherry, who accepted with a small nod. As she watched Sherry stir in not one, not two, but five cubes of sugar into her cup, 567's eyebrows climbed almost comically high on her forehead for some reason. She hid her surprise behind a sip of her own, unsweetened tea.

With her critical faculties re-engaged, Sherry began to scrutinize her environment. Sherry was too blinded by anxiety to notice before, but now, she sees how well crafted it all is. The softness of the upholstery, the perfectly brewed tea, even the gentle warmth of the room – all of it was a calculated attempt to make her feel safe, to let her guard down.

She chuckled internally. "Even their tea is sweet", she mused, a wry smile curling her lips.

Epsilon cleared her throat. Sherry could tell: it was time for the Shadow Garden recruitment spiel.

"You've been given a second chance at life, free from the torment of demonic possession. We've given you that chance. Now, you have a choice to make." Her words hung heavy in the air, her gaze steady on Sherry. "Join us, fight alongside us to protect others from the same fate... or return to the world that abandoned you, to the people who've likely already mourned your loss and moved on."

Sherry nearly choked on her tea, suppressing a laugh at the blatant cliché of it all. It was a well-constructed ultimatum, she had to give them that. It was coercive, intimidating, and yet, wrapped up in the guise of a choice. But she wasn't their usual mark - she wasn't a victim, at least not one of demonic possession. She had a life, a career, a lab back at the academy.

Memories of the tavern's hysteria at her feigned possession flickered in her mind. To the real victims, outcasts in their own world, Epsilon's offer must've sounded like salvation. Sherry took a quiet, sardonic sniff - even their lifelines were strings to be pulled.

"And if I said no?" Sherry asked, unable to resist testing the waters.

"Then you're free to go. Just don't expect to see us ever again."

"Of course." Sherry hid her smirk behind her teacup. The scarcity appeal, the finality of it all – it was manipulative, but effective. But she was aware of their games, and she wouldn't fall for it. She was, after all, playing a game of her own. She was going to join them, but only because that was her goal all along. The fact they have yet to see through Chameleon further assures her she's in control, her chance at revenge ever closer.

Now she was about to enter the belly of the beast. She had to be ready.

–––

Epsilon watched the long-nosed girl in front of her carefully. To be fully honest, she wasn't confident in her cure. This girl only had magical overload in her arm so she wasn't too far along. It certainly wasn't unusual for the magic pocket Epsilon created to not fill completely at this level of progression.

However, it was the fact that Epsilon discovered a magic pocket in her nose that surprised her. How did Epsilon even manage to do that? She thought she was getting better with humans. As much as it pains her, she might have to keep monitoring this girl for a while. She was a bit too prideful to admit that she, Epsilon The Precise, might have made a mistake.

But cure aside, this girl was different. Her expressions flickered rapidly, her gaze darted around the room. Her illegible mutterings, her strange behavior, smirking to herself, it was all almost... endearing. She reminded Epsilon of Eta, another girl who had been just as strange, just as unpredictable. Would the two of them get along? Epsilon could only hope that this girl wouldn't turn out as maniacal as Eta. No, no one can be as maniacal as Eta. Epsilon was sure of that.

Despite herself, Epsilon smiled. Tonight, she'll have a nightmare about antacids.