Lightning’s head throbbed.  A groan escaped her lips as consciousness returned.  Her vision was unfocused, but she could sense that she was seated in a chair of some sort.  The cool vinyl of the flat cushions pressed against her bare backside—

What?

She snapped to attention.  Glanced around.  Sterile white tiles and green paint lined the walls.  A large console hummed nearby; Lightning had to turn her head to see it, but the monitors faced away from her.  She moved to stand and felt pain in her wrists and ankles.  Metal shackles kept her limbs secure and her body seated on a chair that resembled something out of a dentist’s office.  And she was nude.  She felt the slight chill of the recycled air that vented in and out of the room.

“What the hell?”  Lightning thrashed in her seat.  Struggled against her bonds.  The steel cuffs that bolted her in place didn’t even rattle at her movments.  Questions raced through her mind.  Who?  How?  Where is this?

A door creaked open from somewhere behind her.  “Ah, Miss Farron.”  A man dressed like a medical doctor stepped into Lightning’s view.  “Good to see you with us.”

Lightning restrained the impulse to curse the doctor out.  Whoever this man was and whatever role he played in this, she needed answers.  “Who are you?”  Her voice was firm.  Deliberate.

“No one you’ll be concerned with in short order, I can assure you.”  The doctor smirked.  “I’m only here to perform the operation.”

Operation?   Lightning strained against her bonds.  “You’re planning to cut me open?”

The doctor chuckled.  He seemed amused by Lightning’s struggles.  “Not that kind of operation.  Though, depending on how you look at it, it’s just as invasive, if not more.”  He reached behind the console.  “But trust me when I say that what we have in store will take all of your troubles away.”  He lifted a device and held it before her.

A helmet?  Lightning’s mouth fell agape.  The headgear appeared almost absurd, covered in diodes and lined with wires.  She leaned away from the doctor as he held the device over her head.  “And what do you plan to do with that?”

“Attitude adjustment, Miss Farron.”  The doctor set the helmet atop Lightning’s head of pink hair.  “Simply give you an attitude adjustment.”

Trapped in a lab with a complete lunatic.  Great.  She tried to shake the helmet off as the doctor fastened a strap around her chin.  She thought about her comrades.  Did they know she had been captured?  Had any of them been taken, as well?  If they had gotten the drop on her so easily, then the others surely couldn’t—

The doctor fastened some cables to the helmet, and then pressed a button near the top. A visor slid down over Lightning’s eyes, and she faced darkness.  “We’re almost ready to begin, Miss Farron.  Just a few more preparations.”

Preparations for what?   “Tell me who you are.  Who are you working for?”

“Just a client and business partner, really.”  Lightning pictured the grin on the doctor’s face.  “Though you should find him rather appealing when you meet him.”

“Meet him?”  Lightning felt the mildest tinge of relief in her alert state.  Whoever this doctor was and whatever he had planned, he needed her alive.  But in what sort of state?

“Oh, yes.  You’ll be introduced to him as soon as we’re through.  Though when you are, you’ll feel as though you’ve known him intimately for quite some time.  Very intimately.”

What?  Lightning continued to struggle, blinded by the helmet as it emitted a faint motor sound.  Something pressed against her ears, and bland elevator music drowned out her own words.  “What the hell are you doin—Ow.”  The sting of a needle pierced her left arm.  “What are you…”

“…Are you…”

Lightning felt woozy as her whole arm seemed to go numb.  The strength sapped from her muscles.  It felt limp; almost lifeless.  As the drug worked through her system, the sensation spread.  Her torso, her right arm, her legs.  Her head drooped, jaw relaxed, as her tongue lolled from between her senseless lips.

The elevator music cut off as a loud static blasted Lightning’s eardrums.  Colorful pulses of light filled her vision.  The throbbing in her head grew worse as the assault of sound and light seemed to burrow into her head.  And then, from out of nowhere, an old memory came forth, unbidden.

It was the day she had learned that her parents had died; that she and her sister were all alone.  She sat with Serah in a swirl of emotions; despair, frustration, anger, sadness, determination.  It was the day, the moment that had changed her path in life.  Few memories were as painful, as meaningful, as what she was forced to relieve.
Yet there was something off.  It felt distant.  Unreal in its cold construction.  Lightning felt no sadness or rage as she was forced to watch it.  This.  I—what is this?  This never…

The memory cut away and another took its place.  It took a moment to register, but she realized it was a of her eighteenth birthday.  She was gathered around a table with her whole family.  Her sister, her father, her mother.  And there was someone else there.  A man.  Snow?

No, she realized.  It wasn’t.  It was someone different.  Someone that felt familiar and comforting.  That was welcome to her family, in her home.  The man smiled at her, and she had smiled back as he took her aside.  He dropped to one knee and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box.  Lightning had opened it.  Inside was the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen.  She looked up at the man, her fiancé, and cried.

The scene shifted.  It was once again cold and distant; of a day in which she stood in the registration office of the Guardian Corps.  The strange memory confused Lightning.  Why would I join the military?

The foreign memory left as another, far more familiar and welcome one entered the front of her mind.  Dressed in a beautiful white gown, she stood in the center aisle of an ornate chapel, which she viewed from behind the thin veil that draped before her face.  In her hands was a bouquet of flowers with a powerful scent that was almost intoxicating.  At the other end of the aisle was her husband-to-be.  The blare of organ music cued her to step forward, between the rows of onlookers and—

Again and again, Lightning felt forced to sit through false memories of a hollow soldier’s life, only to be replaced by the warm, beautiful memories she cherished.  A fitting for a military uniform swapped places with shopping for a new dress.  And combat training, perish the uncouth thought, was washed away by memories of cooking a surprise for her husband.  A surprise she served in little more than high heels and an apron just to show how much he meant to her.  Memories of being branded a l’Cie, of fighting monstrous creatures gave way to nights of passionate love.  There were so many positions her husband liked.  So many toys he loved to use.  And Light—Claire submitted to them all with unwavering adoration.

Time seemed meaningless as Claire relived her fondest memories, though each was preceded by a fictional tale; a story of another life entirely.  Who this “Lightning” was, Claire couldn’t say.  The stoic, distant attitude she held.  The violence she committed.  She was repulsed.  What man would come to love such a vicious brute?

Claire awoke to the familiar, wonderful sensation of the warm covers she shared with the love of her life.  The morning sun shone through the window of the master bedroom of their home.  “Honey?”  She spoke in a quiet, demure tone as she moved her hand over her husband’s side of the mattress.  “I had the strangest—oh?”

As her hand patted an empty bed, she turned her head and saw no one there.  Slow gears turned in her head.  And then she smiled.  Silly me, Darling is on a business trip today.

Claire slid out of bed and stretched.  The warmth of the morning sun felt so wonderful on her nude body.  But she couldn’t dally.  Her husband was out of town, but she still had a house and home to maintain.  And what sort of wife would she be if she didn’t work so hard to please him?

Without delay, Claire hopped in the shower of the luxurious master bath.  The water felt wonderful that morning; the perfect temperature for her soft, delicate skin; certainly nothing like that of the coarse, muscled flesh of that Lightning she dreamed about.  She took care to wash every inch of her body, and just as much care to lather her shining pink hair with the scented shampoo her husband preferred.

Once she finished her shower and had begun to towel off, Claire pondered what she should wear that day.  I need to go shopping today, so I should find something appropriate.  With one towel wrapped around her torso and another around her hair, she returned to the bedroom and opened her personal wardrobe.  A particular garment caught her eye.  Ooh, that should be perfect.

Claire admired her reflection in the mirror.  The dress she wore was one of her favorites; a beautiful violet that complimented her pink hair so well, it was lined with frilled lace at the hem of the long skirt that hugged her hips, and at the shoulders, where the fabric was woven into large, round puffs.  The bosom was accented with ruffles that always did their best to catch her husband’s eyes.

Of course, she had beautiful heels to accompany the gown.  And a matching hat with a soft cap and wide brim that she could tilt at just such an attractive angle while keeping her skin out of the sun’s harmful reach.  It was the parfait attire for a stroll through town.

Happy with her choice of outfit for the day, Claire brushed her hair.  Each gentle stroke brought out the body in her pink locks, with just the right amount of curl.  And as she set her brush aside, she pulled out her expansive makeup kit; she was an expert of course.  All proper ladies were.  She knew just the proper shade of lipstick and blush to use.  The perfect eye shadow to match and just the right amount of mascara to accent her lashes without over doing it.  And once she added a pair of diamond earrings and the wonderful necklace her husband had given her for her last birthday, she was ready for her day.

With a gentle sway in her hips, Claire set foot out of the beautiful house she shared with her husband in the quaint little town of Stepford.  I should attend to my husband’s shopping needs first, and then I can see about buying a new dress for myself.  I’m sure he’d love to see me in something—  “Oh?”

A feminine figure dressed very much like Claire that day, save for the golden yellow of her garb, approached from the opposite direction with a delicate gait that rivaled her own.  She recognized her neighbor with a nod, and greeted her with a smile they crossed paths.

“Good morning, Vanille.”