All right, the TR hate mail HAS TO CEASE! Even thought I have had many people saying they love my story, I've gotten a lot of hate mail too (the subjects are: Ramza being a bimbo (which I really dislike, because she isn't), the lightsaber, Murdoc, Kefka, Neil Diamond, Dallas, MacGyver, Pink Floyd, Nate and the body switch, and just general hating, like your story sucks). It hurts. I can take constructive criticism (i.e., grammatical and plot holes, etc.), but not all out hate mail. If you have nothing nice to say, don't say it at all. And on with the story.

 "Life's a bitch. But you have to deal with it. Here's our first couple, Cloud and Tifa Strife." Cloud was the last place he wanted to be: a support group. There were a few other couples there, they were nothing short of amusing. One was a fat drunk with a wife that was dressed like Scarlet used to dress, another one was a man who always said, "They're coming to get me!!" and his wife whom was trying to calm him down, and a person that just sat there and shut up. "So, Mr. Strife, explain why you think your son ran away from home."

 "Umm... well, it really wasn't running away, it was more of leaving to rescue his girlfriend, I guess. Poor kid's been through a lot."

 "Really? I saw his picture, he looks twenty something. Why are you referring to him with kid gloves? Pardon the pun."

 "Because he's a kid."

 "No, he's not, he's an adult."

 "No, Nate's a kid." The support group woman rolled her eyes.

 "No, you have to accept that Nate is an adult, not a child. A man of twenty years doesn't have to be treated like one of seven." She had just chosen the wrong words to say.

 "He is seven." Suddenly, all of the people in the support group sat up, and paid attention.

 "Really." The support group woman rolled her eyes again and sighed. "No matter how much you think, Nate is not seven. He is twenty."

 "No, I don't think, I know." Tifa rolled her eyes, and took her pocketbook.

 "Look, miss, at these two photos. See this one? This is Nate. Look at the date on the back. It says 7/11/99. Look at this one. This is the picture I showed you before. The date is 7/23/99. See what we mean?" The support group woman looked at one, then the other, and repeated it, until she fainted on the floor. "Hey, are you okay?"

 "Life's a bitch. And I got one right here. G'hoy, I made a funny!" The face of the most psychotic villain currently on the planet. Ramza turned her head at that remark. "Oh, yeah, you don't know what that means." Murdoc said that in a mocking manner, and Ramza frowned. "Now let's see, what's my henchman... er, I mean henchgirl, going to do for me today?"

 "Nothing. I hate you." Murdoc took a step back in mock amazement.

 "Really. I'm hurt."

 "No you're not, you're playing mind games with me. Mind games I don't very much like."

 "So, you have an attitude now, eh? All I do is try to make life comfortable for you, and here you go acting unappreciative."

 "No, you're not. You're making my life and others a living hell. You killed my mom and Yuffie. You made poor Reeve into goo! I hate you! You are the most despicable human being on the face of God's green earth."

 "Thank you." Murdoc laughed mockingly. He pulled up his gun and aimed it at Ramza's head. His gun looked like a golf putter, but it had a trigger, and was gyrostabilized, so he could whip it at a moment's notice. Its barrel was long, and had a little cocking mechanism in the middle. He put his hand on it, and pulled it back, with a resonant click. "I hope you want to die." Ramza thought for a second. She watched Murdoc pull the trigger back. She made no move to stop him. He began to sweat. He pulled the trigger, and it fired. A whiz and a shank occurred (again, cheap SFX), and Ramza was unharmed.

 "What??" Murdoc stared incredulously at Ramza, with her lightsaber extended.

"Oh no. I think it's time for you to die." Ramza took the lightsaber and sliced the end of the gun off.

 "Really. You think you can stop me that easily?" Murdoc closed his eyes, and the barrel of the gun reformed. Ramza gasped and took a step back. "And watch this!" Murdoc took the gun, turned it around, and shot himself. It took an arm off. Again, he closed his eyes, beads of sweat coming from his brow. A new arm formed from which the old one was severed from the blast of shrapnel. Ramza was watching this time, with tears in her eyes. "As you can see, I am unstoppable. And as for you, let me give you a piece of my mind about you. You are a nobody. You are a tool. Just a tool for my use. You have no life. Your life was just a fairy tale. So what if you're just a kid. I know you've had a child, and that you've been raped, and a whole bunch of stuff you think only you know. I know your father had an affair. I know your mother smoked when she was pregnant. I knew that your little friend Nate is just a product of a night that his parents figured would be their only chance to do the monkey dance. And as for your point in existing, you wound up because your mother found your father in ruins. She nursed him back to health, and he was so grateful, he proposed on the spot, and made love to her on that night, conceiving you. Lies. That's all your life is. A lie." After that, Ramza just shook her head.

 "No... You're... lying..." Ramza was analyzing all the emotions running through her head. Her existence? A lie? That's not possible. She was living a life. That proves it's not a lie. But were the events...?

 "I think you could use some time in quarantine." Murdoc took out a little remote, and pressed a button. The phone in Ramza's pants pocket beeped three times, and she vanished into thin air.

 Ramza wound up back in her room. She tried the door, it was locked, as well as the windows. Trapped. Like a rat. She frowned and went on to her bed, and then started crying fifteen years worth of reserve tears.

 John Harding was sitting at his desk, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper Chuck Anderson (author's note: let me get this straight right now, this man is my uncle. DO NOT confuse him with someone fictional) (one of his pet peeves is being called Sarge, or worse, his childhood nickname, C.J., for Charles John) brought in for him. He was flipping through the articles, when he found something interesting.

 "Evil, psychotic assassin takes hostage. What else is new." He saw the picture, and swore, the resemblance of the woman in it looked uncanny. He continued to read, and spit out the coffee when he read it. "'Her name is Ramza Bouregaurd, age 22...' Oh my god." He took a pair of scissors, and clipped the article, and put it on a piece of paper, and posted it on the blackboard. He was not imagining what he was imagining right now. "Ramza's not a grownup, she's a little girl," he thought to himself. Maybe it was a different Ramza. Of course, he had not heard from her, her parents, Nate, or the Strifes in the past month and a half. Many thought processes were running through his mind. The first of the children walked through the door, and he came up and looked at what was marked, "Please read."

 "Mr. H.? Who is that lady in the picture?"

 "It's... Well, we're going to discuss it today in class. Go outside and wait for the bell to ring."

 "'Kay." The boy walked out, and closed the door behind him. This
was rough.

  /"There's a silence surrounding me..."/

    Ramza perked her head up.

  /"I can't seem to think straight..."/

 "What is that?"

  /"I sit in the corner... where no one can bother me..."/

 "Who's saying that?"

  /"I think I should speak now..."/

 "Are you talking to me?" Ramza said. She was surrounded by darkness.

  /"But I can't seem to speak now..."/

 "What do you want from me? Who are you?" Ramza started to fear whatever was saying those words.

  /"My Words won't come out right..."/

 "I don't understand." Ramza said.

  /"I Feel Like I'm Drowning..."/

 "But I'm not near any water." Ramza said back to the chorus of voices.

  /"I'm Feeling Weak now..."/

 "But I'm fine!" Ramza retorted.

  /"But I can't show my weakness..."

 "I don't understand! What does this mean? Am I going to die?" Ramza questioned.

  /"I sometimes Wonder..."/

 "What are you wondering?" Ramza asked.

  /"Where do we go from here?"/

 "I Don't know where 'here' is!" Ramza replied. Another voice came.

 "Don't worry. I'm here. I'm coming for you." The voice said quietly.

 "Who is here? Who is coming for me? I want some answers!" Ramza stomped her foot, but since it was dark, she couldn't see.

 "I am. I'm coming as fast as I can."

 "Who is 'I'? Tell me now!"

 "Don't go anywhere. I'll be here in a few days. You'll be home. You'll be with your dad."

 "Daddy... is this you?"

 "No. I am just a person. This is all I have to say. On the count of three, you will exit this state of limbo. One, Two, Three." *poof*

 Ramza awoke. Again. Another dream. She was still locked away. But not in her room. In chains and shackles. She flicked her head from left to right. She looked in front of her. She saw her mom, pregnant, hiding, smoking. She saw her father drinking, and yelling. She saw herself, being toyed with by Kefka. She saw the bastard Pierce and something she never wanted to see again. Ramza saw Cloud yelling at Nate, and giving him a spanking. Ramza saw Elena blown to bits by the explosion on the Highwind. She saw herself, staring incredulously as Murdoc regenerated his arm. Suddenly, all the images turned and stared at Ramza. They took out needles. Each illusion stuck a needle into Ramza's body, and she screamed. The scream died down, and she watched her body go through her life, growing, childbearing, aging, and becoming a middle aged woman, to an old hag. She slumped her head down, and the images cackled.

 Ramza awoke. This time, she was sure it wasn't another dream, because she was in her nightgown, and the TV in the room was still on.

 "My life is getting too weird."

Author's Notes

 La la la! The twentieth chapter anniversary of TR! My main author note is on the top of this, and about Chuck/Sarge/C.J. Anderson, he is my uncle! The CJ thing is not referring to CoJ in any way, shape, or form. Whenever my mom refers to him and school, she says, "Watch out, or Mr. C.J. Anderson will be on your case!" because having an uncle at school can suck and be cool.