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Sephiroth believed in being persistent. It tended to work, after all, and since he had little-to-no trouble coming back whenever he felt like it, after the better part of a decade, being persistent had finally succeeded. However, there was no meteor to summon and the voices in his head weren't as loud as they used to be. He didn't look much older, but he felt it. He wondered if he was having a mid-life crisis or something. He had one of his clones go out and buy a little red convertible to drive around in. The world belonged to him, after all. He tended to run red lights - there were only so many ways to be evil after taking over the world, after all. He liked the little red convertible - it ran on some sort of compressed energy batteries or something. Of course, his slaves still hadn't finished that damned freeway yet - but they would. Then he could cruise along with three clones in the backseat and one in the front beside him, probably the one he'd had go to the Gold Saucer that one time. Yes, that would be quite nice. And all for being persistent.