Final fantasy is the property of Squaresoft or Square Enix or whatever version of a square they like to identify themselves as. I do not own the concept of materia or most of the monsters featured in this story.

Prologue

Shattered existence

November 20th 2005: Hollywood, Florida

The crimson liquid cut through the white gelatin like canyon crevices shining bright as if they were on fire. It spilled over onto the ivory surface creating a light moist pink. Each time the caramel eyelids closed down over the white eyes, more blood seemed to seep out from the dark brown pupils in the center. Deep breaths of air slowly flowed in and out through the mouth of the man lying on the curb of the sidewalk. His body was completely still, not even the rise and fall of his chest was visible to inquiring eyes. His short black hair was filled with more dirt than his body and face were covered in. The seemingly hundreds of flies and gnats that buzzed around him, most of them dared not touch the stinking rotting thing that wasted away beneath them. An empty bottle of vodka was loosely clutched in the man's right hand that hung over the curb. Some of the contents of that bottle stained the man's black jeans, black t-shirt, and unbuttoned black shirt. Thousands of people had passed by the man for the last three days that he lay there on the curb, none bothered to even ask why he was there.

Why I'm here…? I don't know…why are you here, Michael? The man's thoughts were more unstable than his outer appearance. Where else would I be? At home? I have no home. With family…? No family… Go be with your significant other! Oh wait…shit! She's gone too! Hahahahahahahahaha!!

"Help!"

What was that? Who was that?

"Help me!"

What the fuck is going on!? That was a girl…

"Somebody!" It was late night, well beyond three in the morning. Barely anyone was out. No one near the area the young man lay. A few yards away from him the voice echoed from an alley along with a familiar sound of skin and bone slamming against skin and bone. "Please stop!"

"Shut up!" An agitated male voice snapped at the frightened female.

"Stop it!" The woman cried out as an echo of clothes being stretched and ripped echoed over her voice.

"When I see my money I'll stop!" The man shouted.

You gotta be fucking kidding me. Michael sighed. His body began to tremble as his feet were placed on the ground beneath him and his torso rose. Michael stumbled into the alley, the bottle of vodka clutched tightly in his hand.

The angry pimp ripped away his prostitute's shirt, and then shoved her against the wall. "I said shut up!"

Michael fell into the wall and tipped up the bottle in his hand, gulping down half of the remaining vodka, and then gazed out with blurred vision at the escalating scene in front of him. A slight belch escaped his lips.

The pimp lowered his hand that he was about to smack his prostitute with and quickly turned to face the uninvited spectator. "Who the fuck? Get the hell out of here!"

What the hell are you doing? It took most of Michael's willpower to remain standing.

"Please…" The woman gazed out at Michael with helpless desperation in her eyes. "Help me…"

Another slap echoed throughout the alley as the pimp's hand smashed across the woman's face. "I said shut the fuck up!" His infuriated gaze returned to Michael. His hand wrapped around a silver switchblade in his black coat pocket and flicked it out into the dimmed light of the alley. "Get out of here."

Yeah, no problem. Michael turned around and began stumbling away.

"No! Please help me!" The woman cried.

"I said…" The switchblade raised high into the air then sliced down across the woman's cheek. "Shut up!"

Michael froze at the sound of the woman's last scream. Bright images of another young woman generated from his memories flashed across his eyes. She was beautiful with an adorable smile. The smile soon twisted into an expression of horror and pain as a man forced himself on her. You weren't there; you didn't even know her then. But…it still hurts…

The woman struggled as the pimp began tearing at her skirt. "No!"

The pimp gritted his teeth and raised the switchblade once more. "How many times do I have to tell you to…" The blade came down towards the woman's face then stopped two inches from its cringing target. "Shu—what!?"

Michael took another swig from his bottle of vodka while firmly holding on to the pimp's wrist. "That's enough. Get out of here."

"Mother fucker, you just ended your life!" The pimp turned and backhanded Michael with his free hand causing the young man to stumble back and shatter his vodka bottle against the wall.

Michael slowly turned his head to the right and stared at the broken remains of the bottle still in his hand then sighed. "You just had to break the bottle."

The pimp ran across the alley, the blade lowered to his right hip. "I'll break your fucking face!"

Michael eyed the blade and watched it shoot out from the pimp's side towards his stomach. His hands clasped around the pimp's wrist and his body twisted out of the blade's reach. Michael's arms forced the pimp's arms to twist, bring the blade back around, and bury it deep in the stunned man's chest piercing his heart. Michael took a step back and watched as the pimp gurgled and coughed up blood then toppled over, dead. I ended my life three years ago. Michael glanced up at the sound of hastened footsteps and caught a glimpse of the prostitute running out of the alley before she disappeared around the corner. "You're welcome." Although unnecessary, sarcasm had become a part of Michael's shattered character.

Michael had noticed the storm brewing for two days now. He didn't need a weatherman to tell him about the coming hurricane. Florida was hit with more hurricanes than anywhere else in the states so when you spend your whole life hiding from them, it's easy to tell when they were coming. He didn't know what people had named it and he didn't care. His eyes gazed up at the clear night sky. The moon was full and the stars were bright. Seconds later the blue orbs of light were covered in dark clouds of mist and large droplets of water crashed down on to the ground. The wind howled and ripped across the stone and metal buildings surrounding him. Car alarms wailed; papers and other small objects flew through the air. Michael remained still, starring up at the eye of the storm, pleading, almost begging it to take him up into the air and end his shattered existence.