A/N: So, after reading up on one of the possible character designs of Vincent Valentine, I was intrigued to learn that he almost a private investigator that specialized in paranormal cases but always found them to be fake in the end. I decided to take that small snippet and run with it. Obviously this story is AU.

Chapter One: A New Case

In was a shabby little office tucked harmless in the slums of Sector Eight in Midgar. Above the world of Sector Eight Slums sat Loveless Avenue – a popular location amongst tourist visiting the technological city. Fine dining was available before catching a run of Loveless performed by some of the world's most stellar actors. The avenue was known as an attractive spot for a night of romance amongst the populace. Such an atmosphere did not find itself in the slums located directly underneath.

Like most of the slums the sector was filthy and poor. Barely constructed shacks decorated the streets as a means of 'homes'. Very few had honest to god houses that were made from more than loose materials found lying in the heaps of trash at the edge of the city. The office was fortunately among one of the few buildings that had a proper foundation and a real lock at the door to keep intruders out. The filth the covered the stoop and door did not find itself carried within the office.

Inside it was littered about with stacks of books, files, and research. Case notes, both old and new, were overflowing from the file cabinets. Yet despite all the papers lying about, it did not concern the owner from having several candles adorning the room to act as the source of light. Electricity was a luxury among those in the slums and it was one he did not currently have given the bill hadn't been paid in two months. A large mahogany desk resided in the back of the room, it too carrying the weight of pages in the form of books and newspapers. There were only two other rooms connected to the office: the door behind the desk that lead to his small bedroom that was just larger than a closet and the cellar below was reserved for special research and practices (it was to remain locked at all times).

He was just shy of thirty years old. His hair only slightly kept but threatening to rebelliously spike slightly from its groomed state. Crimson hues remained ever shifting between a news article and one of many pages in his research as though he were attempting to connect some sort of link between the two. Unlike the rest of the slums, he was dressed in a way where he could pass as a person from The Plate. A black tailored suit with the only indication of his current lodgings being the wear upon the elbows and knees where the material was on the edge of threadbare.

The bell above his door had long since lost the clapper so in place of the small chime it would typically make when the door brushed upon the bell, it merely released a dull thud as the door struck the obstacle. The small resistance of the door was met with a pair of curious eyes that lifted up to eye what they had struck for a brief moment before the individual stepped inside.

It was a woman; one he found was undeniably attractive if you considered the standards in the slums. Long dark hair fell pass her shoulders. Her dark clothing: simple black jeans and a white shirt covered mostly by the dark vest she wore over it was a small change to the typical worn rags of the people in the slums. He stood from his seat as she approached and gestured to the worn leather seat situated in front of his desk that didn't match anything else in the office.

She remained on her feet for a moment as she produced a card and read it aloud: "Finds Lost People, items, and trinkets. Knowledgeable of the Occult, the Paranormal, Supernatural, Monsters, Ghosts, and Demons. Private Investigator: Vincent Valentine." Wine colored eyes drifted off the card to stare for a moment longer at the quiet man behind the desk. She held up the card, "Is this a joke? Or do you honestly do this kind of stuff?"

"…Most people tell me I don't have a sense of humor." Vincent responded before he took a seat and once again gestured to the seat in front of him.

The woman before him seemed to find a small amount of amusement from his statement and took the seat. "Well, whoever wrote your tagline needs to be fired. Sounds ridiculous."

"I wrote it."

"I assumed as much." She took a moment to look around the cluttered office and lack of other people as though to emphasize her point. "Do you get a lot of people with cases like that?"

"Most people want me to find a lost person. Occasionally a cat." It would probably be a funny statement if it weren't true. "Unfortunately, the cases that seemed to be supernatural have all proven to be anything but."

The woman nodded her head with his explanation. It wasn't the first time he's had to explain himself to a new potential client. He assumed they wanted to know whether or not he was crazy before they hired him. His hands clasped together on his desk and he stared right back at her without adding anything more to the conversation. He tended to wait for his visitors to lead the conversation rather than waste the breath to ask them what they needed of him. Eventually they would simply come out and say it when they were ready to.

"…Are monsters real?"

"Some would have us believe they are not."

"Hmm,"

One eyebrow lifted slightly as the woman glanced down at the card in her hand once more as she chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. Vincent's gaze drifted off to the side and silently tried to will her to get the conversation going. He didn't care for prolonged meetings when it should just be a simple offer for work. "…I think there might be one living in my area." Vincent returned his gaze to the woman in front of him. He straightened up slightly in his seat to and gave her his full attention; however he didn't press for more information. He didn't feel the need to – not yet. "The occasional thug trying to break into my bar I can handle; however, the past few weeks I've felt like there's something else out there. I haven't seen anything but occasionally I think I hear something."

Vincent lifted a brow at her as though to silently ask her 'what?'. It seemed to get the question across because she managed to understand it. She shook her head, "I don't know exactly. At first I thought it was an animal but… I don't know, have you ever felt like something or someone was whispering something but you're not hearing it with your ears?"

"….."

Lithe fingers brushed through dark locks of hair as the woman seemed to grow momentarily stressed over what she was talking about. "Or maybe the atmosphere of the slums is finally getting to me and I'm just imagining things." She laughed disheartened for a moment, "I don't even know how much it'd cost to hire you to look into it. I don't have that much money. I barely make anything with my bar."

"I'll take the case."

"But…how much will it cost me?" she seemed slightly surprised by his response.

He shook his head lightly, "We will discuss that after the case. It will be based on the work required to finish while keeping your allowance in mind."

She looked hesitant upon his response, "That doesn't sound like a good way to make a living." At that statement, Vincent made a pointed look at the room that surrounded her. She caught onto the silent response and flushed lightly in embarrassment. "What do you need to know?"

"Where is this taking place?"

"Oh, I live in my bar in Sector Seven: Seventh Heaven." She watched as he began jotting the information down into a notebook. "Um…when are you able to start, Mr. Valentine?"

"Immediately." He responded and glanced up at her when he finished writing the location, "What can you tell me of your experiences?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment as she considered what had been bothering her the last few weeks. "It happens once everyone in the sector seems to quiet down. Typically when the bar closes up. It's late. One of the last few things I do is take out the trash and recyclables out behind the bar." Her hands folded between her knees as she leaned forward and rocked slightly restless, "It's not every night, but occasionally I begin to feel like I'm being…watched? Getting inside and locking up all the doors doesn't change how I feel. Honestly, I feel like whatever was watching me is already inside somehow. I don't rest well on those nights. I hadn't felt that afraid of the dark since I was a little girl and normally the dark doesn't bother me. Just when that happens."

"Hmm, you live alone?"

She nodded once, "Occasionally I babysit for a friend. I'm kind of like her aunt. She's five. I haven't allowed her to spend the night in the past month though. Just doesn't feel safe." It was an ironic thing to claim that a place didn't feel safe in the slums. The general description of the slums as a whole was dangerous.

"I may require to be at your home during those hours. Will that bother you?"

She quickly shook her head, "Honestly? I would probably feel safer with someone there with me."

"It may take a few nights if there is no pattern to its appearance."

"That's fine. I have a spare bedroom if you need."

"…What time does the bar open?"

"Seven" The faintest twitch occurred at his lips. He should have guessed as much. Seventh Heaven in Sector Seven, opens at seven. "There's no real closing time. Basically when the last customer is out. Could be early, could be late."

Vincent lowered his head his head slightly in thought. The fact that there was no consistent closing time meant that whatever was stalking the young woman had no real pattern. Not even a usual witching hour. "Very well, I shall arrive tonight after the bar opens." He stood from his desk and offered out his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Valentine." She stood as well and accepted his hand in a shake, "I'm Tifa Lockhart, by the way and I'll make you a drink on the house when you arrive." He simply nodded his head in response before releasing her hand. Tifa headed back toward the door, "See you tonight." She called over her shoulder.

"…."

She was gone and he was left alone with nothing more than candlelight, papers, and a new case. He took a seat in his chair and looked over his notes once more. A new case was just what he needed. It had been quite some time since someone had come to grace him with their presence and promise of work. Vincent Valentine was on the case.