The world was no different back then. The rich got richer, the poor got poorer, children dreamed of being heroes and the world slowly choked to death on its on corruption. I was a run away, nothing but a pocket knife, a hunk of Matera and a few dozen Gil to ensure my survival. The Midgar Slums were a whole new world for me, filled with excitement and danger. I was a kid in a candy store, drunk off the vile, poisoned armpit of the world and all it had to offer.

But survival was not as easy as I expected. No body wanted to hire an under-aged red head for any kind of respectable job. Not that I wanted one of those anyway. My looks did not fit my passions, and no one was going to take a risk on hiring a skinny street-rat. I was hungry, I was tired, and I was sick of sleeping in the sewer.

That's when I first met her. We had the same goal, but she was experienced. Her will was stronger than mine. The shop was not too large, but it was successful, and sure to have plenty of Gil on hand.

I rushed toward the shop entrance, ready to kick open the door, demand the Gil from the register and cut the throat of anyone in my way. It was my first real felony, I crouched in the shadows, my adrenaline pumping, head spinning on this new rush. I sucked in one last breath and dashed for the door--and found myself on the ground. Confused, disoriented, I fumbled for my knife, ready to kill the bastard who hit me from behind. How the hell had they known I was there, much less what I planned to do?

I soon discovered that the bastard who knocked me over had not known what I was doing. It hadn't been a bastard. I looked up to see the back of a curvy form, long legs wrapped in tight leather, long raven hair and a black tank top revealing a pair of tattooed black angel wings vanish into the shop, pistol in hand.

Now, I was young, but I was no fool. If someone found me out front with a knife, I'd be labeled an accomplice to the crime. No way in hell was I going to jail for a crime I did not fucking commit. I ran like hell, winding my way though the streets of Midgar, trying to put as much ground between myself and the scene of the crime as possible. But I never forget those black wings...

Three weeks passed, and of those, I had been out of cash for two. Grab and dash techniques had kept me from starving to death, but had not improved my mood any. I was trying to plot my next big move, but an empty stomach makes that really damned hard.

At last I found myself crouched in the shadows outside a restaurant, eyeing the patio tables. There were no customers there at the moment, but the dinner rush had yet to hit. This place was pretty damned well-to-do, so I figured robbing just one of the stiffs here would give me enough Gil to live comfortably for a few days. Gotta love the social gap that exists between the rich and poor. Thank God for the Upper Plate.

At last a waiter led a woman out to the patio, pulled her chair out for her, handed her a drink menu and left. I grinned, knife held tightly in one hand and prepared to rush forward and relieve the broad of some extra wealth. Thank God I hesitated.

She sighed, uncomfortable in the hot night, and removed her jacket, hanging it over the back of her chair. And there they were, painted across those lean, bare shoulders, black angel wings. I felt my breath catch at first, Why her? Why here? Then the bastard in me took over. I know what that smile means, Rude, wipe it off your damned face.

What better opportunity could there have been to get my revenge? She was paying for this dinner with Gil that should have been mine. She deserved for me to mug her more than any other fat cat on the Upper Plate. Judging from her outfit and her restaurant choice, that shop had been loaded, and that money should have been mine.

I leapt from my hiding spot and landed just behind her. I was fast, even back then, and before she knew I was there, my blade was to her throat.

"Hand over the Gil, bitch!"

She just laughed.

She moved before it even occurred to me to get a better hold of her, somehow slipping from behind my blade. Those small hands of hers were like iron around my wrist, the crook of one lean elbow closed around my neck, and the next thing I knew I was bent backwards in a choke hold, unable to breath, my knife in her hand.

I looked up and back, damning her with my eyes, when I noticed she was still smiling. "Taunting bitch," I thought. If not for how damned good she looked, I might just have killed her in the next second, because right then, she let go.

"I remember you," that cocky tone purred. Sea green eyes looked across at me as I hacked, hands at my throat, trying to draw air into my lungs again. "You're that boy who nearly got in my way." Her tone was quiet, soft and slick as satin. I knew right then that I hated her; I knew right then that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

"Go to hell!" I snarled, able to stop coughing at last. The most original come back? No, but hell, I hadn't been able to breath for a damned long time!

She laughed, her head tilting to one side, studying me. "Take a seat. You look like you could use a meal." She moved calmly back to her seat, still in possession of my knife, acting as though she was not the least bit threatened by my presence.

I just stood there, a dumb ass look on my face. "What?"

"Do you want something, or not?" she snapped, tone clipped, dark fringed eyes glancing over her shoulder to me.

Heh, did I want something? I sat down before you could count to three. I had show her I was no boy, after all.