Chapter II; Day 2

She was a Shinra scientist- that much was obvious. A white lab coat fell open to reveal a frilly, lilac blouse and deep purple, tiered skirt that stopped above her knee on one side. Vincent dragged his gaze away from her soft, cream legs, where it had lingered. On her feet were scarlet heels, a plain silver anklet shimmered in the artificial light. She laughed, a hand going to her mouth. But there was something in her downcast, chocolate brown eyes, which hinted at a fragile state of mind, not masked well enough. Her long brown hair was tied up into a ponytail with a thick yellow ribbon; she tucked her bangs behind her ears, as she listened to whatever her colleague was saying. Vincent could tell she was preoccupied though. An open, friendly smile was gracing her lips but her eyes were inverted. The lowly Turk lowered his eyes, as the woman and her friend moved away with their coffees, probably returning to their lab to work through lunch. Vincent himself, was sat alone at one of the tables within the cafeteria, a half-eaten sandwich in front of him and an empty espresso cup. He was on-call today, but so far nothing incredibly eventful had happened- both a relief and irritating. All he'd done was photocopy a batch of death threats and wandered aimlessly, around the Shinra building. Vincent was restless, more so now. He was plagued with an idea of sneaking down into the science department and learning more about the intelligent woman that had just caught his attention.

'It isn't exactly a restricted area…but I can't just go walking into a lab…if I can get my hands on a lab coat and maybe a clipboard…'

"Valentine," a thin white envelope was dumped onto his table. The Directors brunette, green-eyed secretary, Morgan Price, attempted to flick the back of Vincent's head but he caught his wrist in one swift, movement. "You're up," the black haired man watched the secretary leave with narrowed eyes, before reaching for his new order. Vincent memorised the two names and the address, before scrunching up the piece of paper and throwing it into a nearby bin, with the remains of his food.

A good thirty minutes later, Vincent was sprinting through the Midgar slums, Sector 8 to be precise, just passed LOVELESS Avenue. The targets were a pair of twin brothers. Well, not anymore; the Turk had already finished off one, back at their dingy, basement flat. Now, the short, scrawny man with the curly blond hair and freckles across his nose, reached a dead end. Vincent came to a stop, his breathing only slightly, laboured and gave his final target a measured look. The man- Noah or Nathaniel Manderson, Vincent hadn't known which was which- was panicking, cowering back against the wall.

"Stay back- you Shinra scum!" tears were streaming down his cheeks, most likely from fear and grief over the death of his twin. Vincent hadn't been told the crime that these two had committed, which he reckoned had been a conscious decision, rather than out of irrelevance. In which case, he knew not to ask the man how he had wronged the Electric Power Company- he wouldn't want to hear the answer: that they had done nothing but bad-mouth Midgar's most powerful inhabitant.

"Calm down," Vincent instructed the man falling apart in front of him.

"I said stay back! Murderer!" the man shouted, turning his back on the Turk and pressing his fists to his eyes.

"This will be over soon," Vincent told him quietly, aiming Cerberus roughly where he knew his heart should be; the man let out a coarse laugh.

"You think I should thank you. Don't you?!" his voice shook with rage as he spun to face the cool, detached killer. Vincent didn't speak, simply held the blonds amber glare. "You're all the same- President Shinra, the Turks, SOLDIER- you all walk around, acting like gods, but one day- one day, you're gonna be the one staring down the end of a barrel." The man spat, voice raw with emotion. Vincent closed his eyes and took the shot.

"Farewell," he said under his breath, replacing his gun. The man with the curly blond hair pasted to his face, sunk to his knees, blood gurgling at the back of his throat and pouring endlessly, from his chest.

"Noah…" he choked out before his body hit the ground. Vincent lowered his head, hair falling over his eyes.

'How did I get here…?'

A picture of the scientist with the vulnerable eyes and gentle smile, fluttered to the forefront of his mind. It softened his heart and smothered him with guilt, in equal measures. As he started making his way back through Sector 8, he imagined laying his head in her lap, sighing in the feeling of her running her square-tipped fingers through his dark locks. The corners of his lips quirked up, as he shook his head. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, bemusedly, letting his mind cloud with thoughts of the beautiful woman. He held no hope of getting to know her better; he, almost willingly, accepted that fact. But he was intrigued by her weakly crafted, façade and felt compelled to find the cause of her melancholy and eliminate it. He wanted to protect her…Vincent frowned mildly, rolling his shoulders. It was strange, even for him- who was a natural born, loner- to feel protective of someone he didn't know a thing about.

'Maybe that's not such a bad thing…'

An image of his father came to his mind then; an icy claw gripped his heart and he automatically pulled his jacket closer. Something needed to change, he knew, but not for the first time since his father passed on, Vincent felt completely alone in his turmoil. He exhaled, fixing his reddish brown eyes straight ahead and forced all doubt and loneliness to the back of his mind. He would make his father proud of him and he would watch over the young scientist; even if it killed him.

Vincent warily opened his reddish brown eyes. He didn't know where he was or even how he'd come to be there. It was a vast piece of lush, vibrant land and the sun shone down pleasantly, upon his face, from a cloudless sky. A warm breeze stirred his crow-black hair, which was oddly, heavy and stretched past his shoulders; he caught a lock between his fingers, a frown crossing his face. The landscape surrounding him was completely open and a rocky stream flowed soothingly, somewhere to his right. And then in the blink of an eye, the Turk was no longer alone; he tensed, hand instinctively going for Cerberus. But it came away empty- not only was his gun missing, but his clothes as well. There were needles stuck in his arms and sensors were all over his body, though none of them were connected to any visible, machines. Even as he felt his skin heat up along his cheekbones, he ripped the thick needles from his flesh, set his jaw and turned to confront the stranger.

"Who are you-?" Vincent's solid voice broke off, eyes widening, infinitesimally. She stood four yards away, swathed in an ivory dress that clung to the bump extending from her torso. At first, the black haired man thought it was his mother, despite the fact that she was no longer living and her hair had been much darker. When the woman raised her head however, Vincent was hit by recognition as well as deeper confusion. "It's…you…" he glanced down to see that he was now clad in buckle-fastened, black leather. His head shot up again and she was directly in front of him; soft brown hair, loose and fanning out around her body, and chocolate brown eyes laughing at him. She clutched protectively at her protruding belly, looking up at him, before she placed a hand on his chest, over his heart and pushed. The grassy floor suddenly went out from underneath him and he was falling. The blockage in the back of his throat prevented him from uttering a sound, as he frantically groped upwards, only to become mystified by a clawed, golden gauntlet, encasing his left hand and forearm.

"What in Gaia's going on?" he muttered as the scenery flipped and all he could see now was the colour red. Sweat had beaded on his forehead and was making paths downwards, over his temples. His eyes searched diligently, for a cleft he could grip- anything he could use to stop himself from falling. No such luck; he continued to free-fall, never reaching a bottom to the blood-red pit. And then he was opening his eyes again, though he didn't remember ever closing them. This time he knew exactly where he was. And he wished he didn't. He was a kid again, twelve years old, and was at his mother's grave. He wore a black and white suit- the same he'd worn to the funeral, not a month before- that was too big for him. His dark, unruly hair only just scraped his awkward, pre-teen shoulders and the hem of his trousers was mud caked. He barely noticed let alone cared about these little details. His mind was focused on the task of repeatedly, tracing the letters of his mother's name, engraved on the tombstone, with his index finger.

"Vincent," he vaguely, registered his father come up behind him, tone distant. "It's time to go." Vincent's finger stopped on the tip of the 'l' in their shared surname. A firm but comforting hand landed on his shoulder and he released a quiet breath. His palm lingered a moment on the smooth, cold stone, before he got to his feet, lifted his chin and walked away, a picture of strength within a tiny frame.