He was nervous.

He was aboard a train that ran through the countryside, connecting rural and urban areas. He sat alone in a booth, hooded and shrouded in black. The train had few passengers, and he was relieved. The conductor had just announced over the intercom that they were only a few minutes from their destination.

Their destination.

Midgar.

He tried to calm his turbulent emotions, to soothe the apprehension raging within him. Midgar was crucial to him. There was so much more he needed to know; he was positive that that knowledge lay in Midgar. Before he'd left Kalm he'd looked up the name Cloud Strife in the continental directory. It had given him a photo, the current address of Cloud Strife, and had also told him that Cloud Strife was partial owner of a bar in the upper plate of Midgar called Seventh Heaven. Being as it was nearing nightfall, he had decided to check Seventh Heaven for the one he sought before going to the current address. The train began to slow; he looked out the window at the large mass looming before him. He'd heard from people he'd asked that while once the lower levels of Midgar had been inhabited, since the Meteor incident more and people had been able to leave the slums and enter the upper levels. The train rolled to a stop in a station in the lower levels; they were eventually ushered off and into a lift that took them to the actual city. He avoided the curious gazes of everyone trying to pierce the shadows of the hood; he knew that he would be recognized more in this city than any other place he had been thus far. The lift went up and up, and it was some time when it came to a halt. He followed his fellow passengers off the lift and stepped into the city.

A city at dusk, no matter the pollution, is often a sight to see at night. He stopped now and gazed at the vast array of sparkling lights turning on at the beginnings of night. There was noise all around him, at first a little intimidating, but something he quickly got used to. He looked around for the method of urban transportation ... a cab ... and hailed the next one he saw.

"Seventh Heaven," he said as he slid inside and closed the door.

"Gotcha," said the driver without bothering to look at his passenger.

It was a short drive, and he quickly lost himself in the turns they made. They pulled up to a building, small and with a glowing blue sign that read Seventh Heaven. He mumbled his thanks and counted out the fare from the his money pouch, and left the vehicle. As it sped away, he stared at the building, fighting the urge not to run back the direction he had come.

It was the only way.

With that thought he steeled his nerve and drew his hood further over his face. The image he presented was of a tall man, face and body hidden beneath the folds of a nondescript black coat. Breathing deep, he walked up the few stairs and pushed the door open.

Every sense he had was assailed at once. Noise rushed out to surround him, along with the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. Music was playing, fast and upbeat and a little loud, and there was the dull roar of voices. He stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Very few took note of his entrance, most were engaged in conversations or playing pool at one of the numerous tables spread throughout the bar. Opposite of where he stood was the bar, stretching several feet. He realized he was standing dumbly in one spot, gawking, and moved to take a shadowy booth in a far corner. Once seated, he began looking for the one he sought. His eyes moved from one person to the next; he held his breath in nervous hope.

"Can I get you something?"

He jumped, startled. Standing before him was a woman with long brown hair tied back and friendly dark eyes. She smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Can I get you a drink?"

"No, thank you," he said. For a moment her gaze seemed to try and penetrate the shadows of his hood, and he moved farther into the booth. She then shrugged, smiled again, and walked away. He watched her leave and then turned his attention back to searching for Cloud Strife.

He almost missed him. He was sitting in a dark corner much the same as his own, and was by himself. He had a drink in front of him, and his eyes travelled idly over the assembled crowd. Every now and then someone would say something to him, and he would smile slightly or nod or say something before returning to his surveillance. He was as the information photo had presented him; lean and muscled with unruly blonde hair and blue eyes that glowed, even in the dim lighting, with the traces of Mako.

The other released the breath he had been holding. He wanted to approach Cloud Strife now, wanted the information only he could give. He knew he couldn't, because when he finally did there was no denying that there would be a scene. So he settled into his booth to wait.

The hours passed. He watched the others around him, slightly jealous at the way they enjoyed themselves, the way they had a life they never questioned. He knew he could never do that, not knowing what he did. It made him feel slightly less than human, as if in missing that aspect of existance he lost part of his identity. He snorted silently at that thought. What identity did he have? None other than what he had learned through heresay and books, and he wasn't entirely certain he wanted that one. What a hand fate had played, giving him back the life he most likely didn't deserve to live! His expression, unseen by anyone, darkened. After he had sufficient knowledge about who he was, the next step was discovering why he was alive.

Closing time approached. People began to slowly filter out. Soon the bar was empty, but for himself, the woman, and Cloud Strife. She approached him with the same friendly expression she'd worn before. "I'm sorry, Sir, but we're closing now, and you'll have to leave."

"I'm here to speak with Cloud Strife," he said. Her smile faded, and she glanced over her shoulder to where Cloud sat watching them intently.

"Just a second," she said, and walked to Cloud. They conferred for a moment. Cloud stood and made his way over to the booth, the girl close behind.

"You want to speak with me?" Cloud Strife said, looking at the other curiously.

"Yes," he replied, and then said urgently, "Alone."

The woman frowned.

"Please," he said, "I must speak to him alone."

She opened her mouth to object, but Cloud waved her away. She gave him a look that clearly didn't agree with the decision, but she moved away and left the room by way of a back door. Cloud looked back to the other. "Mind if I sit?"

"Please do," Replied the other. Cloud slid into the booth. He watched the other expectantly.

"What do you need to talk to me about?"

The other hesitated. This was the moment of truth ... if he revealed himself he may not make it out of this bar alive. But he had to know!

He swallowed heavily. His hands, shaking slightly, rose and pushed back the hood.

Cloud paled. His hands gripped the tabletop.

"Sephiroth!" He whispered, "You're dead!"

"I was," the other said quietly, "But I'm back. And I don't know why."