They made their way through the crowds and along the cracked concrete streets of the Sector Four slums. Silence continued its reign over them, killing any hope for conversation. As they neared her apartment building, he laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke quietly to her.

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"What was wrong with before?"

"Before wasn't now." She went to say something, but he cut her off, glancing behind him nervously. "Look, it's about the shooting."

A thousand retorts rose and died on her lips. She wanted to say no, to tell him that she wasn't all that interested in the shooting anymore and that if he couldn't be bothered to talk on the train, she couldn't be bothered now. But she knew there was no point. Even if the topic wasn't the shooting, she would talk to him, if only to not be alone for a little while longer. The urgency in his voice led her to believe that he needed company as well.

"Okay, come on up."

He nodded and followed her inside, casting one last glance over his shoulder. Behind them, on a nearby bench, Tseng stood up, stuck his hands in his pockets, and followed them in.

Jerking the stubborn door open, Tifa led him inside, turning on the three lights that hung from the ceiling. Walking over to the small kitchen area, she took out two glasses and filled one of them with water.

"You want something?"

"Sure, what d'you have?" he asked, his calm, regular voice returning.

"I might have a little iced tea left."

"Any beer?"

She shook her head. "I don't drink."

Walking over, he took a seat at the table. Tifa pulled out the iced tea and poured what remained into the other glass. Sitting down across from him, she put the two drinks down on the table, and motioned for him to take one. He reached for the water and took a drink.

"You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah."

"'Bout the shooting?"

"Yeah."

"So?"

Sitting back, Rude took a deep breath and sip of water. Pushing up his sunglasses, he set his drink down and prepared to talk.

"After my dad was killed, I was … well, it was just like you said. I didn't know what to think about him all of a sudden. I wanted to do something, but I didn't really know what I could do." He stopped, and took another drink. Scratching the back of his bald head, he started up again. "I decided to work for Shinra."

She raised her eyebrows and took a sip of iced tea. Rude waited for her to say something, but when she didn't, he continued.

"I was looking to be a Turk, and they let me try out. They made me do some tests, you know, see how good I am with a gun, stuff like that. When I passed, they gave me an assignment, to break me in sort of. They told me who and where, then gave me some money for my trouble and sent me back down to the slums."

"The where was the bar."

"Yeah. I went there, shot, and missed." He stopped. "Do you know who was sitting across from us on the train?"

She shook her head. "He walked into the bar before you came but left like, five seconds later."

"It was Tseng, the leader of the Turks. He wants to make sure I get it done."

"I thought you said it was over."

He shrugged. "I wanted to drop the subject, he was sitting right there." After finishing off his water, he added, "He followed us off the train too. He was sitting on a bench when we came in."

"Does he know that—"

"You're a rebel? No. Shinra only has suspicions about Barret."

"They tried to arrest Biggs, Jess 'n Wedge once."

"I didn't hear about that."

"Were you shooting at them?" she asked, having another drink.

He didn't answer, but chose instead to stare at his empty glass. "I don't want to do it anymore," he mumbled.

"Why not? What changed?"

"I'm just not so sure it's worth it."

"Alright, let me get this straight. You want to be a Turk. They say 'okay, go kill these three people and we'll make you one'. You go, but miss your first shot, so the Turk leader decides to follow you around. Only now, you don't want to do it anymore? Sorry, that just doesn't make sense."

"That's because there's only one target."

"You're only supposed to kill one of them?"

He nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

She took a moment to digest this new information, then shook her head. "It still doesn't make sense. Who is it?"

He said nothing, choosing to tap his fingers on the table for lack of a drink. She didn't ask again; just took a sip of her iced tea, and waited for him to say something else.

Finally, he bit his lip and answered. "You gotta believe me Tifa, I don't want to do it. I don't want to do it but I don't have a choice! He's probably outside right now. I don't do it, and I'm toast!"

She leaned back in her chair, startled by the sudden urgency in his voice. "Rude?"

He stood up, almost knocking the chair over as he did so. "I— I gotta go. I gotta—" backing away from her, he moved towards the door.

"Rude, wait, don't do it. Don't let them turn you into another murderer for them. Come on, there's gotta be a way out of it. I can have Jess make you a fake ID or something," she stood as well, moving towards him with uncertain steps.

Finally, he bumped into the counter, having gone crooked in his backward retreat. "You don't understand. You don't know! You—"

Tifa moved quickly to prevent him from leaving. At his side in seconds, she placed a gentle, yet firm hand on his shoulder. "Who is it?" she whispered up into his ear.

Rude dug into his pockets and removed a small crumpled piece of paper. He stuffed it into her hand, folded her fingers over it and backed away from her until his left hand rested on the doorknob.

Slowly, she unfolded the paper and smoothed it out with her thumb. It was a copy of an old bus pass photo. On it, a cheerful young girl smiled up at her. She looked at him fearfully for a moment as two words escaped her lips.

"It's me."

"Yeah, I know." Reaching once again into his deep pockets, he pulled out his gun, and adjusted his aim.

The shot came and went like any other shot. The bullet buried itself deep in her flesh and she, too stunned to do anything else, fell to the ground.

When the sound had passed, she lay crumpled on the floor like a broken doll, staring up at the ceiling with large, empty eyes. Slowly, she moved her left hand to the wound. Bringing it back up towards her face, she watched with an unattached gaze as her thumb and fore finger rubbed the blood between them. Finally, she let it fall to the ground, and closed her eyes.

Tseng had come in after the shot, nearly knocking Rude over when he opened the door. He stood half in, half out of the apartment, watching as she died. When her eyes closed, he patted Rude on the back, slipped a key card in his pocket, then left. And that was that.

When it was over, he followed his boss out, the image of a fallen angel firmly imprinted in his mind.

As he walked out into the street, he was startled at how so little had changed. The ruined buildings still loomed over the apathetic crowds; almost daring them to acknowledge the presence of the plate, and the fact that they would never see the sun or night sky. The slums hadn't changed at all, but to Rude, it was all very different.

Tseng had long since disappeared into the crowds on his way back up to the plate, to the comfort of life there. Rude imagined what it would be like. Would the food taste better? Would the air be fresher? Would the rain feel good as it fell from the heavens? Snapping himself back to his current guilt, he continued to trudge along the streets, wondering why he bothered.

In an effort to justify his actions, he reasoned that life, especially down in the slums, was a waste of time. She had been miserable and lonely, unsure of why she was still living, when those she cared about were dead. In her grief, she sought to bring chaos to the world by destroying the people she blamed for it all. Shinra.

But the employees of the world's largest monopoly hadn't destroyed her life. In striking out at them, she would have forced them to strike back at her, starting a vicious cycle of pain and death that would likely never end. In killing her, hadn't he broken the cycle? Saved her from the hurt that hurting others would cause? You could pay any priest and he would say that she was happier dead; that she was with her family and friends. But Rude did not believe in heaven or the after-life. In his mind, death was the end, and no amount of justification could make him change his lack of faith.

Someone had to be told. The thought of her body lying there for a couple days until someone finally noticed sickened him. It wasn't because he thought she deserved better; he didn't believe it mattered anymore. But to ease his own guilt he needed to have her laid to rest.

Changing his course, he crossed the street and stopped when he reached the pay phone. Dialing the number of the free Shinra Help Line, he stood waiting for someone to pick up.

"Shinra Help Line, how may I help you?"

"I need the number of the Weapon Shop in Wall Market."

"Alright, one moment please… Yes, it's 331-7940."

Hanging up on the operator, he jammed a gil into the machine and dialed the number. After several rings, someone finally picked up.

"What d'you want?" a harsh voice asked.

"Is there anyone named Jessie there?"

"Jess? No, why?"

"What about Biggs? Or Wedge?"

"Yeah, there's a Biggs here. What business is it of yours?"

"I need to talk to him."

"Biggs! Get over here!"

As Biggs neared, Rude could hear the man muttering to him about the cost that it took to have a phone and how he had never told him he could use it.

"Hello?"

"I just thought you should know that Tifa's dead."

"What! Who is this?"

"It doesn't matter. Her body's in her apartment on Twelfth Street in Sector Four."

A little shocked at the news and having several doubts about the person on the other end, Biggs struggled to take the information in. "Uh, what building?"

"It's a four story brick building at the end of the street. She's in unit 37."

"How long has she been…?"

"Dead? About ten minutes."

"How did you find out?" he asked skeptically.

"I killed her." And with that, he hung up.

She was dead, there was no changing that. Now that it was done though, the only thing to do was forget her. There was no changing the past, just like there was no justification for her murder. When it was all done and over with, the angel fell to allow rise for the devil. And that was that.

The room was cold, dark, and very lonely. She lay on the floor with her eyes closed against the harsh glow of the lights. Half of her was unsure of whether she was able to open them; the other half didn't want to.

The bullet had hit below the collarbone. Blood still slowly oozed out, staining her white top a deep crimson. Her back was sore from lying on the ground, but her attempts to shift position had only resulted in further discomfort.

Rude had left a little while ago, closing the door gently behind him. She didn't expect him to come back. Now that he had left, he was gone for good. Tifa didn't mind in the least.

Granted, she was shocked, and hurt that he'd betrayed her; but she'd rather that he be gone than watching her as she died. It seemed to Tifa that she had been dying a lot in the last year. But this time, there was no escape. She remembered something he had said to her once and gave a sharp, painful laugh. Curiosity, it appeared, had indeed killed the cat. It was about time.

Once she accepted it, she found dying to be an almost soothing sensation. Her breath still came in short, irregular bursts, and the floor was still hard and uncomfortable, but on the whole, she felt much better. She even managed to forget about Rude.

It hadn't been this easy in the reactor. The thought came to her mind despite all her attempts to keep memories of Nibelheim away. She was surprised to find she could think about her hometown now without the usual pain that accompanied it. She decided to sort through her memories, and smiled slightly as all the little things she had taken for granted surfaced. She thought about smiling, laughing, crying, and a great many shopping sprees. She remembered her training sessions with Zangan, and wondered what he would think of her now as she lay on the floor, defenseless and dying.

Quite unexpectedly, blue eyes appeared unbidden behind her lids. A pale face framed by blonde spikes followed, and Tifa was surprised to feel a tear slide down her cheek. She hadn't realized she cared so much about the man with the sad eyes.

None of it mattered anymore of course. She was dying, and there was nothing her phantom protector could do to change it. Thinking about him did nothing to help her situation, so she tried her best to change the image that stared, unblinking, into her soul.

Natasha took his place, but it was not the same Natasha that had been her best friend since the third grade. This Natasha had bright blue eyes that stared at her and refused to let her look away.

Again she tried to change the face. This time, her mother appeared. It was exactly how she had looked before the sickness took her, but still, no matter how hard Tifa tried, she couldn't change the eyes.

Giving in, she allowed the face to change back to that of her old neighbor. She did her best to avoid his gaze, but soon found that there was nowhere in the darkness she could hide. It didn't take long before he cornered her and she couldn't help but look him in the eye.

Reflected in them, she saw Rude, holding a gun, and aiming it at her.

She tried to look away, but the eyes wouldn't let her. She saw her own eyes squeeze shut and Rude look away before he pulled the trigger. His hand shook, and his target changed ever so slightly before the bullet began its fatal journey. She watched as she collapsed to the ground and saw Tseng congratulate him on the kill. The image disappeared and Tifa decided that the eyes she had admired for so long were not as nice as she had originally thought. Focusing on his tall blonde spikes, she allowed her thoughts to wander back to what she had seen in his eyes.

She hadn't known that he had looked away. In a strange way, it almost made her feel better about the whole betrayal. He had told her that he didn't want to do it and she was surprised to find she almost believed him. Almost. In her mind, Cloud smiled, and faded away into the blackness.

A sound. Tifa tried to place it, but couldn't focus long enough to identify it. There were other sounds, but they became muffled and she wasn't entirely sure whether it was her imagination or not. Before she knew it, she had lost all awareness.