People typically start at the beginning. That's not the case here. All the detail of my before life are inconsequential to the real beef of the story. It's not like I remember anyway... I've long since discovered that my brain likes to forget things that it doesn't want to remember. Maybe that's why I was able to kill so easily, for a time. But eventually an old man's sins pile up around him.

There were two people that mattered. Both were students of mine, in a way. The first one went off and got himself killed. The second one did the same thing. For women, no less.

Not that I don't like women. Quite the contrary. I'd look after the girls just as much as the boys. But there's something terribly cliched and Shakespearan about how a man throws away his life for a woman's sake that makes me tired. Life isn't that romantic picture they fool children into thinking.

I wonder if maybe part of my impression upon them did it. Always pushing them, telling them it wasn't good enough. Making heroes out of nothing more than hired help. That's what I wanted. I wanted them... to get out.

When my memory does function properly, it's deep, unyeilding. Black water that sucks me straight in. I was there to see that band of heroes stumble back into town, because one always envies what they cannot have... cannot be.

So, Vincent, did it feel good to come back from the dead? I know that when I did, it just felt like an ache. But you don't see me in the crowd gathered to watch as you all walk into town, to see if Midgar still lived.

If I recall, you didn't see me the first time I ran into you either.

I didn't need to be in Sector Five. I was done for the day, and unlike the others in my age group, I didn't go out and party. I didn't see the point... it slowed reaction times, senses. So why I was walking around? Maybe it was the walking itself. It had been a hard week... two assassination attempts and someone nearly getting themselves exploded... it was a messy not quite organization in those days.

I actually noticed his sister first. One of those types of people that didn't belong in the slums... like a porcelain doll. I held no illusions towards her... I had never had any attractions to the fairer sex. No, it was more like appreciating a piece of artwork.

"Vincent, I will be fine. Quit hovering." A dark haired boy, a gangly teenager peeked from behind a vender's stall. It was quite obvious they were related and quite obvious they were not from the slums. Their grammar was too precise. Their clothes too clean. Though, this Vincent didn't seem to have the same penchant for overly fripperous clothes like his sister. An uncommon sensibility.

"Mother told me to make sure you do not get into any trouble, Helen. And you always do. It is not hovering. It is a preemptive solution." She laughed and he scowled. Arrogant little bugger if I'd ever seen one. He was far too thin and fragile looking to properly handle a fight in this area. Fools, the both of them.

Though, the rather elegant pistol at his side would be useful. I doubted someone of such affluence could use it properly. So I figured, if only to satisfy my curiousity and to prove my point that young people needed to be escourted, I trailed them.

"Hey there, how much fer yas?"

Of course, the inevitable happened. The both of them would fetch a decent price, if only because they weren't diseased and had all their teeth. I didn't quite know why I had my gun drawn, not like I was going to interfere and possibly get in trouble for it later... I was just watching.

"Excuse me?" Helen asked, with that featherbrained sort of ignorance that only pretty girls possessed. Vincent looked a little spooked.

"What sir?" he asked. Stupid kid. He should have drawn that fancy weapon already. He should have pushed that silly sister of his to the side and made a break for it. Anything but ask questions.

"Ya and yer purty friend there. Mighty fine time. How much?" Knives were drawn. Oh, it was i this /i gang... I'd been asked on a couple occasions how much I was too. Though, these two must have been like champagne after all the beer they were used to. I was already 24 and had two gray hairs... hardly the showpiece.

"I certainly hope you are not talking about what I think you are." A gentle push on the girl and I could tell he'd done this before... such a waste. Pretty girls needed more brains. At least Vincent seemed to have some sense. Some.

Gun drawn. The gang laughed.

"Ya gonna shoot us, prettyboy?"

"No, I am going to kill you. You will not treat my sister with such disrespect."

And with that, he shot, lucky guess, the leader right in between the eyes. Helen screeched in a way that suggested she'd seen this before. But... the shot was so clean, so quick. Instinct. This kid... he was talented. I could tell that he had to be too. Seemed awful protective of that ninny at his side.

Nearly as soon as the leader was down he was grabbing her wrist and running. She didn't move as quickly as he did, but it didn't matter. The gang was a little too shocked to follow right away.

This is where I foolishly stepped in.

"Haven't I told you to stop prowling this sector like a pack of animals?" I always tried to be cordial with any transaction I made. The second, a man with a nasty scar running the side of his face that he'd gotten over a cheated hand of cards glared at me.

And he'd thought that I was quite pretty last week.

"We dun need yer shit, Turk." I shook my head... considering how the last fight went down, he i>owed /i> my most esteemed organization. I figured a warning shot to his leg would help with that.

"Godsfuckingshityoubtich!—" I cut him off before he continued with that vulgar strain of expletives. I was never too fond of the local syntax, and I wasn't going to put up with it from a two bit punk that had tried to grab my ass and buy off a couple kids that were too stupid to realize where they were.

"You will go back to your hideout, plot various ways to get back at the great Shinra corporation and not bother any more displaced children or I will aim a little higher. Is that understood?"

If you spoke the right language, you could get just about anything to happen. They backed off and I casually walked in the direction the kids had gone... much to my relief, oddly, I saw them catch a train that was heading to the upper plate. Vincent had a vice grip on his sister and was dragging her... they were close, if very different. Iron and lace, I would say if I were feeling poetic.

I wonder what she thinks of you now, Vincent. You never told me if she was still around. You don't even look that much like her anymore... losing those out of place blue eyes for haunting red ones I see now.

And like before... I disappear into the slum crowd. That dark haired girl whose bar we used to sit in sees me, and I hope she doesn't recognize me. Because last time we crossed paths... you were signing your life away. Of your own volition.

You look tired, kid. Please get some sleep.

Funny thing how an old timer like myself could never figure out when someone was following me. Watching me. Recognizing me. Did they know Veld Dragoon?