Starting at the outskirts of Sector 3 and Sector 4, Edge's main road ran out straight to the east. The city formed along this main road and expanded out to the northwest.
It was an impressive sight when seen from afar, so much so one could overlook the fact it had been put together with scrap excavated from the ruins of Midgar. Still, the odors of iron and rust in the air was something to get used to.

Johnny's Heaven was a café along the main road - a humble establishment; just a couple of tables and chairs and a stall for making simple meals set in an empty lot. It's owner, Johnny, named it in honor of it's predecessor, Seventh Heaven - a diner that once stood in Sector 7 of Midgar - in the hope his business might enjoy a similar success.

Several months after the original was destroyed in the fall of the Sector 7 plate, its hostess, Tifa Lockhart, had opened a new Seventh Heaven in Edge. Back then, Johnny was lost amidst the swarms of people who couldn't decide what direction they should take with their lives, but he was moved by the inspiring way of life Tifa led. Once the object of his unrequited affections, Tifa soon became a role model, someone for him to look up to and learn from. He wanted to live his life like Tifa did hers, and was inspired to start a business of his own, to give hope to those who had lost their way.

That marked the beginnings of his project, Johnny's Heaven. The clientele often heard the tale of "Johnny's Rebirth" when they stopped in for a drink or two. Intrigued by his stories, his customers visited the new Seventh Heaven in hopes of catching a glimpse of the illustrious Tifa. Many soon became regulars. Before he knew it, Johnny spent most days in the empty café, waiting for someone to show up and listen to his tales of love and hope.

But not today.

Overhead, a heavy rain descended from the skies; it did not look like it planned on ceasing anytime soon.

That meant, too, that Johnny would have no customers for the day, not where all his tables and chairs and stall were exposed to such harsh elements.
Definitely no business.

With barely any shelter from the makeshift cover he had set up over the main stall, Johnny hastily packed away the more perishable items in the safety of the storage. Then he uttered a string of cusses he recalled to be pejorative in nature as he found himself stuck with the thermos of still-hot coffee.
What do I do with this! Drink out of it while standing here and watching this confounded rain!

He was still contemplating the best solution possible when a ragged figure hurried in his direction. Johnny managed to blink once before he found that same figure in the lot with him. The man nodded apologetically in Johnny's direction, then squatted under what little shelter was left to be offered.
Right at the front of the main stall Johnny was trying to clear.

Johnny was incredulous, but was able to empathize; had it been him caught in a rain like this, he knew he would do anything to get hold of shelter until it passed.

Soaked to the bone and getting wetter with every passing second, the man did not appear to shiver too much, instead huddled into the bare amount of warmth his soggy, ill-fitting jacket could offer. The dark mane of hair that clung to his head, too, dripped with rainwater, streaking the ground with it. He looked scarcely different from a drowned rat, and made a sorry sight.

Johnny continued to stare over the top of his stall down at the huddled figure, and fidgeted uneasily before getting his act together.
"Hey, there - don't sit there and soak like a sponge, you can come round here."

The man did not answer, hesitant and scrunched against the stall's front.

"Plenty of room, plus it's drier; come on in."

This time, the man got to his feet and ducked under the makeshift shelter with Johnny. He promptly squatted again, his gloved hands disappearing into his jacket once more. This time, a metallic glint and black leather could be seen peeking from the back where the collar was pulled back. It looked like a bladed weapon of sorts.

Johnny looked from his unexpected guest to the thermos he continued to hold. Finally, he pulled open the storage drawer and removed a disposable cup. Pouring out a good measure of coffee, he squatted as well and held it out to the man.

There was next to no hesitation this time as the man accepted the cup and drank from it greedily. As his hands clutched the disposable cup, the open front of his jacket became visible, revealing a partially damp white shirt and a dangling pendant. At the end of that pendant was what looked like a lion's head attached to a small cross. Strung together with it was a small silver band and a pair of dog tags.

...a soldier...probably from the W.R.O., too. Why didn't I figure that out before?

Just then, the man coughed as he choked slightly on the hot coffee. Before Johnny could say more for the occasion, the man nodded to him again, and resumed drinking from the cup as soon as his throat and chest had calmed down.

Finally, the man lowered the drained cup from his lips, heaving a long, deep sigh of relief. He looked tired, exhausted from traveling a great distance and experiencing many things.

Johnny's curiosity was spiked, but he reached for the cup. Taking it easily from the now slackened hands, he refilled the cup and handed it back.

The man stared at the cup, then took it carefully. He seemed more in control of himself, now, then he was earlier. Taking a more composed sip from the cup, he spoke at last.
"...thank you."

"All part of the job," Johnny answered easily, his most winning grin upon his face. The man did not appear taken in by it, yet it was not as though Johnny could tell either way - the emotionless expression looked like more like a fixture upon that face, betraying no hint of amusement, anger, sorrow or even happiness. It was a monotonous neutral - Cloud had looked like that, once.

"I'm Johnny."

"Leonhart."

"What brings you all the way from the front?"

"Trying to get home."

"You live here in Edge?"

"No."

"So...where do you live?"

"...wouldn't understand if I told you."

"A long story, then."

This time, yet another nod; the warm coffee had not helped loosen his tongue by much.

"So, tell me."

"...do I know you?" the man muttered sardonically. Johnny remained undaunted.

"I'm the guy with a good thermos of coffee, and a good pair of ears."

The man finally looked up, deep into Johnny's ears. Two dark orbs with their very own storm brewing behind them; eyes that were angry and bitter, yet so weary they no longer held the will to complain.

Then the man looked away and took another sip of coffee.
"...works for me..."

The weather had been kind to them that day - it was neither a scorcher, nor was there any rain. There had not been rain for many days, now.

The search team found yet another house with someone dead. Through the entire line of houses they had checked, there was always at least one death.
This time, at least they recovered a survivor - an eight- - perhaps nine- - year-old boy.
Chief stayed a little longer to help the boy bury the old lady in her backyard. Leonhart and the others were roped in to help, and each had contributed at least one shovelful of soil.

"...must've been wanting to grow something; surprising we didn't hit the plate, how deep in we dug," someone commented beside him. But that was all that could be said for her sake; none of them had ever known her, save the boy - they did not know what her favorite food or color or animal was, what made her laugh and what made her cry, how she liked her steaks done, or if she was a vegetarian.
All they knew about her, was that she was called "Mrs. Levy".

As they moved to go, Chief invited the boy to hitch a ride on the truck down to the station. The boy accepted, and climbed into the back, into a seat right next to him. Leonhart did not make any effort to speak with the boy, his eyes busy scanning the landscape as they drove on.
It did not take long before they reached the station...if it could still be called one.

"The train's not running," Chief commented, "and there's no chance of it getting repaired. Good thing the tracks still lead down to the ground; if we walk, we can reach the Slums in good time."

"Is Midgar safe?" Leonhart asked.

"That, my friend, I don't know. But for now, it's probably safer on the surface, don't you think?" Chief left the question unanswered, then turned to the boy.
"Don't slip. No one's got any time to spare to help; you'll just have to look out for yourself."

The boy slid easily from his seat, then alighted. As the truck made a U-turn and drove away, Leonhart watched the boy disappear into the crowd of straggling survivors.

Then Chief interrupted his thoughts as he addressed the whole team.

"Keep an eye out for a decent parking space; at the rate this is going, we'll be taking our shovels back down there as well."

The man tilted his head back, once again emptying the cup. Looking up at Johnny, he held it out with a silent request.
Johnny obliged him, once again straightening to refill it from the thermos.

"Don't take too many of these, or you won't be able to sleep tonight," he casually mentioned on the side.
The man did not comment.

Handing the cup back once again, Johnny settled himself into a more comfortable position. "Please continue."

"...bored out here?"

"Not with a good story going."

The man snorted before going back to the coffee, but Johnny pressed on.

"So, did you go back to the station?"

They had to.
Completing their expedition through the line of wrecked homes, they had found almost everyone else dead. Most were bleeding black blood from various parts of their body.
They spent the better part of the next three to six hours with more burials; there had not been as much soil as in the old lady's backyard, but they had managed to lay each one into the ground.
Then Chief directed the driver back toward the station. A parking space had been found, and then the rest of the journey was by foot.

Chief had been right - already, many were dead and covered in black blood. Some of the survivors were willing to help, but others feared infection and refused to touch anything. Most of the graveyards were dug by the search team members themselves.

Chief and Leonhart were still covering bodies when Chief spotted the boy from earlier, grabbing at some of the salvaged luggage. Chief watched the boy for a moment, then stabbed the shovel into the ground and headed toward him.
Without a word, Leonhart's eyes followed Chief. Chief stopped before the boy, and said something to him. The boy now held open a bag with Chocobo print, and Chief reached inside to pick out a cookie. The boy helped himself to another cookie as Chief ruffled his hair in a rough, friendly manner.

Then Leonhart stopped looking and went back to filling the temporary grave of a young girl.

"...truth was, I never disliked that boy, or any of the children who came later. But I just never tried warming up to them."

"Fear of parental responsibility?" Johnny suggested.

"It was shame.
"Watching those children often reminded me of the fact that I had none; no heir to my family's line, not even someone I could truly call my own. It's a pathetic existence, living to know that your name would someday simply vanish away into the shadows of unwritten history...knowing that your family's own history would fade from existence forever."

"It just wasn't your time then, was it?"

Johnny pointedly motioned to the silver band that hung on the chain of the man's pendant. Now, with it in clearer view, he could make out an engraved design...also a lion.

The man looked down as well at the ring, and his eyes appeared to soften slightly as he gazed upon it.

"...indeed, it was not..."

In the year that passed, the search team started to grow in size as more and more survivors regrouped at the station - it was the only intact area that anyone could attempt living in anymore.
The children proved more of a help - they were keen and hardworking, always trying to make themselves useful; earn their keep. The newer adults were a bunch of idiots, as Chief called them - headless frogs who were utterly clueless, yet unable to keep still for very long.

In the beginning, the group spent their time burying the dead. It was a work that they had become used to, and the salvaged foodstuffs fed them all; not even the youngest child went hungry. However, in the following two weeks after, the number of people evacuating Midgar had decreased, and the people recuperating at the station left, too. It was no question that the search team's work was coming to an end.

Then one day, Leonhart noticed a stranger approaching the children and talking to them. Moments later, the children started digging through Sector 7 for a number of iron pipes that had been left behind like scrap. These, they presented to the stranger, who said his thanks and left.
That stranger returned several times, bringing some company with him on his third visit. Some of the strangers approached the adults of the search team as well; they said they were starting construction on a new city on the east side of Midgar, and were in need of all the help they could get. Some of the adults agreed to lend their services in the city, and were given wages. In return for delivering the items asked for, the children received food.
It was yet another opportunity to survive, and some of the team brought up the matter to Chief.

Somewhere along the line, the children had named the search team as the "Sector 7 Expedition"; it fit well enough, and the adults soon picked it up as well. They were constantly busy with job requests, and prided themselves with the knowledge that they could, once again, earn a decent living.
There were nights when Leonhart heard some of the children cry for their parents, but the other youngsters were always there to cheer them up afterward. As they would say to one another, they were "sharing a common fate", now.

One morning, Chief called together the children and adults of the Sector 7 Expedition, and suggested that they all move and help with the construction of the new city. Most of them, who were already traveling back and forth to work there, agreed easily. The others, too, voiced their approval toward this suggestion. But then, a handful of them noticed that Chief looked as though he were in some pain, and rubbed his chest constantly as he was speaking.

"Mr. Gaskin, are you feeling okay?" one of the children asked Chief.

"... Not quite."
Chief unbuttoned his coat and carefully pulled the front back.

His shirt was soaked through with black blood.

"...Chief died a month later; kicked off in the night, while he slept.

"There was this special spot in Sector 7 that was right behind our living quarters, just big enough. We buried Chief there - all the men helped dig the hole, and every one of the search team contributed at least one handful of soil to cover him. The children took Chief's passing the hardest.
"Chief had always been a strong one; strong on the outside, strong on the inside. Had he not been infected, he would have outlived us all."

"He was a good man," Johnny said softly, respectful. "His life was not wasted."

The man did not comment to the statement, but he did not reject it either. Instead, he continued his tale.

"With Chief in the ground, the adults started to drift away. There was no one to lead the team, and no one wanted to bother; it was a responsibility that we all felt belonged to Chief - only Chief. No one wanted to take that from him. Some left for the new city, going under full employment as workers in the construction. Some just wandered off to get away from the rest of humanity - figured that isolation would prevent infection, for some stupid reason."

"And you?"

"Joined the W.R.O. Fighting was what I grew up with, and the only thing I had left."

Johnny nodded his understanding, silently congratulating himself for his right assumption.

"The last thing I recall about that place was watching the children see us off, one by one. None of those children left the station; they wanted to stay with Chief, I guess, hold onto his memory. I wonder what's become of them now..."

The two men were cut off momentarily by a loud crash of thunder that echoed through the city. The rain was coming down harder, now.

"...well, no use in staying here," Johnny said, getting to his feet and putting the thermos away - to heck with the coffee; he'd clean up when he came back.
"Come on; I know some friends who own a diner."

The man paused, uncertain and surprised at the same time. "...you do not have to do this."

"I can't just leave you out here!" Johnny protested.

"I'm just a passing customer."

"You're a passing customer with a lot to get off his chest!" Johnny countered quickly, before his sudden rush of adrenaline backed out on him. "I'm not walking out on you until I hear the rest of that story!"

The man blinked twice, then shook his head in wonder. "...you really are bored."

"So are you coming, or what?"

The man's answer was to straighten and pull his jacket back into place. Nodding to Johnny, he moved to follow him.

Soon, the two men were running through the rain, slipping occasionally but otherwise not breaking stride.

One followed, the other lead the way and they disappeared into the thick curtain of rain.

To be continued...