Good morning! As always, huge thank you for all of your kind, appreciative reviews! I was wildly nervous about posting the Zack/Aerith chapter, especially since so many of you were looking forward to it, but based on the feedback it seems that I did okay. :) Reading how much you enjoyed it was such a relief!

That said, I did notice that a few of you thought Cloud's scene last chapter wasn't particularly believable, and after some indecision, I decided that it was worth addressing – if only to defend my perspective. Cloud is a wildly complex, intricate character, and I think that explaining some of his past actions would actually give more meaning to last chapter's scene. I had fun writing the essay (literally, a three-paragraph essay). It's posted at the bottom of the chapter if you're interested.

Anyway, please enjoy the chapter! We're finally starting to reach the beginning of FF7 gameplay.


The Turk lounge was quiet. The quiet itself wasn't unusual, per say, but the same couldn't be said for the nature of the silence. It was a heavy thing, suffocating and bleak, and it seemed to swallow the few sounds that were there. The rustle of papers. The click of a pen on wood. It choked the conversations that leaked through the heavy door, until each syllable muffled and indistinct and meaningless.

And that was just the way Tseng liked it. The quiet, as oppressive as it was, relaxed him. Allowed him to find a measure of solitude. So he reclined in the lounge chair, his long legs crossed at the knee and an Avalanche intel report spread across his lap, he assured himself that solitude – and the calm it always carried with it – was exactly what he needed. And what he needed was to focus.

His dark gaze flicked over the report on his lap. It was a dull thing, far too dull and far too long for his taste, but reports such as these were necessary. At least, that's what Tseng reminded himself. If anyone asked – and no one ever asked – he would say that he preferred field work, if only because he enjoyed the fresh air.

By contrast, the air in the lounge was thick with the scent of cologne and musk and coffee, but Tseng's mind had moved onto other things. More important things. The President had called a moment ago with a new mission, one that could only be entrusted to the Turks. Tseng knew this. Knew this like a he knew that the sky was blue and tea needed sugar, and yet he found his mind… distracted. His thoughts were uncertain. Uneasy. He reached for his coffee, dark and bitter as it swirled within the black mug, and bitter was his mood.

Aerith had never smiled at him like that.

His mind flickered back to Zack and Aerith's reunion. At Aerith's faint gasp when she saw Zack leaning against the vending machine, his body taunt as if he was carrying the world on his shoulders. Her footsteps, airy and light, as she half-walked, half-ran to meet him. Her teasing, tear-filled grin when she asked if he if was using the vending machine. And when Zack and finally turned around, his dark eyes bright and expression torn between elation and surprise and crushing sorrow…

Tseng had suddenly felt like an intruder. Like he hadn't belonged. It certainly wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, as he always felt a little bit of an outside with Aerith, but this was different. More real. More upfront, and so he had ushered everyone out of the waiting room to give them a little privacy. It was the least he could do.

Afterwards, he had found himself back in Shinra Headquarters and entering the Turks' private lounge, a cup of black coffee in hand, in order to be alone for a moment. He had intended to collect his thoughts, but then the President had called and – well, you never ignore the President.

The report became forgotten in Tseng's hands as his thoughts further slipped away from the task at hand. He felt… strange. Like something was twisting inside of him. It took him a long moment to realize why, but when he did, the realization was troubling. He was jealous, for lack of better word, and now that he was aware of it… he found himself unsure what to do aboutit. This was new to him. He found himself wanting to ask Reno for advice, as Reno was arguably the most expressive of the Turks, but the thought was strangely nauseating.

And so he remained in the Turk lounge and bathed in its silence, its heavy, oppressive silence, and did his best to focus on the mission in front of him. His dark eyes flicked across the page, taking in its information, compartmentalized it into what was importantand what was not.

Summarizing the report took only a few moments. In brief, Shinra was aware that the eco-terrorist group Avalanche was planning a bombing mission, most likely on a mako reactor in one of Midgar's eight districts. The report also noted the following evidence: materia sales spiking in sectors one and three; a statistically significant increase of internet searches related to bomb making; a photograph of a young woman with copper hair and a cellphone in one hand, a bag full of computer parts in the other, and a croissant in her mouth. But that was where the hard evidence ended. The report was unsure what reactor, unsure what day or time the bombing would take place, and was overall worthless.

But that is why the President has given this mission to the Turks, Tseng reminded himself. As was their mantra, the Turks always completed their mission, no matter how impossible. And like always, Tseng would see the mission through the completion. No matter what it took.

There was a sudden creak as the door opened, and Tseng effectively schooled his surprised expression into neutrality as Cissnei stepped into the lounge. He noted that her expression as downcast and shoulders slumped, as if in defeat – a posture she would never have assumed had she known he was in the room. Tseng also took note of her casual attire, a simple jeans and a rosy blouse, and realized she had must just returned from an intel mission. Tracking down Wutai spies, he recalled.

Suddenly she noticed him, and after blinking in confusion, she suddenly straightened. "Tseng," she said in greeting, and offered him a smile. But it was a sad smile. Sad and bitter, which wasn't like her. "You too, huh?"

Tseng arched an eyebrow. He did not know what she meant by that, and to be frank, he had no intention of asking.

"We have received orders from the President," Tseng said, changing the subject. The effect his words had was immediate. Cissnei snapped even further upright, her back rod straight, and the dull look in her eyes replaced by something bright and sharp. Good, Tseng thought in satisfaction. We'll need that focus. Turning back to his report, he continued, "According to our sources, Avalanche is preparing to bomb a mako reactor."

If Cissnei was surprised by his declaration, she didn't show it. "And the President wants us to stop them," she supplied. It wasn't a question.

Tseng dipped his head in acknowledgement. "That is correct." Standing, he continued, "Have you heard from Reno and Rude?"

"No, sir," Cissnei replied. "Not since we collected Fair and Strife."

"Then they must be bored." Tseng glanced back at the report, as sloppy and vague as it was, before handing it to Cissnei. She took it without a word, her grip strong and sure. "I'm assigning them to this mission."

Cissnei flipped through the report, and her lips tipped into a frown. "Avalanche is planning a bombing mission?" The surprise was plain in her voice, and if he was being fair, he had been surprised as well. It was nothing short of suicidal. Only a madman would consider such a thing.

"So the information division believes," Tseng replied. In other words, because the intel had not come from them, it could not be fully trusted. Everything would need to be double checked and confirmed. That said… "The President also seems to believe it."

Cissnei's eyes narrowed as she inspected the list of evidence. "It would be in his best interest too."

Tseng couldn't help but agree, but he kept that to himself. "Make sure Reno and Rude receive that report, as well as the scopes of the mission. I will prepare a debrief -" he glanced at his watch, and after a brief pause, continued, "- tomorrow morning, at 0700 sharp." When had it gotten so late? While he had been deep in his introspective musings, the time had escaped from him. He would have to be more careful in the future."

"Yes, sir," Cissnei replied. Then, with the barest hint of a smile, added, "When I hand over the report, I'll keep it as straight forward as possible."

"Good." Tseng preferred to keep things simple and clear when it came to Reno and Rude. While the Turks were highly effective and took their jobs incredible seriously, Tseng was all too aware of Reno's ability to get… well, distracted. Coupled with Rude's quiet but trusting personality, the two of them made for a potent combination. That wasn't always a good thing, necessarily. "Also," Tseng added, almost as an afterthought, "make them aware that this is a direct order from the President. Perhaps that will further motivate them."

"Yes, sir," Cissnei replied. There was the barest hint of amusement in her voice, just as Tseng's phone began to ring. He fished his phone out of his back pocket, only to frown – a rare expression for him. The caller ID was immediately worrying.

"The hospital," Tseng explained at Cissnei's curious look. Pressing the phone against his ear, he deadpanned, "What is it?"

"I, well, I'm not sure how to explain this exactly." It took Tseng a moment to place the voice, but it came to him a moment later. Cindy Grey, one of the third floor receptionists. Older. Sweet. Baked the entire floor cookies at one point.

But the third floor… Tseng resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, if only to stave off the coming headache. The third floor is where Fair and Strife were residing, and if he was receiving this call, then it involved the two of them. Undoubtedly involved more trouble, judging by the Grey's worried tone.

When Grey remained silent, Tseng prompted, "It will be easiest if you just tell me."

"Ah… yes, of course. Well..." There was a sharp inhale on the end of the phone, and Tseng had the distinct sense that he wouldn't like what she was about to say. "To put it bluntly, Sample C has escaped." A pause. A shudder of breath. Then: "We cannot find him."


We cannot find him.

The receptionist's words hissed across Zack's consciousness, dragged its claws across his mind, further tore whatever thin grasp of self control he had pieced together between Cloud running away and Aerith herding him back inside. His leg bounced. His fingers were knotted against his lips, the knuckles white, the skin clammy and trembling. He was vaguely aware that the receptionist was continuing to talk, but it was just noise to him. A steady drone of sound that had no meaning, so substance, nothing he could hold on to.

And his thoughts continued to spiral. Spiraled and melded with memories, a thick tangle of thoughts and emotions and tangible fears.

Cloud was afraid of me.

No; not afraid. Afraid would be putting it lightly. Cloud – his best friend, his lab buddy, his brother – had been absolutely terrified of him. The sort of terror that drowns out the rest of the world and paints it shades of red. Zack was familiar with that terror. He had felt it the moment Cissnei landed the helicopter in front of them on the Midgar plains, and he had been convinced they were going back to the lab. Going back to that hell.

Zack buried his head in his heads. God, Cloud had hit him. His eyes had flared green in a mako-induced adrenaline rush, and he had hit him far harder than anyone fresh out of a coma should be able to hit. And then, before Zack could fully recover, Cloud had started running...

… and when Zack had stood up to chase him…

Zack's hand drifted across the bandages, which he knewwere already becoming staining from the reopened, bleeding wounds. Frustration tightened his core. Damn it.

After that, it was a blur of images. Zack wasn't sure when he had picked himself off the floor or called Cloud's name, but now there was a thin trail of blood splattered down the emergency stairwell and Zack wasn't exactly sure who it belonged to. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure how he got back to the hospital's waiting room. He just knew that at one point his knees buckled, Cloud had seemingly vanished into thin air, and then Aerith was there, holding his hand, ushering him onto a couch, whispering impossible reassurances that he couldn't help but believe – but only because she was the one promising them.

Zack' eyes pricked, and he squeezed his eyes shut. But Cloud got away. He was distantly aware that the cushion was hard and uncomfortable beneath him, but he didn't move. Didn't want to move because he preferred to stayuncomfortable and sore and hurting. I really can't save anyone.

A hand, small and soft and warm, suddenly pressed against his cheek, right over his crossed scar. For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't dare breathe, just in case Aerith decided to move her hand away, but then his need for comfort overruled his desire to drown in self-pity.

Self pity didn't suit him, anyway.

Opening his eyes, he managed to say, "This isn't how I imagined our reunion going." He sounded distant, like it was echoing across canyon walls, but Aerith's expression softened regardless.

"Oh?"

"I had a lot of time to think about it," Zack said. He offered her a small, thin smile, and she returned it despite the worry in her eyes. "Actually, I was going to buy you flowers."

Aerith's smile warmed, like he had said something funny. Maybe he had. "Really?"

"Yeah." He had daydreamed about their reunion often, both in the lab and while he and Cloud were making their way back to Midgar. At first, he had imagined their reunion for the pure positivity of it. The hopefulness it embodied, but over time, it had turned into some sort of crutch. His reason to keep going. To survive another day; not for Cloud's sake, but for his own. "I was going to bring you flowers," he continued, his voice soft, "and surprise you in the church. It was going to be sunny that day. Maybe during the spring or summer, and I would tap your shoulder, and you would turn around and smile at me." He thickly swallowed. "I missed your smiles."

Aerith leaned against his side; her hand, which had been caressing his cheek, moved to wrap around his arm. "And then what happened?" she asked. "During our reunion?"

"Well, you'd throw your arms around me and hug me, tight," he admitted. A small part of him wanted to be embarrassed about admitting it, admitting how desperately he craved her touch and affection, but a much larger part didn't care. So he didn't. "And then I - I was going to sweep you off your feet. And then, after all was said and done, I was going to introduce you to Cloud." He felt his throat tighten, felt his eyes burn. "He saved my life. I don't think I ever had the chance to tell you that."

Aerith's expression softened. "No, I hadn't known."

"But now Cloud's alone." Zack's voice was hoarse. "He hates being alone. I – I need to find him." The mako in his eyes brightened, the telltale sign of heightened emotions, of adrenaline, of panic. He made a move to stand. "I should have -"

Aerith shushed him by placed a finger against his lips. It was so startling that it had Zack blinking – she had never shushed him before – and before he knew what was happening, she was guiding him back onto the couch. Her arm was still wrapped around his.

"I know you want to be a hero," Aerith told him, gently, "but you're in no condition to be chasing anyone."

Zack knew that she was right. That his chest burned, that it felt like a rib had broken, that there was fire spreading through his veins. Even breathing hurt, and he was once again reminded just how hard Cloud pushing him out of the way. Suddenly, Cloud killing Sephiroth didn't seem that far-fetched. Like sure, he knew Cloud had done it, had heard it happen… but feeling it against him was something entirely new.

"Besides," Aerith continuing, resting her head on his shoulder, "I have a feeling Cloud will be okay. That he's gone to meet a friend."

Zack's glanced at her. "How..." His voice cracked, so he cleared it and tried again. "How do you know?"

Aerith glanced up and smiled at him, lopsided and honest. "I just do."

Zack thickly swallowed. Suddenly, he was ashamed; ashamed how weak he was, how different he was from four years prior. "I'm sorry," he found himself saying, "for not… being who you remember."

To his surprise, Aerith lightly bopped him on the nose, like a parent teasing a child. It left him confused and sputtering. "No more of that," she told him. No; scolded him. "You're doing the best you can, Zack. Not even flowers bloom all year round, so you can't force yourself to." She scowled at him; all playful, no bite. "Okay?"

Zack blinked at her a moment before shaking his head, a laugh caught in his throat. "When did you get so wise?" he asked.

Aerith's green eyes twinkled. "Oh, you know."

Suddenly footsteps echoed near them, dragging Zack out of his thoughts, their conversation. And when he turned, he was surprised the receptionist holding a phone out towards him. He stared at in confusion.

"It's for you," the receptionist explained.

Shooting Aerith a glance, who only nodded in encouragement, Zack took the phone and pressed it against his ear and said, "Hello?"

"Zack." Tseng's cool voice echoed from the other end.

Zack stomach tightened. If Tseng was calling, then it could only mean one thing. "I take it you know what happened?" His voice was rougher than he intended.

"I have been informed that Strife has decided to check himself out," Tseng said, which had Zack scoffing. That was one way of putting it.

"He shouldn't have been able to get out," Zack said. The bitterness in his voice was obvious. "Cloud was sick. Confused. Weak. How could he outrun a hospital managed by Turks?"

"We've reached that same question, and are reviewing the footage now," Tseng stated. "Our initial findings indicate that his mako enhancements allowed him to move much faster than expected, and so security regarding Strife lax. But as you put it, he's weak and confused. We'll catch up to him soon."

"Do you know where he went?"

There was a pause, and then: "No. But that brings us to the true purpose of this phone call."

Zack shot Aerith a glance, and her lips pursed with worry. "True purpose?" Zack repeated.

"Yes," Tseng confirmed. "We need to find Cloud as quickly as possible, as he is a danger to himself and others, and now that he's awake, we can begin treatment. I have assigned the Turks the task of returning him to the hospital, and I was hoping to ask for your assistance." A pause. "I'm sure you are eager to return to the field."

Zack exhaled, a mere hiss between his teeth. "I am," he admitted. It wasn't a lie. He missed the simplicity of his old SOLDIER life, missed the familiarity of the battlefield, missed having a real purpose and direction in his life. But that was where it ended. "But," he continued, "don't forget that I'm a wanted man." Aerith arched an eyebrow at that, and Zack internally cursed – he didn't want to talk about this, not in front of Aerith, not before he had properly explained everything. "But if there's anything I can do, anything at all… I'll do it. But there will be conditions. I'm not working for Shinra."

"That can be arranged. It's unusual, but not unheard of, for the Turks to employ mercenaries during certain missions. You will be paid, of course." Tseng's reply was smooth and calculated, as if he had already predicted what Zack wanted and was going to say. "In the meantime, I will be placing you with Reno and Rude, starting tomorrow as this mission is time sensitive. Their main order is to track down members of Avalanche – you will be debriefed tomorrow at 0800 in your hospital room – but their secondary order, and your primary goal, is to find Cloud and bring him home."

When Zack did not immediately reply – he was too busy dissecting Tseng's words, searching for hidden barbs, for red flags – Tseng added in a gentler tone, "Don't forget, Fair. We're on your side."

Zack closed his eyes. When he opened them again, there was new life burning in his gaze and he shot Aerith a small, reassuring smile. In response, Aerith looped her hand in his, and he said, "I'm in."


Tifa meandered through the Sector 6 market, a basket on her hip as she inspected a barrel full of produce. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with missing teeth, watched her and occasionally offered his suggestions. Tifa pointedly ignored them all. After working as a bartender at the Seventh Heaven for so long, she was something of an expert at picking out the best produce… not to mention snagging the best deals, much to the man's dismay.

After trading some gil for a few potatoes, and feeling very pleased about how much gil she saved, she meandered deeper into the market. Her shadow was cast long and thin in front of her, and she deeply inhaled the scent of dust, lemon, and cooking meat. The open market of Sector 6 was one of her favorite places in Midgar. She loved how busy it was, how colorful it was, how noisy. It had an energy about it, a sort of magic that she associated with her childhood – but only the best parts.

So it was with a hint of regret that she noticed just how long her shadow had grown, not to mention the orange tint on the horizon, and she knew that she'd have to return back to Sector 7 soon. And, by extension, return to the rest of the Avalanche team.

A harsh sigh escaped her lips. They, meaning Barret, had decided that they'd bomb the Sector 1 reactor in two days. That left one day for Jessie to finalize her bomb. One day for Biggs to smooth out the intel he had collected. One day for Wedge to secure their escape plan. And two days of Barret nagging them about the planet, their higher purpose, and the greater good. Tifa got it – really, she did. But sometimes she needed a break.

Which is why she was here, at the market, instead of dealing with her problems. But, as she walked back to the train station with her basket heavy on her hip, she knew that couldn't run from them forever.

Well, one afternoon is okay, she decided. She glanced at her basket – full of ripe fruits, vegetables, fresh bread, and a bottle of cheap wine, and smiled despite herself. She loved the rest of the team like family, but tonight was her night. She needed to time to herself every once in a while.

But as she approached the station steps, the atmosphere seemed to change. The lighthearted flutter in her chest seemed to wither, to grow a little heavier. Tifa suppressed a frown. Her first reaction was to wonder if maybe the Shinra soldiers decided to enforce the Train ID check between the Sector 6 and 7 slums, but that didn't make any sense. They had never cared who had passed through before; they only cared who went above plate, to the rich sectors.

So why did she feel this… this tension in the air?

"Poor kid," someone murmured as they passed. Tifa glanced at them; a woman, her hair gray and skin worn, walking side by side with an older man. One of her hands was pressed against her lips in worry. "Perhaps he's sick," she continued, her voice low and hushed. "Maybe we should go back."

"Nah, he's probably on drugs," the older man at her side replied. "Leave 'im." Tifa frowned and strained to listen to the rest of their conversation, but their words grew muddled and eventually faded away entirely.

Tifa suppressed her scowl. So a druggie is haunting the station, she thought, and her muscles tensed further. Great. That was exactly what she needed right now; some guy, high off of his mind, out to cause trouble. Especially on a night when she had forgotten her gloves at the bar.

She shook her head. It doesn't matter, she told herself, and straightened her back and pressed on. If he comes at me, I'll just kick him. The scenarios were already flashing through her mind. First she would kick out his knee cap, and then if he kept going, she would slam her heel into his groin. He would go down like a rock, she would just on the train, and then she'd go to her apartment and open the bottle of wine. Maybe she'd read a book, too. Or take a hot bath.

The idea of a hot bath brought her smile back, and she ascended the station steps. Then she lifted her head, and saw who, exactly, the couple was so concerned about.

The temperature seemed to plummet ten degrees -

Oh my god.

- and bag fell from her arms, fell onto the concrete with a loud crack, but she hardly noticed. Not even when the wine bottle seeped into the cracks and bled scarlet down the stairs.

Cloud?

Her mind collapsed on itself, reminding her how impossible it was. Reminded her that Cloud was undoubtedly a SOLDIER somewhere far away, and that he wouldn't be here, that he couldn't be here, never mind half-conscious at the slum train stations. That would be… impossible. Tifa shook her head; she was imagining things. She had to be.

But when she opened her eyes and Cloud was still there, slumped agains the chainlink fence, she was already running. Her legs were a blur beneath her as the staton faded into the background, and then all she could see was Cloud, his blond hair sticking up in every direction, just like it had when they had been children.

But when she got closer, she realized that was where the similarities ended. Worry pinched her chest and she crouched down in front of him.

"Cloud?" Her eyes were bright with worry as she searched his face for any hint of recognition, of awareness. But there was none. In fact, it was like Cloud didn't even notice her. Though he lifted his head, maybe at the dull recognition of his name, it was as if he was looking through her. At something that only he could see. Then he winced, as if in pain, and pressed a hand against his temple.

Maybe the older couple had been right, Tifa thought grimly. Maybe Cloud was on drugs.

"Cloud," she said again, growing a little more desperate, and placed a hand on his shoulder. She nearly tore her hand away. Her shoulder was thin. Thinner and bonier than she had expected it to be, not to mention cold. She worried her lip; he must have been out for a while, and based on his grey long-sleeved shirt and pants – hospital clothes? - he clearly hadn't been prepared for the weather.

But she filed his attire for later. Right now, she had to get Cloud somewhere else, somewhere safer than a train station. Maybe the bar?

Suddenly, without warning, Cloud sharply inhaled and smacked her hand off of his shoulder. The movement was so quick that Tifa didn't even see it, and it had her blinking in confusion. It was then that she noticed the bright blue of his eyes, and the hiss of mako green swirling within them… and Tifa's eyes widened. She knew those eyes. Those were SOLDIER eyes.

"Don't touch me," Cloud managed. His voice was so small, so weak, that she had nearly missed it. And that was when she knew:

This is not the Cloud that I know.

Swallowing her disappointment, Tifa lifted both hands in front of him so that he could see them, see that she wasn't a threat. His eyes narrowed, distrustful. "Cloud, it's me," she murmured. Suddenly she felt very much like she was talking to a child, or perhaps trying to calm a trapped, wounded animal. It worried her. Worried her more than she'd care to admit, but she was skilled at keeping her voice calm, her breathing even. She was a member of Avalanche, after all, and forcing a smile, she added "It's me, Tifa. I would never hurt you, I promise." She paused, her eyes searching, her heart breaking. "You know that."

A moment passed, then another. Then, her shock, Cloud seemed to… to understand. He squinted at her, something like recognition flickered in his gaze, and his hand drifted away from his temple. And when Tifa noticed that Cloud saw her, and that he wasn't just looking through her – she nearly broke down in tears right there.

"Tifa?" Cloud thickly swallowed. "Is… that you?"


Another long chapter! And this chapter was sooo hard to write. There were so many delicate emotions to navigate through, and that's part of the reason why this chapter is so late today. I was really struggling lol. The Turks are hard to write, Zack's current mindset is difficult to write, and Cloud is always so complicated to write... but it's done, and I hope you enjoy it lol

Anyway, the promised Chapter 5 Cloud Explanation:

I'll be the first to admit that Cloud running away is a little unbelievable, but if you think about Crisis Core and into FF7, Cloud finding the strength to escape the hospital actually makes some sense. Remember that Crisis Core-Cloud was skewered by Sephiroth in the reactor (straight through a lung!), but he still managed to grab the sword, pull himself back onto the ledge he had been dangling off of (further impaling said lung!), and toss Sephiroth into the reactor via his own sword – and then walk to a door before passing out. He wasn't even mako-enhanced at that time. AKA – Cloud has a CRAZY sense of self-preservation and sheer willpower. If he wants something badly enough, he'll make it happen.

Moving on, you can further see his willpower and extreme survival instinct at the start of FF7, right before the gameplay actually begins. Basically, a half-comatose Cloud drags Zack's big-ass, heavy sword deep into Midgar and then starts blowing up reactors literally days later. Which, granted, doesn't make sense in my mind – the kid was being boiled in mako for something like four years, his muscles most certainly atrophied during that time, and yet he's somehow coherent and buff as hell in FF7 (have you SEEN him in FF7R? He's straight up jacked!). So, my understanding is that Cloud was capable of those incredible feats because of the sheer amount of mako in him. He's stronger. Faster. He recovers from injuries more quickly.

Which brings us to my scene – how our Cloud wakes up in the hospital and manages to get to the emergency exit. Maybe that's impossible for a normal human, but with Cloud's sheer willpower and crazy survival instinct – coupled with his new mako-enhaced body – Cloud is now capable of pretty incredible things. That, and I really needed Cloud to take one for the team so the story can progress into the beginning of FF7 lol.

If you're still not satisfied, then I would be happy to listen to your reasoning (as long as you're respectful about it).

Thanks again for reading! Have a lovely day :)