Hello everyone, and happy holidays! I'm back from my hiatus, and I'm honestly so happy to be continuing this story. Thank you all so much for waiting so patiently, and for all of your encouragement and support while I was on break. I appreciate it all so much :)

As always, shoutout to silver-doe287 for beta'ing this chapter :)

Enjoy!


A moth fluttered through Seventh Heaven's small kitchen. Its dusted wings beat desperately, somehow keeping its tiny body aloft, as it struggled towards the humming light above it. Open air chilled its spindly legs. Its antenna, made for sensing even the most minute vibrations in the wind, sensed nothing as it careened towards the brilliant light… and then made contact. White filled its cellular vision. Fire ripped across its paper-thin joints. The light briefly flickered and flared, then went perfectly calm as the moth — charred, burning, dead — pitched towards the distant floor.

Nobody noticed. Lights flickered all the time in the slums, so a sputtering bulb was nothing unusual. The text message that Zack had received, however… Now that was something else entirely.

The words continued to echo in Tifa's mind long after Zac had read the words out loud:

Shinra is dropping the Sector Seven plate tonight.

Time unknown.

More details pending.

Thanks for everything.

- Nobody.

For a long time, no one spoke. No one moved. All stared at the phone, eyes open but unseeing, lost in the warped tangle of their own thoughts.

This can't be happening.

Tifa's heart thrummed beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt as her ears rang with the wrongness of it all. They had all just been enjoying a breakfast of pancakes and bacon. They had been making plans for tomorrow morning — fun plans, plans that she had been looking forward to, but now they were all as distant as her childhood home, and for the same reason no less:

Shinra.

Tifa's hands snapped into tight fists. Would Shinra burn down her home again? Ruin her life again? Threaten everyone she ever cared about… again?

No. She clenched her jaw so hard, she could feel her teeth groan against each other. Not this time. Not again.

The light flickered behind her.

"This has to be a joke," Zack said, breaking the silence. The mako in his eyes was singing, their green light flaring so hot it stained his dark eyelashes emerald. "This can't be real."

Aerith placed a light hand on his bicep, grimacing. "If it is a joke, then it's in pretty poor taste."

"It's not a joke." Tifa's voice was as hard as her heart; no, harder. It was a blade wielded by a bloodstained hand. Her words effortlessly rent the air in two when she continued, "I think we all know what Shinra is capable of."

Cloud, who had gone so still beside her, weakly leaned back in his chair and inhaled a shuddering breath. Like Zack, his eyes had become drenched with mako as well. His pupils had elongated a fraction.

Tifa's body went cold, and her lips parted to ask Cloud a question… but then Aerith sighed. "I guess we won't be having that picnic for a while," she murmured.

Zack grimaced. "I guess not."

"We need to warn them," Tifa heard herself say, then clarified, "Barret and everyone else. We need to warn them. They probably haven't made it to the trains yet, and if we hurry…"

Zack flicked his bright eyes towards her. "Does Barret — or any of them — have a phone on them?"

She shook her head, and answered, "No, only encrypted radios that they can communicate through. Biggs could probably hack into them, but unless one of you guys know how to hack…"

"So, you're saying that there's no way to communicate with them from the outside?" Zack impatiently threaded his fingers through his dark hair. "No way to reach them whatsoever?"

"Not here. Maybe in Avalanche Headquarters, but… well, we're not on good terms with them." Which was the understatement of the year — the last time Barret had come around HQ, they had fired a warning shot at him — but Tifa didn't want to depress the situation further with more bad news.

"I don't care about that. Question is, do you know where their headquarters is?" When she nodded in affirmation, Zack continued, "Then you need to get there and tell them what's going on. Do whatever you need to do to get their attention, because if the chances are that this plate drop thing is real… Well," he said grimly, "we're going to need all the help we can get."

"And we need to evacuate Sector Seven too," Aerith interjected. "Just in case."

Zack nodded his agreement. "Just in case," he echoed. "We don't want anyone here if the plate does end up falling down on top of us."

It took all of Tifa's willpower not to look up as she replied, "I can help with the evacuations. Marle is my landlady and a close friend, and she's highly respected in the community. I can get Avalanche's attention while she evacuates everyone."

"But where would the evacuees go?" Cloud asked, speaking up for the first time. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but Tifa figured it was from the adrenaline.

"They can all go to the Sector Five church," Aerith replied. The way she spoke, the certainty of her words, sounded like she was reading off of a script. Her tone left no room for argument, and Tifa found herself nodding along anyway. It wasn't like she had any better ideas.

Zack seemed to think otherwise, however. "But your flowers," he protested. "What if they step on them? Crush them?"

Aerith's lips pursed — clearly, that was something she had already considered — but she only said, "At least the flowers will grow back."

Unlike people.

Tifa crossed her arms over her chest as if to stave off a sudden chill. Goosebumps peppered her skin. A shiver coursed down the small of her spine, but she did her best to shake it off. Not again, she reminded herself. Never again.

"All right." Zack's sharp voice cut through her unraveling thoughts. "Here's the plan. Tifa, you enlist Marle to evacuate everyone and then tell the rest of Avalanche what the hell is going on. Aerith," he continued, turning towards the woman in question, "you get to Sector Five to prepare for the evacuees. Make sure the people there know what's going on, and once they do, you can help with the evacuations. And, uh, Cloud —" Cloud straightened a fraction "— you can go with Aerith as a bodyguard."

"No, I—"

"And I'm going to catch up to Barret and his team," Zack continued, ignoring Cloud, "and do what it takes to keep the plate from falling while I wait for Avalanche reinforcements."

Cloud scowled. "Zack, I want to go with you."

"Sorry buddy, but you need to be here," Zack replied. "You're the only person I trust with the bodyguard mission."

"But I can help," Cloud repeated, firmer now. "I'm better now."

"I hear you, but Shinra has your photo —"

"They have a photo of you, too!"

"— and a hefty bounty," Zack finished, also scowling now. "And if you're spotted by even one security camera, it's over, Spikey. Shinra would be there in seconds, and I'm not sure…" His voice stuttered as he tripped over an old memory. "… You would be… I can't." His eyes hardened. "I can't do that again, and I won't. You're staying with Aerith."

Cloud stood up, and his chair clattered behind him. "I can help."

"You can't." Zack had also stood up and his voice was like a flint stone, the words slamming together, sparking in the dark. "What if something happens? What if you have another mako flare-up? What if you pass out again? I can't protect you up there."

"I don't need your protection!"

Zack's expression went blank, and for some reason, that was far scarier than the emotion dancing across his face just moments ago. Tifa suppressed a shiver and Zack deadpanned, "Last time you went to the upper plate, you were caught in a shootout. Shinra was trying to kill you. I had to carry you back down. You're not well, Cloud, and until you are, you have to stay here where it's safe."

And just like that, the debate was over. Cloud deflated, the fight draining from his face, and Tifa's heart crumpled at the sight. She had the sudden urge to go to him, to place a hand on his arm and tell him that Zack was wrong, yet the words remained trapped in her throat because… well, she didn't want Cloud going to the upper plate either. It hadn't gone well last time, and he was only just beginning to feel better.

She took a small step towards him. "Cloud…"

He turned to her, and there was hurt in his eyes. Hurt and shame, and before she could get another word in, he tore his gaze away.

"Whatever," he muttered under his breath, then turned towards the door.

Tifa's heart stuttered. "Cloud—" she began, but a sudden hand on her shoulder — Aerith's hand, she realized a moment later — stopped her.

"He'll be okay," Aerith said. "Just give him time."

The warmth in her voice made Tifa almost believe her, but as she watched the door swing back shut, she found that she couldn't. The look on Cloud's face… "But what if…"

"He'll be okay, I promise. Especially," Aerith added with a glance over her shoulder, "if he gets an apology."

Zack — who was now sitting at one of the tables, his head buried in his hands — said nothing in response.


It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Cloud glared at the ground as he stalked down the slum road, one that was lined by dingy signs and dilapidated stores. The scent of rendering fat thickened the air as a fire hissed and snapped within an oven. Doors squealed on rusted hinges as patrons moved from shop to shop, their conversations melding with tinny radio songs everyone had heard a hundred times. Somewhere, a child shrieked in laughter; somewhere else, a window slammed shut with enough force to rattle the walls. The streets were chaotic, and messy, and loud; and yet, even though he was in the middle of it all, he felt distant. Like he was completely separate from it all. Like he was watching the world from behind a glass bubble… or maybe even a glass cell.

Pain winked in his temple, there and gone again, effectively cutting off the thought halfway. Cloud grit his teeth and kicked a stray rock down the road, and watched as it bounced helplessly before coming to rest in a ditch.

But maybe that's for the best, he thought, and he turned his gaze towards a nearby shop window. He could see his reflection within the warped glass: his back was hunched, his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and he had a bewildered look about him — like a man caught in a sudden storm and realizing how small he was compared to the elements.

Zack's words echoed in his mind: I can't protect you up there!

Cloud flinched as the shout battered against his skull, and he tore his gaze away from the shop window to continue down the road. A shoulder bumped into his; a shadow passed over him, slitted eyes flashing in the dark. He hardly noticed. He barely even cared. All he could think about was how small he was; that he was in over his head and had been for a long time now.

Am I really that useless? he wondered.

It was such a stark contrast from how he had felt earlier. When he had woken up this morning, he had felt like he could do anything. Anything. Tifa had been sleeping beside him, but he wasn't anxious about messing it up. Dark memories had welled within him, but they hadn't overwhelmed him. He could talk to her, joke around with her, be normal for once, and — and gods, he had even felt somewhat capable, like maybe he wasn't a cosmic failure after all.

That all changed with just four sentences; that's all it took, and he was once again reminded of how fragile he was, how brittle he was, how the slightest pressure would have his splintering apart. Worse, everyone had already known that but him.

The look Tifa had given him when Zack had said he had to stay behind…

Cloud's eyes stung at the memory, and he impatiently ran a hand across them. Shame tinged his cheeks, but he didn't slow his quick pace as he turned down a random corner.

Why does it have to be like this? he thought again and, and then because he was feeling particularly sorry for himself:

Why me?

His heart throbbed painfully in his chest, and his gaze dropped towards his hands. Small calluses were beginning to develop on his fingers and palm, and a thin, silvery scar traced a path from his pinky finger to the meat of his thumb. Besides that, his hands were smooth and soft. They weren't the rough hands of a fighter like Zack's hand. His knuckles weren't callused like Tifa's knuckles, and his fingers weren't stained with soil like Aerith's fingers. His hands belonged to someone who had been asleep for years, someone who hadn't had to pick up anything until recently, someone who hadn't even been able to even feed themselves up until a few days ago.

Why, he thought as he lifted his head towards the metal sky, does it always have to be me?

His eyes traced the plate's underbelly. Lights blinked in the wayward dark, and if he really paid attention, he could almost hear the metal groaning beneath its own weight. If it fell, the destruction would be… unbelievable, really. An entire town would be wiped out. There would be an unthinkable number of casualties — more casualties than Nibelheim anyway, and that suddenly had him wondering:

Was he really willing to sit this one out just because Zack had told him to?

Would he be able to live with himself if the plate failed and he didn't even try to stop it?

Would he be able to look at Tifa in the eyes if he let her down again?

Cloud's eyes narrowed. Yes, he was weak and fragile and brittle. Yes, Zack was right and he was deeply unwell, but Zack had said it himself: they needed all the help they could get, and Cloud wanted to help. Even though he was certainly broken in some fundamental way, he wanted to believe that there was something, anything he could do to help. The thought of watching another town burn to the ground… of choking on blood in the air and licking lips sticky with boiled fat…

He instinctively closed his eyes against the spiraling memories, his gut twisting and turning within him.

I can't let that happen. If the plate fell and he did nothing to help, then there wasn't any point of him being awake again. He couldn't let that happen. In fact, he'd do anything to keep the plate from happening.

Even if it meant going against Zack.


"I'm really sorry," Tifa said for the third time in the conversation.

Marle waved her hand in response. "Don't be. It's not your fault." Which, of course it wasn't. As usual, it was Shinra's fault, but usually that meant rolling power outages in the slums or delayed action in resolving civic disagreements with the people living below the upper plate. Inconveniences, definitely, but nothing overly vindictive.

This on the other hand… this was something else entirely. Marle was still trying to wrap her head around it: that Shinra was going to drop a plate on top of Sector Seven, effectively killing everyone who was unfortunate enough to live on or below the plate.

She couldn't help but shake her head at the incredulousness of it all. "And tell me again how you know this?" she asked, looking up toward Tifa.

Tifa's voice was even — too even, Marle thought with a twinge of worry — as she replied, "A text from an anonymous source."

"I see." Truthfully, Marle did not see, but there were bigger things to worry about at the moment. "And this anonymous source claimed that Shinra would be dropping the plate later today."

"That's right."

Marle hummed. "Do you think they're lying?"

"Well, maybe… but what if they're not?" Tifa countered. "If it's all a joke, then the worst thing that happens is that everyone evacuated for nothing. But if it isn't a joke, and the plate really is going to fall…"

When Tifa's voice trailed off, Marle picked up the slack by saying, "Well, this is certainly no small task, now is it?" She meant to sound somewhat lighthearted, as if this helping to evacuate an entire town was something she did on the regular, but she only managed to sound grim. The people in the slums were full of pride, and they would prefer to stay here and defend what little they owned than turn around and run away.

But not this time. This time, there would be no fighting. You either leave and survive, or you stay and you die.

As Marle mulled everything over, she was keenly aware that Tifa was watching her with hopeful trepidation. It was the same expression she had worn when she, as a young girl just beginning to recover from surgery and a fever, had asked her for a job. She had wanted to contribute; or rather, had needed to contribute. She was scared, alone in the world, and was in desperate need of wanting to belong somewhere. Working had been the only way she knew how to do that.

A small, sad smile curved Marle's lips. Not much has changed, has it? she thought, then leaned against the porch with a faint sigh. "All right," she said, and Tifa's eyes brightened a fraction. "We need to get everyone to Sector Five, correct? To that abandoned church out there?"

"That's right," Tifa said with a nod. "And the sooner, the better. And Marle…"

"Just spit it out, girl," Marle said, but not unkindly.

Tifa's gaze dropped to the ground. "I… I just…" Her voice wavered, and she sharply exhaled in frustration before lifting her head once more. This time when their eyes met, Tifa's expression was a little harder. A little more determined. A little older, even. "I may end up doing something that puts me on Shinra's radar," she continued, her voice solid. "So, if someday in the future, if Shinra comes around and is asking for me…"

"I won't say a word," Marle promised, though anxiety flared through her heart like white lightning, branching outwards, singing her nerves. Someday in the future sounded an awfully lot like I won't be seeing you for a while, which had her heart breaking a little. Life was never supposed to be so hard. "But if anything does happen," Marle added just for good measure, "you come right back, you here? You'll always have a place in my home."

Tifa blinked, surprised, then smiled with watery eyes. "Thanks, Marle," she murmured. "I… I appreciate that."

"It's just the obvious," Marle stated roughly, her throat tight. Damnit, she was too old to cry, and she pivoted on her heel as she continued, "Now get on out of here." Her chin warbled as she spoke. "You got an important job to do, and you don't need this old woman taking up more of your time."

"You could never," Tifa promised, and Marle felt a gentle squeeze on her arm before she heard Tifa's footsteps hurry down the road. When she turned, she was just able to catch Tifa's form disappearing around the corner.

She's gone, Marle knew, and warmth streaked down a weathered cheek. She impatiently wiped it away — waste of water, she had always insisted — and made her way back inside her home. It wasn't difficult to pack a small bag of things to carry away from here, since all she needed were: a spare change of clothes, a small photo album, her late husband's favorite watch, a water bottle, nonperishable food, and hard cash. It took only minutes to find everything, but as she neatly placed it into her old, army-issued duffle bag, she paused.

She had forgotten something.

As if pulled along by an invisible hand, she suddenly found herself standing in front of her nightstand. Robotically, she opened the bottommost drawer, and then — after pushing aside ratty cat toys, strange bottle caps she had collected over the years, and a knife that she ended up pocketing — she pulled out the drawer's false bottom.

There, tucked away in the corner, was a worn, yellowed letter. Rain had damaged one of its corners. Rusted blood speckled the names scrawled across its front:

To: Tifa Lockhart.

And then:

From: Zangan

Marle's lips twisted into a scowl. Foul man, she thought, and she nearly decided to leave it there to be potentially crushed by the plate… but then reconsidered. Tifa was no longer a child that needed to be protected; she was a respected adult, both intelligent and kind, and deserved to know the truth of why her master abandoned her here instead of the half-ass reason he gave when he walked out of her life.

She deserves to know, Marle reminded herself, and so she picked up the letter and shoved it in her duffle bag like it burned her. Next she grabbed her cane, left her house, locked the door, and immediately began banging on the neighbor next-door to her.

Tifa, she thought as the door hesitantly opened, please stay safe.


When it rains, it pours.

That was the thought crossing Nayo's mind as she watched Tifa Lockhart approach the industrial entrance of Avalanche HQ. Steel beams cut shadows across her as she strode beneath them — as if she had a right to be here, as if she did this every day. Irritation flashed across Nayo's face, but she did her best to school it back into indifference. That was the thing about Tifa; whenever she went somewhere new, she always acted as if she already belonged.

Though, let's be honest — she usually did.

But enough of that. Nayo shoved the toxic thoughts out of her mind and slowly stood out of her desk chair. Today seemed to be the day for strange events: before this, Yuffie had left as quickly as she arrived, and now a member of the splinter cell was taking her place.

Behind her, she could sense Zhije, Billy Bob, and Polk shifting uncomfortably in their own seats. They were supposed to be providing intel to Yuffie and Sonon; then, once those two passed the dark point, they were to start preparing for their own mission. Classified mission, of course. But now, with Tifa approaching…

"…What do you want?" Nayo began. Her tone was more clipped than she had intended, but she decided that she didn't care. After her run-in with Corneo's gang — which, admittedly, went far better than she had anticipated — she wasn't much in the mood for surprise visits or random variables.

A shadow flickered across Tifa's expression, there and gone again. "I know that we… haven't gotten along in the past," she said. "But I — no, the entire slums — needs your help."

Nayo lifted a delicate brow. "You're trying to recruit us?"

"It ain't gonna work, you know," Zhije stated behind her. "You guys were the ones that left, and after the stunt you just pulled… well, don't expect to be let off easy here." He leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes — shadowed by his cap — glinting like steel. "Your actions," he enunciated, "put us all at risk."

Another shadow passed across Tifa's face; but this time, it lingered there, a war between guilt and vindication. Nayo resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm not here to recruit you," Tifa finally replied.

"Then why?" Nayo cut in. Polk, who had been leaning over his Fort Condor game, lifted his head in interest. "Need more fake IDs because you accidentally blew up your old ones? Does Jessie need more fireworks to make bombs? Or," she added, unable to keep the snark from her voice, "does Barret needs a more lethal software upgrade for his prosthetic gun? After all, that's all you guys have been doing recently, huh? Blowing things ups and killing people?"

Tifa flinched, though Nayo couldn't find it within herself to care. Guns and bombs, that's all Avalanche's extremist splinter cell cared about: how to blow someone up, how to gun them down, or some twisted combination of both. Just look at how they handled the reactor mission. They could have just disabled the mako reactor's drill, which would render the entire thing useless… but no, they had to blow it sky-high and take a chunk out of the city with it, and for what? Saving the planet?

What good is the planet, Nayo thought, her mood souring further, if everyone ends up dead?

Tifa winced. "That's not…"

"No?" Nayo interrupted. A dark light burned within her eyes. "Nothing at all? No new bullets, or… do you want to come back? Rejoin HQ and fight together again?"

Tifa bit her lip. "Not quite that, either."

"Then what?"

"I…" There was a quaver to her voice, but one that she quickly stomped out. "I have some intel regarding a mission from Shinra, one that involves the entire Sector Seven — both below the plate, and above."

"Above, too?" Billy Bob, one of Avalanche HQ's best intelligence-gathering agents, leaned forward slightly. Stray hair escaped his bandana and fell over his sunken, overly bright eyes. "What sort of intel?"

It took all of Nayo's self control not to glare at him for further encouraging her.

Tifa turned towards him. "We received a transmission from an unknown operative early today."

"Unknown?" Polk muttered. Apparently he had given up his Fort Condor game, and now the youngest HQ member was listening to their conversation with rapt attention. Turning to Zhije, he asked,"What does that mean?"

"Means that they don't know shit,"was Zhije's reply.

Tifa's expression hardened. "The intel," she continued, "is that Shinra will be dropping the plate above Sector Seven later today."

For a long moment, the only sound throughout the dingy office space was the sound of humming monitors and the off-beat drumming of Nayo's heart.

Then, after a lengthy pause, she finally composed herself long enough to say, "What?"

"Barret, Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge are on their way to the upper city as we speak for an unrelated mission." Here Tifa paused, as if waiting for a jab; when none was forthcoming, she relaxed a fraction and continued, "We have no way of contacting any of them — they're on a local encrypted channel, not our general channel — so they don't know what's going on. We do have another operative is going after them, but… we're not sure if they'll make it in time, which is why I'm here. Then we have three other operatives leading the evacuation efforts, and I am—"

"Recruiting," Nayo cut in. "Right?"

Tifa hesitated before nodding. "Something like that. We can't defend the entire support beam ourselves, so we need to work together in order to save it."

"You've never wanted to work together before," Nayo pointed out.

"I know. And I'm sorry." Strangely enough, Tifa did sound genuinely apologetic. "You have your way of doing things, and we have ours. But right now, the present emergency is more important than petty politics."

Nayo's lips lifted in a smile. Ouch, she thought, and yet… she could appreciate Tifa's blunt honesty, because though she hated to admit it, Tifa was right. Stopping the plate from dropping was far worth more than the combined weight of their differences. Besides, it was also a matter of principle; if Avalanche couldn't even save one town from being destroyed, how were they supposed to save the entire Planet?

"All right," Nayo finally replied, and suppressed a scowl at the Tifa's expression lit up.

"You mean that you'll—"

"We'll help," Nayo affirmed, and then she glanced behind her, wordlessly daring anyone to contradict her. Unsurprisingly, no one did, and she turned back towards Tifa and continued, "We actually have a lot on our plate right now—" like how we're manning the Princess of Wutai's undercover mission "— but we can divide our resources to make sure all of our bases are covered."

Tifa lightly bowed her head. "Thank you," she said. "Really, I—"

"Don't thank us until we stop that plate from falling," Nayo interrupted. Her lips quirked into a sharp smile. "Then, maybe we can have a conversation about the future of Avalanche."

Tifa's expression softened a fraction. "I'm sure I can get Barret to agree to that."

"Let's hope so," Nayo replied, then turned to the rest of the team. "All right, everyone got that?"

Polk's face was twisted into a grimace. "I… I think so," he managed, though he sounded anything but. "I mean, we just have to get in contact with the splinter cell, tell them what's going on, and then stop the plate from falling, right? That's just like, three things."

"Easy," Zhije said, grinning.

Billy Bob added, "I bet we'll have this resolved by dinnertime."

"Good to know," Nayo replied with a clipped nod, then turned back to Tifa. "Hear that? We got our part covered, so you hurry up and do whatever you need to do. I see you keep looking over your shoulder," she added at Tifa's startled expression.

"I… Yeah, I do." Resolve hardened Tifa's features, and she took a few steps towards the exit… but then Nayo cursed under her breath, stopping her.

"Wait." Nayo dug into her pocket and pulled out her earpiece, then lightly tossed it at Tifa. Tifa caught it with one hand. "Take that, so we can keep in touch."

Tifa's gaze dropped to the glossy black earpiece, her expression unreadable… but then she nodded and slipped it in. "Thanks."

"Don't mentioned it," Nayo replied. "Now, hurry up and go. We'll be in contact."

Tifa didn't need any further prompting. With only the barest of nods she was gone, leaving behind only a footprint in the dust to indicate she had been there at all. Nayo wasn't sure if she liked that or not.

Polk released an uneasy breath behind her. "It's like a storm just passed through," he murmured under his breath.

"One did," Nayo stated matter-of-factly before she tore her gaze away from Tifa's departing back and strode to her desk. "Let's get to work, people. We have our work cut out for us."

"No kidding," Billy Bob muttered as he also slid into his seat.

Zhije's chair screeched across the floor as he situated himself in front of his desk. "What I'm wondering is why Tifa was in such a rush to begin with. Besides the obvious," he quickly added when Nayo shot him a dry look. "I mean, I get why we have to hurry and all, but she did say that her role was to recruit us, right? But she looked like she had somewhere else to be the entire time Nayo talked to her."

"Who knows." Nayo's voice was deceptively bland, and her gaze was hidden behind the bright computer screen reflected in her glasses. "Not our problem. Let's just hurry and figure out this bullshit."

"I guess," Polk replied with a scowl, and soon only the sound of harsh staccato typing filled the quiet room.


Zack felt like he was going to explode. Today was supposed to be a good day, where he could hang out with his friends like a normal person and pretend that nothing bad had ever happened. It was supposed to make up for everything that had gone wrong since Nibelheim; he could spend time with Aerith without worrying, watch Cloud be happy without being afraid, enjoy being around company that didn't want to use him or kill him.

Then life happened; or more specifically, his life happened, because only his life could be so screwed up.

Zack's throat tightened as he ran down the road. He knew that Barret and his team couldn't have gone very far — they hadn't left the bar much earlier than he had — but their head start was just enough to give him a hefty dose of adrenaline. He didn't want to consider what he looked like to everyone else: eyes glowing, lips pulled in a snarl, half-deranged with guilt and worry because it was all his fault.

I wish I had never returned to Midgar.

The confession burned his eyes as he skidded around a corner and sprinted down the alley. His arms pumped at his side and dust pillowed his footsteps. A cat lazily watched him from a rooftop; a woman paused her sweeping just long enough to frown at him as he passed.

If I really loved Aerith, I would have never come back.

A train whistle suddenly pierced the air, effectively alerting the town that the train was departing the station for the upper levels, and Zack's eyes widened a fraction before he picked up his pace. His legs were a blur beneath him as he ran, and within moments he could see the concrete steps that led up to the station. People lingered on the platform. Some had hands raised in a goodbye while others collected their things before returning home. The air tasted of sweat and mildew and smoke. A deep rumble shook the ground.

The train was departing.

No, not departing; it was already halfway gone.

Zack froze as adrenaline slammed against cold logic — I'm not going to make it — but then a smaller, braver part of him whispered, Not with that attitude.

He grit his teeth and ran. Boots slapped against the stained concrete of the platform, and as the train rolled away, he took a running start before throwing himself off the ledge. Wind pushed his hair behind his face as his heart leapt to his throat, but then his fingers wrapped around the metal railing of the last car and he hoisted himself onboard. The flimsy ground rattled beneath him as he glanced back towards the station, which was rapidly growing smaller as the train fled towards the upper plates.

With that, he faintly sighed and tilted his face towards the distant metal sky. He knew that in roughly fifteen minutes, the train would pass through the automated identification scanner, and then the gig would be up. He would be identified as a stowaway. Shinra would recognize him as an escaped specimen, and they would undoubtedly converge on his location to capture him. The Turks, as they had their own use for him, would likely do the same.

It would be chaos. Complete, absolute chaos, but maybe that was exactly what their crazy situation needed: an introduced variable that could throw a wrinkle in Shinra's carefully laid-out plans. He could be the diversion the team could use to stop the plate from dropping. He could cause Shinra to divert their firepower to take him out instead of defending their position on the plate. It would be a win-win situation: he would either forces Shinra's hand, or no one would ever be dragged into his messed-up life again.

Wind whipped Zack's hair back as his lips twitched in a smile. Aerith will be furious with me, he thought as he sat down on the rickety platform. The train shifted beneath him as it rattled down the tracks, and his shoulders bumped against the railing with enough force to bruise, yet he couldn't bring himself to care. Instead he simply blinked his stinging eyes, inhaled a shaky breath, and checked the time.

Eleven more minutes until the checkpoint, he mentally calculated, and closed his eyes.

Goodbye, everyone.

Then, as heat streaked down his cheek:

I'm sorry.


Somewhere in Sector Seven, Aerith had managed to catch up with Cloud. He hadn't been as depressed as she had been expecting, but she supposed that was a good thing; they had a job to do after all, and they had to do it quickly.

Yet, as they began to hurry towards Sector Six on their way to Sector Five, a sudden chill against her back had her spinning around. It felt as if ice had trickled down her spine, like a cold draft pushing through a crack in the wall, and her heart rate quickened as she stared wide-eyed towards the town.

"Aerith?" Cloud's voice tugged at her attention, yet she couldn't tear her gaze away from slums sprawled out beneath her. "Aerith, is something wrong?"

"I… I'm not sure," she replied after a brief pause. "I just felt something… weird."

Cloud's lips pursed. "Weird?"

"Like…" Aerith sighed. "I don't know how to explain it, but I guess it's not important anyway. Come on," she continued, flashing him a brief smile. It was supposed to be reassuring, but Cloud's frown only deepened. "Let's hurry to my mom's house so we can tell her what's going on."

At the mention of her mother's house, Cloud's expression hardened a fraction and he curtly nodded. "Right," he said, and the two of them continued to hurry down the dirt road. Yet, Aerith couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder.

Something happened, she knew. She didn't know what happened, but she had a feeling that she would find out soon… and she could only wordlessly pray that when she did find out, it wouldn't break her heart.


I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm still trying to figure out my schedule, but some chapter previews are always posted on my twitter which will give you an idea of when I'll post the next chapter.

Until next time :)