II
CHAPTER II
THE PROMISE
"Cloud never came," Wedge said quietly, rubbing the mess of dark hair beneath his red do-rag.
He let his body slump against the crates of the cargo hold, the rough wood scraping his t-shirt as he slid down. The others did not speak for a time, their faces long and thoughtful. Wedge felt his eyes become heavy, listening to the drone of the locomotive's engine, and to the vibrations of the carriage walls. The whistle sounded, letting them know the descent to the Slums was not far off. He sighed, expelling air that felt like a great weight upon his chest.
"I wonder if he was...caught," muttered Biggs, eventually lifting his head from its position against the shutters on the side of the car.
"Doubt it," answered Barret without enthusiasm. "He can look after himself."
Biggs nodded, his sullen expression unchanging as his gaze sank back towards the floorboards. Silence again fell over the party, broken a short while later only by a muffled thump on the curved ceiling above them. Barret gazed up, his narrowed eyes studying the roof and the steel racks that rattled overhead. Their stomachs lurched momentarily as the train began to dip, reaching the city's main railway line, making its way downwards around the Plate's core support structure, the Central Complex.
"D'you think Cloud'll fight to the end for AVALANCHE?" Biggs asked absently, his attention drawn by the small stones rolling towards the end of the hold with the floor's decline.
"How the hell would I know?" snapped Barret, pounding the nearest crate with his enormous fist. "Do I look like a damn mind reader? The spiky-headed jerk isn't even here."
"What's going to happen about our money?" said Wedge.
"Well, if y'all weren't such screw-ups…" Barret barked, grabbing an empty box and hurtling it across the car at him.
"It's...uh...nothin'…" Wedge mumbled, cowering as the box crashed against him. "Sorry, sir..."
As Jessie opened her mouth to protest, there came a second thump on the roof, followed by a low rumbling. The group exchanged wary glances, the sound disturbing them. Suddenly, the frail timber shutters flew apart, spilling the frozen air of the railway tunnel in through the gaping hole. Biggs stumbled backwards, grasping at something to stop himself falling from the train, and found the extended arm of Jessie. Barret reacted first, raising his gun-arm towards the wide doorway, lining up his target. They waited, unmoving, as the luminous yellow lights on the stone pillars rushed past, blinding their sight for brief moments at a time. After a few seconds, the Buster Sword came hurtling through the open space and clattered noisily against the hard floor at Barret's feet.
"Cloud!" cried Jessie. She gaped in awe as he manoeuvred himself from the roof of the speeding locomotive and swung into the car, landing in a crouched position amongst them.
"What happened to you?" demanded Barret, lowering his arm.
"Got sidetracked," replied Cloud, dusting himself down as he rose. "Am I late?"
"Damn right you're late!" he growled. "Comin' waltzin' in here and makin' a big scene."
"Whatever," Cloud scoffed dismissively.
"You don't give a damn 'bout no-one but yourself. We're s'posed to work as a team. This is comin' outta your pay, hotstuff," Barret said as he pushed himself away from the wall and, barging the ex-SOLDIER aside, stalked towards the narrow doorway at the end of the carriage. "Wake up, knuckleheads. We're movin' out. Follow me."
He slammed the door behind him, shaking it at its hinges. Biggs moved first, trudging slowly along the hold, with Wedge close behind. Cloud watched as Jessie stepped past him and hauled the shutters together. The sound of the rushing air died away in an instant, laying a veil of what seemed like makeshift silence over the pair. She smiled feebly at him, her freckled cheeks beaming a radiant pink, and scurried away. Cloud paused for a moment, reminded of his puzzling thoughts regarding the bizarre encounter with the flower girl. Snatching his sword from the ground and returning it to the magnet on his back, he began after Barret.
Get a hold of yourself…
As he passed through the doorway and into the adjacent carriage, there came a recorded announcement over the loudspeaker; the crackling female voice listing the stops they would be making during the journey, ending in Lower Sector7: the Train Graveyard. The passenger car was much brighter than the cargo hold, a thin line of bulbs stretching along the centre of the ceiling. It was occupied by a lone beggar, his old face rugged and stained, lying beneath a torn woollen blanket on the hard bench.
"Thish ish my houshe," he slurred drunkenly as Cloud walked by. "Make yourshelves at home."
On his right, the windows showed the dark Midgar Slums melting away towards the invisible horizon, and he knew that they had already journeyed below the domain of the upper-city. He could make out three of the Reactor shells at the metropolis' limits, the bulbous bodies of the facilities marking the boundary of the Plate. For miles, dim oranges and yellows could be seen, hidden only by the single Pillar at each sector's centre, the lights of the sleepy villages fading away. Then, all was black again, the train travelling within another tunnel as it passed the border between Sector3 and Sector4, winding its way towards the earth.
Moving along the car, Cloud looked up to see Jessie gesturing for him to join her with one hand, pulling the ringlets of her hair from her face with the other. She waited by the small computer monitor at the far end of the carriage, the display buzzing to life, emitting a brilliant green glow. He reluctantly obeyed and, as he drew nearer, found himself gazing at the screen's three-dimensional map of Midgar.
Midgar had been originally built as a town but, as with every industrial revolution, expanded into what had gradually become the largest city on the Planet. However, as the world modernised, so had the city, giving birth to the multi-billion gil company, Shinra, Inc. Primarily established as Shinra Manufacturing Works, the discovery of Mako energy had granted Shinra an immortal status, swallowing their competition and becoming a monopolistic mega corporation. Their privatisation of the Armed Forces meant that the democratic parliament came to rely on them and, over time, faded into nothing more than a token assembly without influence.
Shinra had dominated global politics, economics and military affairs since the War with the Wutai Empire ended seven years before, and only a handful of incidents from resistance organisations had significantly challenged this. To coincide with the milestone celebrations which marked two millennia of the historical era [µ]-εγλ, President Shinra had declared a new age, [ν]-εγλ, welcomed by a population content with affordable energy, low taxes and modern technology.
Within thirty years of its founding, the company had constructed a second, slightly smaller city above the first, a symbol of its supremacy and triumph over nature. It was built upon a magnificent circular base, designed to satisfy the demands of the company's elite, and to become the location for Shinra, Inc.'s Headquarters. The Plate was now one of the Planet's main cultural and industrial hubs, boasting contemporary architecture and even tranquil public parks. However, held aloft by eight scaling Pillars, as well as the Central Complex, it had removed the lower-city's sunlight, turning it into a wasteland of impoverishment and crime; into what was now known as the 'Slums'.
Both the Plate and the Slums were separated into several individual sectors, numbered 1 to 8, which in turn were divided into residential, industrial and market districts, but although the towns had once had their own identity, their names had drifted from memory. The Plate housed the higher echelons of Shinra employees and wealthier citizens, while in the Slums dwelled the poorer classes, living in the filthy discarded debris of those above. Though public tunnels and elevators had until recently been available for use, entry to the Plate was now strictly monitored by the authorities in light of years of anti-Shinra activity, and could only be accessed by train.
The map on the display showed the vastness of the Slums and the Plate of the city, connected by a series of railway lines that circled the Central Complex, and the great height at which the Shinra Building stood at its core, the sky-scraping Headquarters the pinnacle of the city's design. Around the diagram of the main support structure, a broken yellow line appeared on one of the charted train routes, spiralling down to the Planet's surface and then disappearing to repeat the process.
"Isn't this program wonderful?" blushed Jessie, reading Cloud's blunt expression. "I like these kinda things. Bombs and computers...y'know, flashy stuff. According to AVALANCHE's rules, we have to memorise lots of information like this by heart. I'm great when it comes to technology or blueprints, but Barret can talk about pretty difficult subjects and principals sometimes. That's when it gets too complicated for me. But, I have faith that what he teaches us is right, and he's so dedicated to our cause. Just between us, he's not as stupid as people think.
"Anyway, let me explain this to you. This map is a complete model of Midgar, about one millionth to scale. The Plate's about five-hundred feet above ground. The dotted line shows the course our train is on. We're above Sector4 just now. You can tell because it's the only part of the Plate still under construction. The red markers on the screen are the I.D. checkpoints. At each checkpoint, a sensor device has been set up. It can check the identities and background of each and every passenger on the train by linking it up to the central data bank at Headquarters. Anyone could tell we look suspicious, so we use fake I.D.s. It seems this train hasn't switched to security mode yet, but I'm sure that'll have changed by tomorrow."
She grinned, winking at him, and reached over to switch the screen off. The train's whistle resonated again, and they began to slow, pulling into a station. The carriage shuddered violently as they came to a halt, waking Biggs from his casual slumber on one of the seats. Cloud yawned and, dragging his feet over the sticky floor, sat down opposite Barret, leaning his greatsword against a board at the end of the row. He shut his eyes, the vision of the monitor replaying in his mind as the train started to move again. When at last he opened them, he was met by Barret's cold frown. He nodded at the window behind Cloud.
"We're almost home; you can see most of the underside now," he said, his tone one of distaste. "'Cause o' the Plate, most o' the Slums don't have no night or day."
"A floating city..." muttered Cloud, glancing out over the dark landscape as it slipped by. "I rarely used to see it from down here. Pretty unsettling scenery."
"Yeah," Barret grunted. "Never expected to hear that outta someone like you, though. You're jus' full o' surprises. The upper-world...a city on a Plate. If it wasn't there, we could see the sky. It's 'cause o' that frickin' pizza that people below are sufferin'! The Slums are full of polluted air. An' on top o' that, the damn Reactors keep drainin' up all the energy."
"Then, why doesn't everyone just move onto the Plate?"
"Dunno," Barret sighed. "Probably 'cause they ain't got no money...or maybe 'cause they love their land, no matter how polluted it gets."
"I guess no one really lives in the Slums because they want to," Cloud acknowledged, pulling the Buster Sword closer as he began stroking the intricate gold trimming at its hilt with his fingertips. "It's like this train; it can't run anywhere except where its rails take it…"
"Yo, get over here," called Barret as the group stepped, one by one, onto the rundown Sector7 station. He stood at the base of the ruined concrete stairs, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for them to gather by his side. The station master paced back and forth along the platform, drifting amongst the few passengers, his red uniform taut over his bulging waist. Cloud was last to exit the car, greeted by the daunting sight of the Train Graveyard, causing his thoughts to wander.
An eeriness had fallen over him, the images that he had awoken to the week before seeping into his mind. The backdrop was blurred by a thin haze about him, the fumes of burning oil almost ghost-like. Through the raised piles of rubble was the cargo depot, and beyond that derailed train carriages were strewn motionless on their sides, damaged and unwanted, laid to waste in the Slums by Shinra. He could see a party of beggars huddled around a fire, their faces each telling a sad tale. Uncaring, he turned away, indifferent to the grim reality faced by the homeless men and women, and made his way down towards the others.
"The mission was a success," Barret declared in a triumphant whisper. "But don't get lazy now, the hard part's still to come. An' don't none of y'all be scared of that explosion, 'cause we gotta be prepared for anythin'. Alright, meet at the hideout. Move out!"
Biggs and Jessie gave a small clap which startled Cloud. He shot both of them a look of annoyance at their lack of professionalism, his gaze fierce and uncompromising. He waited without sound as Barret and the youngsters vanished into the distance, heading southwest along the worn dirt path. When at last they had disappeared from view, he began to walk steadily in the same direction, following the group towards the nameless village that was their destination.
Prior to meeting AVALANCHE, Cloud had rarely experienced such poverty. In his early days with the Army, he had witnessed the Slum riots on television, but the images had been softened somewhat by a pro-Shinra broadcast and his mind had accepted what it saw. Everything appeared so grey and lifeless, spreading out around him, pinning down the mask of destitution over the once-prosperous areas of the city. The air felt heavy, a musky odour rising from the heaps of waste. Cloud limited his breathing to a minimum, fearing the inhalation of the soiled grime that he could almost taste. Beside him, the station platform was no more, the tracks ending abruptly in a large mound of sand.
He looked up, allowing his weary eyes to come to rest on the Sector7 Pillar. The enormous granite column stood alone at the centre of the sector, a few miles from each of the sector gateways, and had been designed to bear most of the Plate's weight above them. A single, mechanised skeleton structure grew up alongside it, stopping about one-hundred feet from the Plate to form a round podium. Bright red and green lights flashed continuously at the height of the steel frame, embedded at the back of his retinas each time he blinked. Beyond the Pillar, he could make out the tall gate to the Sector8 Slums, looming over the inhospitable land with its unwelcoming stare. His vision began to blur as he focused on the vast stretches of the city, so he lowered his head and hastened his stride, thinking no more of the surroundings, trailing the dusty road as it wound amongst the filth.
Cloud heard the thundering gatling-gun shots scream out as he entered the village, breaking the silence that he had become accustomed to. He looked up to see the swing-doors of the Seventh Heaven bar burst open, a group of drunken teenagers staggering haphazardly out onto the timber veranda and down its crooked steps, followed by a red-headed man he recognised as a regular customer. Barret appeared seconds later, firing at the ground as they scurried towards Cloud, the bullets tearing up the dry earth behind them.
Seventh Heaven was the only building in the village whose design was more than a simple living area. It had been selected by Barret, the bar's co-owner, as the operations base for AVALANCHE, the money made by sale of food and alcohol the funds behind the activist group. Unlike the vast majority of homesteads around Midgar and elsewhere on the Planet, Seventh Heaven was run on biofuels and an old coal generator; Barret had remained true to his anti-Mako-consumption ideals. The electronic sign above the entrance crackled and hissed, the yellow letters flickering as current came and went. Barret stood at the base of the veranda's stairs, his arms folded across his broad chest, the barrel smoke of his gatling-gun drifting slowly into the air.
Watching the young punks stumble past him, Cloud continued towards the bar, his army boots crunching down upon shards of broken glass. Sheets of corrugated iron covered the ground, rough and jagged, the red layers of rust smeared across them. The outer walls of the small, single-levelled shanty homes on either side of the secluded area were made of the same material, some appearing weak and unsteady. Their roofs were lined with planks of hewn lumber and scrap tin, leaving obvious gaps where the wood and metal were uneven. Great holes had been cut from the iron to represent windows, the house interiors visible even from a distance, although most displayed no valuable belongings.
"Hey, Cloud!" shouted Barret as he approached. "Get off your slow-movin' ass and get inside!"
Cloud strolled casually past Barret, and up the steps, into Seventh Heaven. He was met with a relaxed ambience of cigarette fumes and faint background music; the radio playing 'Parochial Town' by The Moogles, a flourishing rock band from the city he had learned of in recent days. Through the haze, he could see Biggs, Wedge and Jessie at one of the pub's few low, rectangular tables, a selection of brown beer bottles placed before them. A young child sat among the three, giggling as they joked with her. As he entered, he saw her eyes light up in excitement.
"Papa?" she yelped.
Cloud stared at her, unsure of what to say. Embarrassed, she looked away, her pale face becoming a deep pink. Jessie and Biggs laughed, mocking her playfully as she shrank into the seat between them. The open boiler behind the table spluttered, the fire inside blazing, heating the room to an almost unbearable temperature. The bar was spacious in size, the lofty flag-adorned ceiling adding to the effect, decorated in the same ashen timber as before, and smelled distinctly of gun powder. He could see the kitchen area in the far corner, the steel worktops littered with utensils, and to its right the lone pinball machine. Opposite the kitchen was the bar itself, its long, polished counter running almost halfway across the floor.
The waitress pottered around behind the counter, turning sharply from her task to see him. Leaning back against the drinks cupboard, she placed her hands on her hips as their gaze met, and smiled warmly. She had tied her silken black hair at the tail of her spine with a tiny red bobble, leaving some of her fringe to hang down at the side of her attractive face, hiding one of her large, brown eyes. As he came towards her, she placed the whisky bottle by her side on the shelf, and removed her coloured apron. She wore a tight white vest-top beneath, ripped above the waist to expose her flat stomach, and a short, casual black leather skirt over her long legs.
"Welcome home," she said, grabbing a handful of glasses, and dumping them in the wide sink beside her. She dried her hands with a thin towel, smiling up at him once more. "Looks like everything went well."
Her voice seemed relaxed, as if all the anxiety it had ever held had melted away. The voice was so familiar; so reassuring. Tifa Lockhart had grown up with Cloud in the small town of Nibelheim on the Western Continent. She was twenty years old, slightly younger than he was, but her glowing face did not look much older than fifteen, the age at which Cloud had last seen her before his arrival in Midgar. To her, five years had passed, but to him, it had been a single week. It was she who had found him dazed and confused at the Sector7 station only days earlier and brought him back to the village, although they had spoken little of it since then.
"It wasn't a tough job," he shrugged, sitting on one of the stools at the bar, resting his sword against the counter.
"Did you fight with Barret?" she asked.
"A bit."
"I should have known," she chuckled, rolling her eyes. "He's always pushing people around, and you've been getting yourself into fights since you were little. I kinda hoped you'd grown out of it."
"Whatever."
"I'm kidding," she teased. "Now, how about I get you something to drink?"
"I don't feel like it."
"I can make a drink just as good as anyone else, y'know."
"It's not that," he grumbled.
"Well, how about-" she cut off, her gaze narrowing as she spotted something hanging from his pocket. "Hey, is that a flower?"
"Huh?" he grunted, perplexed, only understanding the question as he glanced down to see the head of the white lily poking out from the side of his khakis. "Oh, you mean this?"
"Let me see," she gasped excitedly, eagerly holding out her hand. He passed it to her without enthusiasm, absently observing her as she blissfully inhaled its sweet aroma. After a few seconds, she pulled a glass of water from the bar and placed the stem inside. "Oh, it smells wonderful. Where did you get it?"
"It's not important."
"Well, I love it," she professed. "You never see flowers here in the Slums because of the pollution. It really brightens up your day. Maybe I should fill the whole bar with them. What do you think?"
"Do what you like," he muttered indifferently.
"Cloud, are you feeling alright?" she said, her spirited voice suddenly growing serious.
"Yeah...why?"
"No reason. You just look a little tired, I guess."
Cloud opened his mouth to reply, but spun on his seat as the swing-doors behind him crashed open. Barret strode in, his eyes scanning the room. The young girl leapt from her seat, and sprinted towards him. She threw her arms around his right leg, burying her head against his waist-guard. Cloud frowned; he was yet to see the resemblance between father and daughter, the girl's pale features an obvious contrast to Barret's dark skin.
"Marlene!" he beamed, kneeling down to embrace the child.
After a moment, he picked her up, gently lifting her onto his shoulder. Once she was safely perched, he crossed the room to the orange pinball machine, effortlessly moving it aside to reveal a trapdoor cut from the floorboards. He bent down and pulled the hatch open, pressing a button at the base of the wall as he did so. In an instant, there came a hum from beneath them, the slender, spiral staircase lighting up as the basement came to life.
"Hey, Barret, what's happenin'?" called Biggs.
"Get in here, fools," he shouted, disappearing down the steps. "We're startin' the meetin'."
Biggs groaned, slowly climbing to his feet. Wedge and Jessie followed grudgingly, the three of them crossing the room and making their way below. Cloud yawned again, unmoving from the bar. He lowered his throbbing head, nursing it in his hands. He could hear Tifa gathering the remaining glasses from the counter, wiping its smooth surface with a cloth. After a few minutes, he sat up, pushing himself away from the bar, and stood.
"Make sure you get your pay from Barret," said Tifa.
"Don't worry," he answered callously. "Once I get that money, I'm gone."
The stone steps felt uneven as he made his descent, as if crafted by an inexperienced hand. The air became cooler as he reached the basement; the small, square room around twenty feet below the bar itself. Its walls were lined with grey concrete, thick pipes of corroding metals running within, and spray-painted atop the low doorway was the organisation's logo: a skull and crossbones with the letter 'A' marked on its forehead. A large television hung from one corner, above the computer where Jessie sat, her eyes fixed on the monitor.
At the far side of the space, Barret stood with his back to Cloud, beating the punch bag with all his might. He had set Marlene down upon an empty crate at the side of the bag, her short legs dangling over its edge. In the centre of the room, Biggs and Wedge had gathered around the table, reading over blueprints of the Plate's underground passages. Cloud joined them, glancing up at the television as it flickered on.
"...Sector1 Reactor bombed," read the news reporter, a picture of an aging blonde, overweight man appearing on the screen behind him. "We have had an update on the explosion. In an interview within the last half-hour, President Shinra gave this statement: 'We can confirm that the terrorist group AVALANCHE has claimed responsibility for this atrocity. In the aftermath of the bombing, Sector1's mainframe computer and electricity circuits were temporarily knocked out. Financially, we have estimated almost one-hundred-million gil worth of damage. However, our thoughts are with the innocent civilians killed in the explosion. It is a grim consolation that many would have died in their sleep.'
"The President then concluded by saying, 'It is expected that AVALANCHE will continue its reign of terror. But, citizens of Midgar, there is no need to fear. I have immediately mobilised SOLDIER to join our security forces in protecting our communities against this senseless violence. Please understand my decision to place Midgar under martial law at this time.'
"Following the President's lead," the reporter continued, "Mayor Domino also spoke out against-"
"Assholes!" swore Biggs, switching off the television.
Leaning back, he lifted his feet onto the table, crossing one leg over the other, and folded his arms across his green tank-top. Jessie rose from her seat at the computer and scurried quietly over to them. Her head was low as she slumped into the vacant chair beside Wedge, her hands visibly shaking as she tried desperately to calm her nerves.
"Jessie?" said Wedge with concern, placing a chunky palm on her shoulder. "Is everything alright?"
"It's just that…" she whispered, her lips trembling, "we killed a lot of people tonight…"
"How do you know that?" scoffed Biggs.
"Didn't you…didn't you see the news?" she stammered.
"So what?" he laughed, patting her on the back. "You know the Shinra control everything that gets shown on television. Probably just tryin' to stir up some support for themselves after what's happened."
"It's not just that," she gulped.
"What're you talking about?" asked Wedge.
"When my bomb exploded…" whimpered Jessie. "It was…it was so much bigger than what we'd prepared for. Barret's plan was only to cause the Reactor to malfunction so that it would stop drawing Mako, but-"
"So, you just made a miscalculation somewhere," said Biggs. "Those people were all part of the Shinra, right? Think of them as collateral damage."
"How can you say that?" gasped Jessie.
"You knew what you were gettin' yourself into when you joined AVALANCHE, didn't you?" Biggs replied nonchalantly. "You knew there'd be casualties."
"But, not as many as there were tonight," argued Jessie regretfully. "I just wanted to do something to stop Midgar's heritage fading away. I…I should have known better…"
"About what?" Wedge frowned.
"Our whole plan was based on something I found when I was hacking into the Worldwide Network on my laptop," she began. "I stumbled across some old documents hidden in the files of a classified computer…ones I knew to be heavily encrypted. It turns out that the computer had belonged to a man named Fuhito who was high in the ranks of the old AVALANCHE."
"What're you talkin' about?" moaned Biggs.
"In Fuhito's files were detailed instructions on how to build a bomb capable of disabling a Mako Reactor," continued Jessie. "I showed them to Barret and he told me to copy the instructions step by step. Every part of tonight's operation was originally drafted years ago. It felt so thrilling to be following in the footsteps of the ones we'd named ourselves after that it never occurred to me how extreme the documents were. The old AVALANCHE were much more militant than we are, and the plans weren't just to shut down the Reactor…they were to destroy it altogether. I should have realised sooner…"
"What's done is done," said Biggs. "Don't let it bother you."
"But, all those people…" she sobbed, briefly wiping a tear from her eye. "I need to…I'll make sure the next one's smaller…"
"Jessie…" comforted Wedge, his words seeming louder as the pounding rhythm of the punch bag died away.
"Yo, Cloud," called Barret, bringing the sack to rest in his arms, oblivious to his comrades' discussion. "There's somethin' I wanna ask ya."
"What?" he said without interest, looking briefly up at the thin beads of sweat glistening on Barret's wide forehead.
"Was there anyone from SOLDIER around tonight?" enquired Barret, his eyes locking with Cloud's. For a second, Cloud's mind raced through the night's events: the train; the bomb; the black uniform. Slowly rising from his chair, he walked around the table to face Barret, their glares not once breaking. Eventually, he responded.
"None," said Cloud, shaking his head once.
"You sure 'bout that?"
"If there had been anyone from SOLDIER," he said sternly, "you wouldn't be standing here right now."
"Don't go thinkin' you're so tough jus' 'cause you was one o' them," Barret growled, stepping forward as he bore down on Cloud. Biggs sprang quickly from his seat, holding him back. Furious, Barret seized Biggs, and hurled him against the wall. "Don't forget your skinny ass's workin' for AVALANCHE now! Don't get no ideas 'bout hangin' on to the Shinra."
"'Hangin' on to Shinra'?" barked Cloud. "You asked me a question and I answered it!"
"What's wrong, Blondie?" he snarled. "You gotta problem?"
"I'm going upstairs," said Cloud through gritted teeth, his dislike for the man escalating. He turned away, storming towards the steps. "I want to talk about my money."
"Looks like somebody still misses the Shinra," sneered Barret. Cloud paused beneath the low exit, remaining perfectly still, gripping the walls as tight as he possibly could. After a few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes flaring.
"I don't care about either Shinra or SOLDIER," he retorted. "But don't get me wrong...I don't care about AVALANCHE or the Planet for that matter."
Without waiting for a reply, he thundered up the stairs, the pounding of his footsteps echoing throughout the tight passage. Emerging at the bar, he grabbed a chair from the nearest table and sat down, tearing his gloves from his fingers. He ran his hands through his wild hair, gripping his jagged locks in fury. He breathed hard, enraged beyond control by what Barret had said. What did he know? He hadn't been there. He hadn't felt the intensity of the flames; felt the anger of betrayal...
"What happened?" Tifa asked softly. His blinding thoughts diminished, returning him to his surroundings. She sank into the seat opposite, leaning across the table towards him, her hands clasped together, her deep brown eyes staring longingly into his.
"I really despise that guy..." he muttered.
"He's not a bad person," Tifa insisted, "he's just passionate. Barret takes a while to warm to."
"Yeah, well I'm not gonna stick around to find out."
"Listen, Cloud," she said steadily, "I don't know what went on down there, but I'm begging you...please join us. Barret's right about the Reactors; the Planet's sick. Slowly but surely...it's dying. Someone has to do something."
"Then let AVALANCHE handle it!" he snapped. "You're the ones who proclaim to be the saviours of the Planet. It's got nothin' to do with me."
"But, you know what we're up against," she pleaded. "There are SOLDIERs out there looking for us now. How much of a chance would you give Biggs, Wedge or Jessie against even one of those guys?"
"Gods!" he erupted, violently thrusting his chair backwards. "I've had enough of this! This isn't my fight!"
"So that's it?" she screamed. "You're just gonna leave? Just walk out on your childhood friend?"
Cloud stopped and closed his eyes. He breathed heavily, listening to the rustle of the boiler as the fire inside licked its iron walls. She had attacked him with the only thing that could halt him in his tracks. For someone so troubled with amnesia, Tifa had known that reminding him of a link to his past was enough to distort the rage. He hung his head and sighed. Picking up his chair, he returned to the table.
"Tifa..." he started.
"You've forgotten about the promise, haven't you?"
"Promise?"
"So, you did forget?" she accused him playfully. "It was seven years ago..."
The cold breeze fluttered noiselessly over Nibelheim, caressing the red rooftops, spinning the wind chimes on the side of the houses. Cloud hugged himself closer, admiring the many constellations of the late evening sky, high above the black mountains to the north. He shivered fiercely - being dressed only in shorts and a thin t-shirt - but, although his home was merely minutes from the old water tower at which he waited, he had not dared return to fetch warmer clothing for fear of not being there when she came. Around him, the lights of the houses and inn dimmed and were no more. Only the archaic yellow lanterns along the streets kept the town from being plunged into darkness under the long shadow of Mount Nibel.
Cloud stood. He had waited long enough. He climbed down the ladders on the side of the well, and hopped onto the wide platform below, suddenly stopping to listen. The faint sound had not been his imagination; quick, light footsteps were approaching the small frame. He glanced up, holding his breath in anticipation, and saw her. Tifa scampered across the square, her long, plaited pigtails bouncing behind her head as she ran.
"Sorry I'm late," she gasped, letting her body fall against the tower. She panted hard, her face filled with exhaustion. Cloud helped her onto the wooden ledge, and together they sat down at its corner. "You said you wanted to talk to me about something?"
"Come this spring, I'll be leaving for Midgar," Cloud announced, clearing his throat. There came a long silence. He studied Tifa's expression, her young face thoughtful.
"All the boys are leaving the town," she said after a while.
"But I'm not like them," he snorted contemptuously. "I'm not just going to find a job...I want to join SOLDIER. I want to be like Sephiroth."
"Sephiroth? The Great Sephiroth? But...isn't it difficult to join SOLDIER?"
"I'll have to train really hard."
"But, that means-"
"I probably won't be able to come back for a while."
"Will you be in the newspapers if you do well?" she asked, her voice wavering. She turned her head from Cloud's.
"Well...uh...I'll try," he stammered. The question was an absurd one, confusing him slightly. He peered at her, but she pulled her face away, trying to hide the single tear that trickled down her cheek. "Tifa?"
"Let's make a promise," she whispered, the softness of her voice as sweet and soothing to him as it had always been.
"Huh?"
"If you get really famous, and I'm ever in a bind, you'll come rescue me, right?"
"What're you talking about?"
"Just promise that whenever I'm in trouble, my hero will come rescue me. I want to at least experience that once."
Cloud gaped at her in astonishment. "Hero"? Had he heard her right? He coughed, unsure what to think. After a few seconds, Tifa looked back at him, her features now a pale pink. She smiled, blushing slightly, and raised her gaze to the heavens. He did the same, and together they watched a shooting star pass gracefully over the deepening purple sky.
"Alright," he agreed. "I promise…"
"...you remember now, don't you?" said Tifa.
"I'm not a hero and I'm not famous," he exhaled, lowering his eyes.
"But you achieved your childhood dream, didn't you? You joined SOLDIER," she placed her palm beneath Cloud's chin and gently lifted his head towards her, so that their noses were almost touching. "So you have to keep your promise."
"We were just kids back then, Tifa. It doesn't mean anything anymore."
"It does to me…" she smiled.
There came the sound of heavy boots ascending from below. Tifa withdrew her hand, allowing Cloud's head to flop downwards again. The footsteps grew ever nearer, reverberating loudly as they scaled the staircase. He looked up as the bulky figure came into view. Barret had completely removed his jacket and metal waist-plate, his enormous, muscular torso towering over Cloud like a giant stalking his prey. The burning skull tattoo on his left arm seemed to add to his threatening appearance, almost distinguishing him as death itself.
"A promise is a promise," he grumbled in a low voice. With a hint of reluctance, he dropped a small purse of money on the table in front of him. "Fifteen-hundred gil...it's all yours, SOLDIER-boy. Now, if there ain't nothin' else, you can get the hell outta here!"
Cloud snatched up the bag and, leaning back in his chair, held it aloft, swinging it to and fro before him. His focus alternated between the money and Tifa, who looked over at him pleadingly, her eyes large and wide. Finally, he placed the pouch back on the table, and returned his attention to Barret.
"This is my pay?" he said haughtily. "Don't make me laugh."
"What? Then you'll...?" cried Tifa, clapping her hands excitedly. Cloud's concentration did not move from the dark stare of Barret.
"You got your next mission lined up? I'll do it for three-thousand."
"What?" he bellowed, fury spreading rapidly across his bristly face. Tifa jumped from the table, creating a barrier between the two. With great effort, she dragged Barret across the room to the bar, pushing him onto one of the stools.
"It's okay, it's okay," she whispered. "We're really hurting for help, right?"
"Three-thousand gil?" he shouted back at her. "Who does he think he is? That money's for Marlene's schoolin'…"
"Come on, Barret," she urged, her hands pressed firmly down on his shoulders. Tifa lowered her voice further still, to a volume she hoped would be inaudible to Cloud. "He's my friend, and I'm worried about him. He seems…disconnected."
"If you ask me," Barret responded in a hushed tone, "the guy's trouble. But…he's strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever seen."
"I'll keep an eye on him."
"Do you trust him?"
"He hasn't said much about what happened," Tifa paused. "But, yeah, I trust him."
"Friend or not," Barret sighed in submission, "the second that changes, his spiky ass is outta here."
"Thank you," she nodded, releasing her grip on his shoulders. After a few moments of contemplation, he finally relaxed his body, and grew to his feet. Cursing under his breath, Barret made his way towards the trapdoor. At the height of the steps, he stopped, flashing an irritated glance at Tifa.
"Two-thousand," he offered, his clenched jaw revealing his extreme discontent. Cloud nodded; it was more than he had hoped for.
"Deal."
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