Author's Note: Glimpses into Cloud's private life. He's a complex guy and fun to write. He's shy/insecure, but also stubborn/determined. To me, those tiny hints of aggressive masculinity make him sexy and better equipped to engage with a guy like Sephiroth.

CHAPTER 2: The Smiling Corpse

It was another dead body. The corpse was discovered at the Entertainment District of Midgar this time, hanging upside-down from the glass ceiling of an avant-garde art museum; stark naked and soaked in its own blood and bodily fluids. Most of the skin left on it had rotten off, revealing meaty and juicy flesh. The face was barely recognizable as well. It was nothing more than a mix-mash of muscles and tissue. Traces of dried ejaculation from the victim had been splattered across the walls and floor along with dots of blood. The corpse represented a genuine masterpiece painted with human remains. Greenish cobweb-like veins had spread throughout the abdominal area, all originating from the pelvic area. The penis itself, the very essence and symbol of Man… it was gone. Melted off at the root somehow, whatever remained of it threatened to detach itself the longer the body dangled in the air.

The corpse had hung there for a good eight hours until the museum's curator confirmed it was not a part of any installation piece to a potential art buyer. Now Shinra's infantrymen worked to get the bloody thing down without infringing on any evidence related to cause of death. The museum's surveillance feed, meanwhile, had already been transferred to the Investigation Sector of the General Affairs Department.

So far, this made it the nineteenth dead body found in Midgar with no explanation concerning probable cause. For many years the city had been gripped by the ghastly sight of festered corpses discovered across the Plate's Sectors. Most of them were well-off citizens with respectable jobs, some even high-profiled Shinra officials. There were no other connections established among the victims though. Nor did Shinra's team of investigators, the Turks, find a timeline between the deaths. Yet, the corpses all shared the same grisly details: liquefied insides, a lethal dose of Mako in the blood stream, and an unknown strand of DNA. While forensics had yet to identify the strand as either man or animal, they discovered the victims had all roughly expired within six hours of whatever they had come into contact with.

Already, the online community buzzed. Half appalled. Half fascinated. Speculations of a viral outbreak remained the topic of serious discussion. Environmentalists roared and claimed this was the Planet's way of settling old scores, especially with Shinra's ongoing exploits of Mako energy. Another group believed the corpses were somehow connected to the random monster sightings that also terrorized the city. And then there was President Shinra. He accounted the deaths as the result of a bioweapon created by extreme Wutai fractions.

The Company had been at war with Wutai for many years. Shin-Ra News already reported Wutai rebels within the Midgar population. According to them, the rebels had staged multiple attacks in the city. Shin-Ra News connected them to the monster sightings. Indeed, these were unsafe times. With the support of the Midgar's residents, President Shinra now prepared to send a battalion to the land of the Leviathan to settle this mess once and for all.

Already, various websites possessed leaked photos of today's fresh corpse. The pictures circulated like wildfire across forums and between PHS users. The face of the dead man was disturbing enough. A blackish liquid dripped from every possible orifice available. The corners of his mouth. Eyes. Ears. Nostrils. Anus. No doubt the hemorrhaging led to a slow and painful death. Even so, with bulged eyes rolled back and curled thin lips and black painted teeth, there was an opened half-crooked grin.

The man had died in complete contentment.

Sitting barefooted on the dusty wooden floor of his living space, Cloud kept his laptop propped between his crossed legs. Death Strikes Midgar Again, read the headline of Shin-Ra News. There were brief mentions in the online article of the previous corpses found in previous years, along with victims of the monster sightings. Death had certainly gripped the city by the balls.

A large woven blanket covered Cloud's hunched form as he continued to read. Propped against his leg was a small brown-and-white spotted dog. The beagle tossed back and forth in her sleep, softly whimpering. Cloud gently scratched behind her ear while the walls around them rattled loudly in the wake of a train. It passed over their apartment building; a usual occurrence in this neighborhood. Behind him, meanwhile, the walls banged nonstop. His annoying apartment neighbors again… They were either fighting or having sex.

Within the cold darkness of his living space, Cloud kept his gaze on the corpse's image. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. One hand held a half-eaten, chunky-chocolate gob. While it hovered close to his lips Cloud didn't take a bite of it. Loose crumbs from the cookie dropped as his clear blue eyes stayed fixated on the dark bloodstain patterns across the dead body's chest. He couldn't help but shift his eyes to the horrific sight of the pelvic area where the bloody flesh somehow gathered together and bled out. Some morbid curiosity within the teenager wondered if the man was hard before he bit the dust. It would explain the eerie satisfied smile on the corpse's face.

Midgar City… a hellish haven for the beautiful, the twisted, and the deprived.

"I've about had it with that damn cat, Cloud," a female voice interrupted Cloud's thoughts. "My garden is ruined. If I wasn't of sound mind I'd bury my fingers into its large green eyes, skin it alive, and feed it to the wolves that prowl the woods right now. By the way, how are the chunky-chocolate gobs?"

Cloud's back stiffened. He nearly dropped his cookie at the woman's choice of words. He shifted his attention to another active window on his screen. It was a live video-cam chatroom. There, a woman in her early forties with wild blond hair tied back and similar clear blue eyes sipped tea from a chipped glass. The body of a small dead animal, some white-furred hare, rested on the table. A smile decorated the woman's face.

Mrs. Strife. His mother. She always had a wicked way of making sure her boy was paying attention to her, even if it did shock the hell out of him.

"How are the cookies?" Mrs. Strife repeated. "Good?"

"Huh?" Cloud could barely hear her voice above the sound of the train passing by.

"The cookies, silly boy."

"Oh." Cloud reactively glanced at the chocolate gob in his hand. Near him was a small opened package with at least ten more. Each of them had the number seventeen written with icing. As with most conversations, Cloud's response was brief and to the point: "They're great."

"You're not looking at porn right now, are you?"

"What?"

"Is that why you keep spacing out like that?"

Cloud's cheeks flared with heat. He narrowed his eyes at his mother. Onscreen, Mrs. Strife laughed at her own joke. She had caught on to her boy's bouts of inattentiveness throughout their conversation. Cloud bit back a verbal reply. Instead, he rolled his eyes and minimized the corpse's image on his screen, taking away the temptation to read the rest of article.

"I'm glad you enjoy the chocolate gobs," Mrs. Strife mentioned later, "I know it's not much. I wish I could've sent you a cake, but I doubt it would've arrived intact."

"Hm. Cookies last longer anyway." Cloud stared at the dead rabbit on Mrs. Strife's table. Perfect white fur contrasted sharply with dots of red. The opened wound on its chest was clean and precise; its neck broken. He knew it had been a quick, merciful death. Curious, he asked, "Is that tonight's dinner?"

"Yep. I hunted it this morning. I'm making your favorite stew in honor of today."

Cloud nodded. Admittedly, he missed the tender, meaty flavor of rabbit.

"There was another present I wanted to send you, something you're old enough to have now," Mrs. Strife started again. "Unfortunately, the shipping costs would've been an arm and a leg."

"It's fine. The cookies are great. Really."

"I'll give it to you when you visit." Mrs. Strife smiled again. "Hard to believe… You're seventeen year's old today, Cloud. The Gods be good. Just yesterday I was changing your diapers and singing you lullabies."

Cloud took another bite of his birthday present. Crunch.

It was August 11th today, a big milestone for him. However, Cloud didn't feel any different. Seventeen felt a lot like sixteen. And last year's sixteen felt a lot like fifteen. Nothing changed. He was still this clueless, five-foot-seven punk with wild blond hair. Stubborn and persistent by nature, he preferred to do everything by himself, which included cutting his hair no matter how much of a choppy mess he made.

Possessing a slender shaped body and a face that contained too many soft curves for his liking, Cloud hated how he'd taken after his mother. He adopted too many of her feminine traits. Back home he was an object of humiliation because of it. Cloud hoped this year he'd develop a manlier physique. Six-pack abs would be nice. He'd grow a beard if only his facial hair could stay even and not itch so damn much.

"I wish you were here," Mrs. Strife suddenly confessed with a sigh. When her eyes stayed glued to her son, she added in a firm disapproving voice, "In fact, you should be here. Tsk tsk."

"I know…" Cloud apologized, "I didn't have the Gil to pay for a ticket to visit."

"Maybe next time you'll save in advance, silly boy," Mrs. Strife suggested, halfway joking but also halfway serious. She paused when a cat-like meow emerged off screen. Looking at something outside of Cloud's view, Mrs. Strife saw something out there and frowned. "I swear, the Lockhart's family cat is going to be the end of me, son. My poor garden…"

"You never did like cats, Mom," Cloud responded dryly. He glanced up at a naked light bulb on his ceiling. Its light kept flickering on and off again until the train finally passed. The beagle sleeping by his side sensed the train was gone too and gradually woke up. Ms. Tinker pawed at Cloud's leg.

"They're unpredictable, very dangerous creatures with little regard to anyone outside themselves," Mrs. Strife claimed. "Don't ever own a cat. They can't be trusted. Especially around gardens."

Cloud dangled a new cookie in front of Ms. Tinker and teased her with it, barely interested in the current talk with his mother. For the past hour their online conversation revolved around irrelevant topics like this. Yes, he ate regularly – that was a lie. Yes, he took out the trash – he forgot this morning. No, he didn't have a girlfriend – that was true. No, he hadn't gotten in serious trouble – he punched a customer last week. And maybe he wasn't a virgin – he lost it years ago to some random girl who tasted like bubble gum and cigarettes. Many times Cloud forced a small smile on his face. Now their talk focused on the neighbor's stupid cat. He quickly got bored.

"It's a cat," Cloud replied in between cookie bites. Crunch. He ate half of the treat but gave the rest to Ms. Tinker. "Cats do stupid things. You've handled wolves, bears, and other predators before. You can't handle an ordinary household cat? You're weird, Mom."

"Cloud Strife…" his mother declared in an authoritative voice, "Are you trying to get smart with your mother?"

"Nope. I wouldn't dream of it." Crunch-crunch. That reply came off a bit too sarcastic for his own damn good and earned him a scolding. Cloud issued an apology shortly after. Then he listened to the rest of his mother's adventurous day while rubbing Ms. Tinker's tummy.

It was a late Saturday afternoon. He'd already attended his General Ed afternoon class and showered for an evening shift at Chocobo Chow. With the air chilly outside, there came the promise of a strong winter.

As usual, Cloud kept in touch with his mother, especially on this special day. It was a part of their weekend routine and agreement. Ever since he left Nibelheim for the big city three years ago he gave her updates on his newfound freedom. The laptop he got on loan from a pawnshop served as a means of visual communication. He knew how much his mother needed to see his face.

Cloud was reluctant to talk about the current happenings in Midgar to his mother. Aside from the corpses, there were also monster sightings throughout the city and Slums. General Heidegger of the Public Safety Division advised all citizens to immediately report any suspicious persons or activities to the IMs. Cloud knew these details would worry his mother. He'd never hear the end of it.

Mrs. Strife sought out any excuse to drag her boy back home. She warned him about the naughty whores. The violent gangs. The vicious muggers. Temptation everywhere. Granted, it was all true. There was a lot of that here. But Cloud was a big boy. He could take care of himself. He'd done so for many years. His time in the Slums wasn't going to last forever anyway.

The banging next door grew louder. Ms. Tinker started to growl at the muffled moans and bed squeaks coming from the wall behind them. Cloud softly sighed to himself and huddled deeper inside his blanket.

"Yea, Mom, I'm doing all right," he replied when she later asked him a direct question. Cloud wiped off tiny chocolate chunks from the corners of his mouth with a finger. When he realized his mother was still waiting on specific details, he added with sigh, "I've just been busy with a lot of things."

"Busy with a lot of things?" his mother repeated and cocked a brow. She tapped the cup in her hand with a loose finger and frowned. "You're being a good boy over there, right, Cloud? No funny business? I've warned you about those city girls. They aren't good girls. Stay away from them."

Cloud bit the insides of his mouth. He should've known his mother would spin his words around and make this into a girl issue. She constantly worried over him screwing every girl on the block and getting them all pregnant. As if that was possible.

Yeah, he went on dates and had a few flings on occasion. The girls all thought he was cute; a country boy with rural charms. They found his wild platinum-blond hair both unusual and appealing. Even his social awkwardness and inability to form coherent words during his states of nervousness didn't faze them. In their eyes, it made him even more endearing and handsome. But he was definitely no Don Cloud. The country boy from Nibelheim had better luck wooing his beagle than he did a human being. Cloud was clueless in the art of suave. Of course, he didn't really care for it. He had bigger priorities to tend to.

"It's not the girls, Mom," Cloud retorted, "I'm busy preparing for the try-outs coming up."

"The try-outs…" Mrs. Strife suddenly realized. She blinked several times. Then her shoulders sagged and she asked, "…So you're trying to enlist in the army again?"

"Mm-hm."

A short pause. "When are the try-outs happening? Will you be ready for them?"

"Spring time. Early May. And yea… I think I'm ready. I mean, I will be." Cloud licked his dried lips, a bit disappointed by his lack of personal conviction. "I gotta pack on some pounds. But I've been taking classes for the comprehensive exam and am feeling stronger with my personal training. I, uh, got a good feeling about this one. I think I'll get accepted this time."

Glancing at a promotional Shinra army poster on a wall, Cloud felt the muscles of his stomach tighten. A bit of anxiety kicked in. Admittedly, his mother wasn't the only one with doubts.

He'd been rejected three times. The coming spring served as his last chance for enlistment. Cloud hadn't anticipated this level of failure. In fact, he had laid out his future when he first set foot in Midgar City. In his head, it was a done deal. He was going to enter Shinra's army and earn a spot in an elite class of soldiers. The crème de la crème. He'd become a strong, disciplined, and well-collected warrior just like them. Protecting the people and hunting unworldly beasts that stalked the land would be his thing. Glory and fame hand-in-hand. It was fucking perfect.

But then came the letters of rejection. Not once. Not twice. But three times. The humiliation and disgrace Cloud felt with each rotten love letter nearly got the best of him. On various occasions he considered returning to Nibelheim. Pride and stubbornness wouldn't let him though. After the first rejection, he took up residence in the Slums and found a job instead; determined to enlist in Shinra's great army the next chance he got.

Cloud knew he needed to make this year count. The long winter ahead offered him time to improve on the physical exam and study for the written portion. This was only a minor roadblock, Cloud told himself again and again. By Spring time he was going to make his dream a reality. He had to. The Company guaranteed its soldiers free housing, financial security, and food. It met all of his basic necessities. He was going to be better than all the stupid, immature losers back at home. He was going to make something of himself, damn it.

"But why…?" Mrs. Strife broke up her son's wayward wonderings. A lump appeared visible in her throat. She had trouble accepting her son's absolution. "Why Shinra?"

"What's to understand, Mom? I'm joining the army. That's all there is to it." Cloud slowly pushed the blanket off his shoulders. Standing up, he needed to stretch his legs.

"If it was a stable job you wanted, they had one at the hotel here. So did the convenient store."

"Not interested," was all Cloud said.

His jaw danced a bit. He wandered over to a make-shift dummy at the center of his living room. Ms. Tinker followed close behind, her tiny feet tapping against the hard wooden floor.

The dummy was nothing more than an upraised, crossed stick attached to a wooden base, covered with pillows tied together. Cloud took a practice sword with a four-foot-long blade from a wall. In his grip now, he stretched out his arm and flexed his hand. It was a common ritual of his. He needed his body to get accustomed to the weight of steel. The old wooden floor creaked under his weight when he took on an attack stance. He immediately lunged forward and stabbed the dummy a few times, already feeling some of the tension inside him release. Each stab penetrated the exact same mark. Ms. Tinker watched a few pillow feathers glide in the air and pawed at them.

"I don't understand why it had to be the army or why you had to move miles away from home, let alone, to Midgar," Mrs. Strife persisted and shook her head. "That city is full of temptations that can corrupt the heart of any precious boy."

Cloud stabbed the dummy even harder. It wobbled back and forth violently. Under his breath, he whispered, "I guess you wouldn't understand…"

"What? Did you say something? Cloud?"

"…Nothing, Mom."

Mrs. Strife's hands clasped together. A low sigh dragged out of her lips. "I really hope you're not risking your life for Tifa, son."

"Huh?" At this, Cloud slowly turned away from the dummy to look back at his mother onscreen. He rested the flat side of the blade on his shoulder.

"I know the two of you were pretty close…" Mrs. Strife pointed out. "I know you've always wanted to impress her. I'm not blind."

Cloud stayed quiet.

"I saw Tifa earlier in the week," Mrs. Strife later revealed. "She was with that silly man in the red cape. Zangan, you remember, right? I think she's training under him since I saw them at the forest while I gathered wood. Tifa looked well. She approached me and wanted to know how you were doing. In fact, she wants to write to you but I couldn't remember your address at the time."

Cloud lowered his gaze. It took him a moment to reply. When he spoke, he avoided eye contact with his mother. "You didn't tell Tifa I'm living in the Slums or where I work, Mom…" A pause. "…Did you?"

"I told her you were living in Midgar, still working on getting into the army. Why?"

Cloud's jaw reset itself. "Don't tell her where I live. In fact, don't say anything. If she asks about an address, just tell her I can't accept any letters right now."

His mother slowly nodded in compliance. However, her brows furrowed as she leaned closer to the screen. The camera briefly blurred until it adjusted to her features. "Cloud… Are you all right? What's wrong, baby?"

"…Nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?"

"You sound… off."

Cloud kept quiet after that. He refused to speak the words that ravaged his mind. In truth, though… he loathed his current surroundings. He was embarrassed by them and didn't want Tifa to know about his situation. Not the rejection letters. And certainly not his living conditions. Each time he set foot in this apartment he wanted to burn everything. No amount of soap and filtered water could ever make him feel clean. He felt dirty by simply breathing the air.

And yet this was his home. El Palacio, at the 332nd Street of Sector 7.

The discarded bowls of ready-made Wutai noodles sat unclean and stacked in his kitchen sink. Roaches scurried up the walls. At the corner of the small space was a worn-out mattress: his bedroom. Because Cloud couldn't afford any furniture it rested flat on the floor. A few yellowish stains from the previous owner remained visible. No matter how many times Cloud hand washed the mattress it wasn't enough. Meanwhile, at the opposite end of the apartment was a small bathroom with cracked walls. There was the standard iron-cast tub with plastic curtain and the toilet that constantly made an irritating garbled sound late at night. As for the kitchen area next to the bathroom, it consisted only of a stove, mini-fridge, and a sink that constantly leaked. There was no table or counter space. Cloud dined on the ground and usually took a spot by the vintage-looking space heater for warmth. The cracks on the walls and ceiling did little to keep out the frigid cold air though; likewise, the tiny window nearby. That window offered the only view to the outside world. Even so, it showed just the bricked wall of the adjacent apartment building next door. Pathetic.

Cloud bit on his lower lip. He suffered the same fate as the other country boys who left the rural life for the big bad city. Housing in the Slums offered little for a young man like him. But it was all he could afford. Again and again, Cloud reminded himself this was only temporary.

"There's nothing wrong, Mom," Cloud reassured her again. At this point, he abandoned the dummy and flung the practice sword directly dead center into its chest. Ms. Tinker stayed behind and played with more feathers. Returning to his previous spot by the laptop, Cloud sat cross-legged on the floor again. "I'm fine. I just want to be left alone until the try-outs are done. Gotta keep focus."

Mrs. Strife slowly nodded back. Cloud hoped this was enough to end this conversation. The topic of Tifa had always been a sensitive subject. Any discussion of her left him feeling raw. There was too much history between them, too many complicated feelings he had toward the girl back home. On some days it was adoration and longing. On others it was guilt and resentment. Cloud loved her. And he hated her.

That solemn expression from before returned on his mother's face the longer the silence between them dragged on. Her fingers wrapped themselves around her cup of tea again. "Cloud. If you want to talk about anything I'm here. You know? I'll always be your mother, no matter how many birthdays pass."

He looked at her, a bit caught off guard by her words.

"I wish you would come home, son…"

"I'm already home," Cloud quietly corrected her.

"But that's not home. Home is here. That place is dangerous."

Cloud produced a low throaty sound that resembled something of a grunt. This was quickly becoming a broken record. Granted, she was right, especially with all the deaths that surfaced across Midgar. On days like this he considered moving elsewhere, maybe to a quieter place. Determination, a lack of proper finances, and a fascination with an aggressive environment, though, kept him in Midgar City. As for coming home… that was out of the question. Nibelheim harbored too many painful memories.

"Are you sure, you're okay?" his mother persisted, "Look, if this has anything to do with Tifa…"

Cloud growled now. "Mom, this has nothing to do with her. Okay? Leave it alone. Please?"

It was definitely time to sign off now. A quick glance at the laptop's clock and Cloud realized he needed to get ready for work. He moved the onscreen cursor to close a few windows still active. The corpse's image popped though when he accidentally clicked on the maximize button.

"Cloud?" Mrs. Strife leaned closer to the screen again. She didn't blink. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Another train passed over his building. The paper-thin walls of Cloud's apartment violently shook. Ms. Tinker whined. Cloud said nothing and merely looked at his mother onscreen. Then he glanced at the image of the dead man. It continued smiling back at him, as if in mockery.

"Ever since the accident in Mt. Nibel…" Mrs. Strife noted very quietly. "Things have… been different. Things have changed. You have changed."

Cloud felt nauseous just looking at corpse next to his mother. And yet, he wondered how a man who had died so horrifically could somehow find happiness at the very end. It was as if the dead man found the answer he sought his whole life. He'd take that revelation to the grave. It disappointed Cloud somehow. Finding happiness in this world was hard. According to the dead man smiling back to him, it also came at a great price.

"Is that the real reason why you left, Cloud?" his mother resumed. "Is that why you refuse to come back home? Because of what happened in Mt. Nibel...?"

Again, Cloud glanced at the time on the lower right-hand corner of his laptop. He was desperate to leave this conversation now. "Listen, Mom, I gotta go. I'm pulling an evening shift and my coworkers want to take me out for my birthday tonight. I'll talk to you next weekend."

Mrs. Strife never got a chance to reply. Her son signed off from their chatroom and immediately snapped the laptop shut. Cloud slid the portable device across the floor, pushing it as far away from him as possible. He didn't want to be near it right now.

Cloud already knew what his mother really wanted to say. Through her wandering blue eyes, Mrs. Strife wanted to know what happened to her precious little boy; the boy she knew before he became an emotionally distressed youth with bloody knuckles, an attitude problem, and a bad reputation in the village. With legs still crossed, the weary teenager sat within the darkness of his tiny apartment. He couldn't give his mother the answers right now. Someday he would. Maybe. But definitely not today.

Cloud intently listened to the sound of the train pass by. Ms. Tinker rose on her hind legs and barked. A cockroach, meanwhile, crawled next to Cloud. It minded its own business, exploring the space between his feet at first. Its long antennas waved back and forth. Searching. It changed direction and seemed attracted to the box of cookies nearby. Its wings fluttered with a ra-ta-ta sound. It looked ready to take flight. Cloud made a face. Its very existence bothered him. With a clenched fist, he smashed the critter in one blow. When he opened his hand, the side of the palm felt warm and sticky. Cloud stared at the cockroach's smothered remains.

"Relax, I just put you out of your misery," the boy reassured. He tried to scoff but failed miserably and settled for a long exhale instead. Afterward, he thought about the corpse in the news and quietly asked the dead roach on his hand, "…Are you smiling too?"

The walls in his apartment stopped trembling. The train had passed. Getting to his feet, Cloud approached the sink and washed his hands. He felt dirty. Disgusted. Three times he washed his hands until he finally turned off the faucet. He checked the clock posted on the wall nearby. According to the time it was twenty minutes to five in the afternoon. Great. He was going to be late for his train.

With the online conversation now behind him, Cloud quickly removed his current attire and padded barefooted to his bed where a brightly colored uniform waited for him. His initial thought was to burn it, but he suppressed that desire long enough to slip on his socks and pants. That familiar greased-stained smell reached his nostrils. Cloud's lips twisted into a snarl but he protested in silence. His arms slid inside their respective sockets of his bright yellow shirt. As he buttoned it, he paused. A long scar was visible just below his navel point. Cloud stared at it.

The scar spanned across the lower section of his stomach. Forty-seven stitches, Cloud grimly recalled. All of them had been painful. A finger traced over its thin, beveled line while a mental image of falling snow and fierce blue eyes flashed in his mind. Cloud heard a high-pitched howl and suddenly froze. Then he realized the howl came from Ms. Tinker.

The dog whined and yelped. Her tiny paws loudly scraped against a nearby window, begging to be let out. Cloud exhaled. Relieved. His fingers worked the rest of the buttons while he opened the window halfway for Ms. Tinker.

"Go on, you bitch," Cloud teased her.

Ms. Tinker squeezed through the opening and landed on an emergency staircase. Quickly, she scurried down for a day of fun and adventure. Ms. Tinker would find her way back home, Cloud thought, she always did.

The beagle was a stray that liked to tinker with the garbage bags outside the apartment. She followed him everywhere. It must've been the terrible Chocobo Chow smell that initially attracted her to him. Cloud scoffed at the idea. He placed a bowl of water next to the window for Ms. Tinker's return.

Grabbing his coat, Cloud exited through the door. He fetched his apartment keys from a back pocket while he stood in a long narrow hallway with cheap red carpet. Faded, piss-yellow floral wallpaper with random tears and spray-painted words decorated the walls. A few posters and advertisements hung throughout the hallway, including a LOVELESS trailer poster. The dimly lit corridor itself emitted a funny smell. At least there was power. Unlike many places in the Slums, El Palacio came equipped with a workable generator. It produced enough electricity to keep the small hallways and rooms lit. There was even a freight elevator, large enough to fit at least ten people.

The next door neighbors continued to moan while a shouting match had erupted at the other end of the hallway. Glass broke. Cloud ignored the distractions and struggled with his lock. The damn metal plates weren't lined correctly. Again. It was due to the building's horrible foundation, which constantly shifted and caused all the doorframes to misalign. As Cloud cursed and battled with his door, he heard the freight elevator at the middle the hallway rise. He hoped it wasn't Mr. Butch; the apartment's landlord.

That prick had threatened to increase his rent due to Ms. Tinker. The dog was susceptible to property damage, Mr. Butch once claimed. In this shithole? Riiiiight. Hardly anyone liked the guy, including his own wife. Cloud had other reasons to keep his distance from him. Mr. Butch gave off a funny vibe.

Cloud placed a hand on the doorknob and grunted as he slightly lifted up the whole door with it. The plates briefly aligned. Quickly inserting his key, he rotated the inner mechanism in place with a satisfying click sound. Bingo. Cloud did an about-face and jetted for the stairs. Unfortunately, the longwinded staircase wrapped around the path of the elevator. Looking directly down the elevator's vertical channel, Cloud discovered a lanky man with a couple strands of hair on his shiny head. The forty-something male stood alone with crossed arms while the elevator ascended.

Mr. Butch.

Just his luck. Cloud glowered at the sight of him. There was no way around this guy. Unless he retreated back to his room and used the emergency stairs, he had no choice but to go down and briefly cross paths with Mr. Butch. Cloud held his breath. Then he dashed down the stairs, ignoring the fact he resided on the fifth floor and had a long ways down.

"Cloud!" Mr. Butch suddenly yelled when he noticed a familiar blond-haired boy pass by the elevator's gated walls. "I need to talk to you right now."

Breathless, Cloud continued running down the steps. He acted oblivious. "Oh hiya, Mr. Butch. Good evening. Lookin' good. Nice to see you. Gotta go. Need to catch my train. Goodbye. See you."

"You little shit! Get back here!" Mr. Butch smashed on a few buttons to stop the elevator. The clunky device jerked. "Cloud, I'm talking to you! That stupid dog of yours! No dogs are allowed in this building!"

Cloud hurried to the bottom levels. "Can't hear you, Mr. Butch. Talk later!"

By the time he reached ground floor, Cloud heard all sorts of venomous words echo back to him from the elevator. Even if Mr. Butch forced the elevator to go down, at this point it was too late. Cloud was in the clear. A few residents popped out of their apartments to hear what the commotion was about. One elderly lady giggled and blushed as Cloud dashed past her. The boy made it out of the complex through a double set of doors. He had successfully evaded the wrath of the landlord. Crisis averted. For now.

Cloud now rushed to the train station, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He passed the beggars and dealers in his block. He ignored the whore who lifted up her ragged skirt and showcased her bushy mound. Today was his seventeenth birthday and, by God, he would get through this day with minimum hassle. Freaky corpses, landlords, and weirdoes be damned.