A/N: I thought this prompt was very suitable for Barret after he had lost the use of his right arm after trying to save Dyne and loosing his life basically. So yes.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII Characters and Places belong to Square Enix.
Sitting in a chair in a hotel room, the large dark-skinned man stared at the thing that was on his right arm. Turning it this way and that, he narrowed his dark eyes at it, a scowl starting to mar his face.
Barret Wallace leaned back in the chair heavily, feeling a heavy realization rest on his broad shoulders. It had been almost two months since things had gone horribly wrong in his life. His family, killed. His best friend's family except for his daughter, slaughtered. His best friend, dead because of him. Why couldn't he have grabbed him with his other arm? Why had things gone so horribly wrong? Why were the gods angry at him?
He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He had come to the city of Midgar, a bloody mess with a useless hand and a shattered view on life. The city itself had been a shock to his lungs and body. The intense heat, the heavy smog and the pollution choked at him, suffocating and squeezing the air out of his throat. The mines had been bad, yes, but the air in Midgar was ten times worse. At least at home there was a semblance of fresh air. He had gone down to the slums, the only place for a person with no money to live, and he had found a doctor who was also a mechanic just trying to make a living.
Out of a curious generosity and a hope that maybe if this worked that the black man would be able to avenge his family, his village and maybe even the world of ShinRa's tyrannical rule, the doctor had grafted a metal gun to the man's arm, healing him and giving him a limb. When Barret had woken, he had been alone in a hotel room rented for a week, where he had been able to recuperate. Once the week had been up, he had left in search of a job, a place to stay, and something to do with his life.
Yet when he had tried to speak to the people of the slums, they took a look at the gun grafted to his arm and ran, practically screaming.
He realized then that he was a monster.
At first he hadn't let that deter him, and had found a job at Market Place luring people into the weapons shop to buy weapons and tools as they passed through. He stayed with the man who designed the weapons, the same man who had given him his arm and saved his life, paying him rent and working for him day in and day out. Then one day a swarm of new faces came into the lower slums, fine looking people who were crying or yelling and shaking their fists at the plate above their heads about the 'horrible', 'foul' and 'gluttonous' ShinRa Power Company. For the first time in two months, Barret had listened to the news and learned that the company that had ruined his life was thriving. Thriving and stealing energy from the Planet like it had been doing before. He had thrown the gun he'd been working on the side, jumping as it shot off before he left, stomping through the street and glaring at anyone who stared at the grafted gun-arm. After walking through the streets he found a bar where he ordered a strong drink, downed it and ordered another, seething in his anger at the company he lived beneath.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the roof of the hotel. He vaguely recalled leaving the bar and renting out a hotel room for five days, which was where he sat now. Looking back down at the metal grafting he had on his arm, he narrowed his eyes and hated it. He hated that he had lost his hand trying to save his best friend. He hated that he couldn't even hold the little girl he had adopted, the daughter of his best friend and the only family he had now. He hated the company that had caused him to loose his hand, to loose his family, friends and his life.
He hated the company that cost him his ability to touch.