Chapter One
They're Talking About You, Boy
—
"Tifa!"
Cloud's heart is racing a mile a minute inside of his chest, and it's the only thing that he can hear, the sounds of the city around him muffled as the stomp inside of him blurs his senses. He's vaguely aware of the distant sound of gunshots still petering through the air beyond, of the muted blares of sirens that emit from police cruisers in the streets that surround him. But he barely registers them, his mind hazy around the edges as he stares down at the warmth and wetness in his lap.
His hands are covered in blood, the stickiness oozing between his fingers and dripping on the dark denim of his pants. It's smeared all over the leather of his jacket, has transferred all over the front of his shirt where he's clutching her body to his.
"Please, Tifa!" he tries again.
Cloud shakes her, tears brimming his eyes and clouding his already fading vision. He stares down at her as she remains limp and lifeless in his arms, her head tipping forward and greeting his shoulder. She lets out a soft moan, letting him know that she's still alive, but watching the blood spread across her blouse from the thick wound in the center of her chest, he knows that she might not be for long.
He presses his lips to her forehead, hearing the sob break away from his throat. It chokes him up a little, and the tears finally spill, lining his cheeks. Tifa falls further lifeless in his arms, and despite the blood that covers them both, Cloud clutches her even closer to him and holds her tight, trying not to hurt her but the strength in his arms unrelenting even so.
"I'm sorry," he whispers into the cool, black silk of her hair that's tangled around him and in his bloodstained hands. Her breathing has thinned, and it sounds ragged, Cloud dragging his lips across the flesh of her temple in an attempt to stir her. But her body is only weakening in his arms.
"I'm so sorry," he repeats. "I was supposed to protect you."
There's no response. The darkness around them seems to grow in weight, descending upon him until he feels the pressure collapsing him into the concrete he's crouched on. The blood from Tifa's wounds is running a river between the cracks and grooves below them, and the idling roar of his car's engine behind him has begun to fade, nothing but his own failures crowding his brain as he rocks back and forth, refusing to ever let her go.
The two black sedans pull up in front of him, tires riding the curb. Their windows are tinted and dark, and their headlights have been dimmed, only the shine of the street lights and the mako reactors lining the city bouncing color off of their gleaming painted surfaces. Cloud reaches a hand to his right, finding the hilt of his sword, the Hardedge, at his side. His arm is weak with pain, but nonetheless, he lifts it, holding it up in front of him as he hears the windows roll down and sees the barrels of rifles and semi-automatic weapons poke from behind the glass.
"I'm sorry I let you down," he whispers before the gunfire breaks out, ricocheting against his blade, shielding Tifa's body with his own as he waits for the end to find them both.
—
Cloud drums his fingers in a rhythmless pattern against the leather-bound steering wheel of the late model Shinra M Class sedan he's seated in, staring across the street at the bank he's parked in front of. It's broad daylight, and through the glass-paneled windows of the bank's storefront, Cloud can see the figures in their black suits and Hallow's Eve masks move through a throng of customers, pistols rising to the ceiling and the frightened bodies of hostages falling to the floor.
Cloud turns away from the sights beyond the glass and glances at the clock on his dash. It's already been a minute and a half, and it will only take another three or four for Public Security to be dispatched once the bank's panic alarm has been triggered.
Cloud leans forward in his seat, gloved fingers now curling around the steering wheel in a tight grip, his heavy black booted foot hovering above the gas. A dark bleat of synthwave music pours from the stereos, and it's the only thing that's keeping him level-headed and cool, his heart beating with a quickening pace the longer that he sits there, waiting. Cars pass by on the street to his left, oblivious to the turmoil that is erupting inside of Shinra Financial Center No. 1.
He hears the faint boom of a shotgun, and he knows the first shot has been fired inside of the bank as the heist unfolds. He wonders with a lingering sense of dread if someone has been hurt or if it was simply a warning shot, but he pushes the thought aside, knowing it to be fruitless.
The only thing he needs to do is be ready to pull away from this curb before the Public Security cruisers arrive.
He turns the volume up on his music, letting the rifts of guitar and electric keyboard distract him from the anxiety that always burns inside of him at this stage of a job. He waits with his bottom lip between his teeth, chancing another glance out of the window at the bank.
Two and a half minutes.
He can no longer see any activity inside - beyond the glass, the bank is still, looks empty and abandoned. Cloud already knows that anyone inside is pressed with their hands and faces to the floor and that the coffers are being emptied, stacks of gil shoved into heavy burlap sacks by impatient, greedy hands. Cloud could hardly give a fuck, he just wants his cut and to get this over with.
Though he knows, thinking of his obligations, that he'll never truly be done with this sort of thing.
It's passing three minutes, and he grips the steering wheel in frustration, staring so hard at the bank's front door that his turquoise-blue eyes seem intent on shattering their glass.
"Come on," he whispers in frustration under his breath.
Sirens light up the air in the distant blocks beyond. Cloud frowns and reaches for the police scanner that's perched on his dash, turning the volume up and listening intently to the stream.
"10-31," a female voice sternly transmits over the static. "Possible 211 at Shinra Bank No. 1. Standby for coordinates."
Cloud takes his foot off the brake and grips the vehicle's gear shift. He peers into the rearview mirror, watching and waiting as he hears the sirens grow closer. It's four minutes now, and Cloud knows he'll bail before he lets himself get caught, whether they complete the heist or not.
As the seconds turn by and the distant wails grow louder, Cloud watches with eyes narrowed as the front doors of the bank are thrown open. Two men in all black emerge, the twisted plastic faces of their clown masks obscuring their appearances. They are each holding heavy black duffle bags, and they are running in his direction.
Cloud directs his attention to his rearview mirror, and he watches as the two men pull open the back doors as they approach. They pile inside, carrying the nervous scents of sweat and fear with them as they fall into the backseat with the bags of gil in their laps. But Cloud only affords them a brisk glance before he pulls back the gear shift and throws the car into drive, his boot flatlining the gas.
The sirens have grown loud and Cloud can see the first twirl of blue and red lights in the distance behind them as he pulls away from the curb with a squeal of rubber tires against asphalt. He weaves between traffic, his concentration leaping between the road in front of him and the pursuit behind him. In the backseat, the two bandits for hire are groaning with displeasure.
"Can you go faster?" one of them barks, pulling up his mask to reveal the lower half of his face, ugly and twisted and marked by tattoos.
Cloud lets blue eyes connect with beady black in the rearview mirror, steeling the thug behind him with ice in his stare. He turns away then, refocusing his attention on the road as he ducks behind an eighteen-wheeler that is climbing an exit ramp toward Sector7.
Ignoring the grumblings of the thieves behind him, Cloud holds steady to the wheel, using the truck as shelter to evade the Public Security cruisers that had tailed him onto the expressway. He follows it onto the expanse of highway that leads into Sector 7, trailing at the side of its rear-most wheels, dropping the speed of his vehicle until he is hidden at its side while two Public Security units speed by on the ramp below, mistakenly thinking they are chasing their suspect into Sector 8.
There are laughs of approval resounding from the backseat. Cloud ignores them, though, instead focusing on increasing the speed of his own car. He ducks from behind the truck, pulling out into traffic ahead and blending among the throng of vehicles heading into Sector 7.
Sector 7 is where the base is, but first, Cloud has to swap out vehicles. Listening to the scanner, he knows that Public Security has already identified the make and model and even color of his car. But it's a decoy that was chosen just for this job and to get the robbers from point A to point B. His own vehicle is tucked away in the quiet of a parking garage on the opposite side of the sector.
It's mostly silent as Cloud begins a careful cruise throughout the city, pushing the car at a light pace as he careens through the streets. All around him, Midgar teems with life, passersby filling the streets as they mill about the local shops and stores that line the sector, skyscrapers reaching up into the heavens in tall, glittering spires. In the center of the entire city sits the Shinra Power & Electric Company, its Tower thundering higher over everything around it.
Cloud glances up at it and curves his head to one side as he approaches the parking garage, rolling up along the ramp. The men behind him stir, gathering their bags in hand. Cloud drives up the ramp to the third level, and spotting his black sedan parked beside a red truck, he pulls this car into an empty space, shoves the gear into park, and climbs out, leaving the keys in the ignition without a single word to the men behind him.
He hears their gruff swears behind him as they too climb out and slam the doors, but he pays them no mind. Already he's pulling out his keys and climbing into his vehicle, heavy metal music flooding out of his speakers as soon as he triggers the ignition. The engine turns over with a roar, and Cloud is backing out of his space and racing down the curves of the ramp again, leaving behind all of the evidence of the heist. He'll get his cut when he gets back to his boss.
He's just the driver, after all.
—
It's early evening when Cloud arrives at the Lockhart mansion in Sector 7, high on the top hill of a ritzy residential neighborhood that's tucked away in the farthest western corner of the sector. It's a neighborhood where the lawns are wide and the houses are large and evenly spread apart, where astroturf is laid down to give the appearance of bright green grass in a city where nearly all living flora has died away a long, long, tie ago.
The suns' going down by now and the sky is beginning to darken, leaving streaks of orange and red across its dark purple hue. Cloud is sitting behind the wheel of his Shinra model sports car, rolling his thumbs over the vehicle's logo in the center of the steering wheel. The car is almost ten years old, but it's inconspicuous and it's been boosted with a few hundred extra horses in its engine. It's gotten him this far, and he knows it will be there for him for a long, long time to come.
He stares up at the Lockhart's house, a three-story mansion with two long wings that extend from the spiral center of the house. It's one of the largest houses in this neighborhood, and that's saying a lot, because this is a place where the wealthy and well-connected live. Cloud eyes the warm glow of mako lighting inside of the windows, spies the luxury vehicles that crowd the circular driveway, admires the way that the lawn sprawls out for dozens and dozens of feet in every direction, blue and pink lilies lining the walkway.
He chews his inner lip, fingers dancing over the wheel before he drops them into his lap.
Cloud's been working as a driver for Brian Lockhart for just over five years, ever since he turned sixteen and first got behind the wheel. He was paying off a debt that his mother owed, and now, even after her death all these years later, and even after their debts were settled, he found himself still running work for Brian Lockhart.
It would be easy to say that he was resentful about his circumstances. A life of crime has never been a part of his dreams, even if the money was easy and his skill far outmatched the probable risk of his involvement. He once had bigger ambitions, but he's filed them away for now, accepting his fate and not questioning why or how he's stuck where he is.
The sky grows further dark and Cloud knows he needs to hurry up and get this over with. He's not fond of Lockhart, a man whose claws in the criminal underworld run deep, but he doesn't challenge him. Nor does he keep him waiting.
He sighs, shutting the car off and pocketing his keys. He slides out of his seat, getting to his feet as he steps out of the car and makes his way up the long walkway towards the side door, brushing off his leather jacket before he drops his hands in his pockets.
Cloud never uses the front door when he comes to Lockhart's estate. Anybody who works for the kingpin never uses the front door. After all, he has a reputation to maintain, and as far as Lockhart is concerned, Cloud is on the lowest tier of the 'help'.
He stands under the awning of the side door, gently rapts his fist against the door just once before it flies open. He drops his mouth open, prepared to greet the security that Lockhart keeps around his property but stunned when he finds not a hired thug at the door but a young woman with hair the color of midnight.
Cloud stops in his tracks, licking his lips as he stares at her, her scarlet eyes widening as she glances up at him. She's dressed in a short black midi dress with black thigh-highs and black combat boots, one arm shouldering a bright yellow handbag against a narrow waist. The dress is tight and shows off all of her curves, pert heavy breasts and full, round hips, and Cloud is unable to keep his eyes from dropping as he scans her in a quick once-over.
"O-oh," she stammers in surprise when their eyes finally meet.
Cloud knows Tifa Lockhart. After all, they grew up together, and Cloud remembers going to school with her all those years ago before her father got rich and started sending her to private school sometime in middle school. They never talk much after that, and even when he started to work for her father, they rarely interact. But he's known her for years and he never failed to notice her, not then and certainly not now, especially since she's all grown up and so damn beautiful.
His throat dries out, and Cloud swallows carefully to ease the uncomfortable itch there. He tries to play off the way her sudden, too-cute appearance has distracted him, and he drops one hand into his pocket, narrowing his eyes at her.
"Where are you going?" he asks.
The side door is reserved for Lockhart's business - and not the official type, either. It's the door that the drug dealers and thieves use when they come in to bring him his money. He is sure that Brian Lockhart would not want his daughter anywhere near this entrance, and he's sure she knows this, too.
It's her turn to swallow, and her brow furrows in mild annoyance at being questioned. But he sees her cheeks flush, and he leans against the door frame, not allowing her to pass.
"What does it matter to you?" she asks him rather nastily, her eyes passing over him from head to toe. He isn't quite sure what she's looking for as she drinks him in, not sure if she's admiring or just trying to figure out a way past him. "I'm going out. Please move."
Cloud tries to remember the last time he's talked to Tifa. It's been a long time, maybe a year, since they exchanged words. He sees her occasionally, always from afar when she's at her father's protective side. But it's been even longer since they had an actual conversation with one another - years and years ago, in fact.
He isn't sure he knows or likes how it makes him feel.
"You know what this door is for," Cloud states instead of answering. He folds his arms over his chest, broadening his stance and refusing to move. At this, Tifa signs, aggravation lining her voice.
"Listen, I - "
"Tifa?"
The gruff voice interrupts her protestation, and Cloud watches all the color drain from her face when she realizes her father has appeared behind her. He's standing behind her in the corridor that leads to the kitchen, his hands rooted to his hips.
Cloud can only smirk at the panic that erupts across her expression.
"Papa," Tifa whirls around nervously, pelting him with the sweetest cadence of her voice she can garner. "I was just catching up with Cloud. It's been-"
"You weren't trying to sneak out, were you?" Brian Lockhart asks, his voice deep and stern.
Brian Lockhart is a tall and imposing man in his late forties, a thick head of salt and pepper hair matching the neatly trimmed mustache above his lips. A man with impeccable taste, he is dressed at the moment in a tailored, three-piece business suit, his jacket unbuttoned and displaying his silk vest and pressed, white linen dress shirt. He has been running large swaths of Midgar's criminal underground for as long as Cloud can remember, having worked his way up from a street thief in a smaller gang before eventually taking out the competition until he was as infamous in Sector 7 as Don Corneo was in Wall Market.
"Of course not," Tifa acquiesces, dropping her eyes and folding her hands in front of her.
"That's what it looks like to me," Cloud can't help but add, watching as Tifa frowns in annoyance.
She glances up at Cloud one final time, her eyes narrow and her irises dark before she turns away and heads back inside, heels clicking against the rich wooden floorboards as she turns and finds the stairs. Cloud watches the back of her body, wondering if he missed when her shape had developed and filled out, and he scratches the back of his neck, feeling himself grow hot.
Lockhart is running his hand up and down over his mustache in thought as Tifa disappears back inside the house. When she's gone, Cloud finally closes the side door behind him and steps into the corridor, just a few short feet away from her father.
"Strife," Lockhart finally says. "Well, come in."
He turns away, leading Cloud inside the house. Cloud has been here more times than he can count, dozens probably. He never goes farther than Lockhart's study or the basement, which is where the drugs are stored and the gil is counted.
Brian stops in the kitchen, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out two tumblers. He pours whiskey into them each from a bottle that is already open on the counter, and he hands one to Cloud.
"Thanks," Cloud responds, accepting it.
"She's giving me hell," Brian Lockhart states, shaking his head as he takes a sip. "Let's have a seat in the study. I have your cut from today's job, and I have another for you."
Cloud resists the urge to sigh, managing only to nod in response. He has been hoping to avoid driving for Lockhart for a while. His cut from today's job would be enough to hold him over for several weeks.
Instead of protesting, though, he follows Brian deeper into the house, down the stairway that leads to the lower level where his study sat. It's a dark and quiet office, the air stale and stagnant from cigar smoke and the pungent, lingering odor of bourbon. Holding his drink in one hand and the other in the pocket of his leather jacket, Cloud lets Brian lead him inside and steps to the side as he closes the door behind them.
"Have a seat," Brian says, gesturing to the chairs across from his desk by one wall.
Cloud sits, running a hand through his hair as he sips his drink again. Brian paces the room a bit, then picks up an envelope that is resting on his desk. He rolls it over between his hands in consideration, then thrusts it in Cloud's direction.
"20,000 gil," he states, tipping his head to one side. "As promised."
Cloud sets his glass down on Brian's desk and reaches for the envelope. It's stuffed with gil and bulging from the stacks. He peers inside, seeing the cash wrapped in tight bundles. He tucks it into the inner pocket of his jacket, then sits back and glances at Brian again without a word.
"Those two jackasses you hired," Cloud finally says flatly. "I almost had to leave them behind."
Brian chuckles, dropping his hand into his pocket. "You're probably right, Strife," he agrees. "I don't anticipate using their services again in the future. At least I have you to rely on."
Hopefully not for much longer, Cloud thinks, calculating in his head how much longer he's got to be tethered to the Lockhart crime family this way.
Brian seems to know what he's thinking, because he's chuckling. "Don't tell me you're thinking of leaving," he grouses. "After all this time?"
"I don't owe you anything anymore," Cloud argues defiantly, setting his whiskey down again and crossing his arms over his chest.
"But the gil keeps you coming back," Brian laughs.
Cloud doesn't debate this. It's pointless, because it's true.
"I have my cut," he finally relents, getting to his feet. "I'll be going."
"Hold on," Brian says, sitting on the edge of his desk across from Cloud and holding one hand up to stop him. "I have more work for you."
Cloud tries not to groan, but the sound escapes his throat anyway. He tries to mask it by lifting his glass to his lips again.
"It's about my daughter," Brian states when the silence stretches on a bit too long.
Cloud swallows and glances back at him, eyebrow raised. This is an intriguing development. He thinks back to running into Tifa in the hallway, of the way that her body was wrapped in that tight little dress like a glove, of how her hair had grown impossibly long since the days of their youth, of the way her eyes sparkled and shined up at him in the dim lighting like blood diamonds.
"Tifa?" Cloud says like an idiot.
Brian laughs again, but for some reason, it seems humorless. He's sipping at his own drink now, shaking his head.
"I'm having a bit of trouble with her, as you can see," he informs him. "Her defiance knows no bounds. And considering my… line of work, Cloud, this city can be very dangerous for her. I need to know she's protected."
Cloud can see where this is going, but he says nothing. He only stares up at Brian Lockhart, waiting for the inevitable.
"I need you to escort her," he finally states. "Keep an eye on her and make sure she stays out of trouble. Take her to her classes at university. Bring her home. Make sure she doesn't sneak around with those girlfriends of hers."
Cloud sighs audibly. "You want me to babysit?"
"Escort," Brian repeats. "You're a driver, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Cloud huffs.
"Then drive," Brian demands. "Drive my daughter where she needs to go and see to it that she doesn't do anything stupid."
Cloud thinks back to the flare of annoyance she saw flash across Tifa's face when he blocked her path earlier. For some reason, just the thought of it has his neck lined with sweat.
Easier said than done, he thinks as her father levels an appraising and expectant look at him, raising his glass and taking another sip.