As Tifa rolled the cart into the area outside the Sector 8 Undercity Station, Pops directed her to set up shop on the end farthest from the platform. Apparently, Sector 8 Steamed Buns had a regular spot─and as far as Tifa could tell, it wasn't exactly a prime one.

Next, Pops explained, she needed to chock the wheels. Tifa complied, noting that he still wasn't lending a hand. He seemed intent on having Tifa experience every step of the process herself.

Then it was time to prepare the workspace. First, she had to pour a little water into the base of a steamer pot and set it to boil. Next, she needed to heap piles of the chopped vegetables and other available garnishes onto several large platters, which were then set out in plain sight for customers to choose from. Finally, the large pot containing the meat needed to be hefted up onto the other stove burner; it was to be kept over low heat at all times so its contents would be piping hot and ready to go.

The water in the steamer began to bubble. Pops had Tifa place the day's first hunks of dough inside to get them started, and then set out a stack of the light brown wax paper that she would use to wrap and serve each finished bun.

"You gotta calculate backward," explained Pops. "Work smart so the first buns are finished steamin' the moment we open. C'mere. That's where you stand."

Pops pointed to a spot right at the center of the workspace; when customers approached the cart, Tifa's face would be the first thing they'd see.

"Check the little drawer for gloves," Pops added. "You're gonna want 'em. Just wait until you pull your first bun out. You'll see."

"Now, get one piece of wax paper flat in your left hand and plop a bun on it. It's gonna be hot. Don't drop it. Hold the bun down with your left thumb, and use the knife in your right to split it. Careful not to cut all the way through. See? Now you've got a pocket for the fillings. The whole thing flaps open and shut like a little mouth. You got it?"

Pops's instructions continued rapid-fire, with no pauses to ask questions or catch up. Tifa fumbled through the motions, a bun in one hand and the knife in the other.

"That's the way. There's your pocket. Now, you gotta stuff a piece of lettuce in first, and then ladle on a scoop of the meat. Not too much liquid, ya hear? Then the customer's gonna tell ya what kinda garnish he wants. He gets to pick three. Slap those on, pinch the paper shut to close the bun, and hand it over.

"Some customers'll order two or three, but you still gotta make 'em and hand 'em over one at a time. If they're plannin' to take the order home, they'll bring their own bag or box. That's not our responsibility. Just listen to what they order, make it, and hand it over."

He watched Tifa pour her first ladleful of the minced meat.

"Nah, now that's too much liquid, see? You gotta get the proportions right, or else the sauce overpowers the rest and we end up lookin' like a cheap knockoff of our own recipe."

The meat was already on the bun. There wasn't much to be done about that, so Tifa finished out the instructions, adding garnishes and pinching the bun shut.

"Try it," ordered Pops.

She took one bite, and then another. A tangy sweetness spread across her tongue, and the chopped vegetables gave a satisfying crunch between her teeth. She'd never eaten anything like it, and yet the food was somehow familiar and comforting.

"It's delicious," she said.

"Reminds you of home, don't it?"

Tifa's eyes widened. "That's exactly what I was thinking. It really does. I mean, it's the first time I've ever eaten a steamed bun, but..."

"It's my ma's secret recipe. Doesn't matter who you are or where you came from, it'll always take ya back to your younger years. If you ask me, it's almost magic."

Pops roared with laughter, and Tifa felt as if she were seeing a whole new side of the man─one she could have never predicted based on their initial encounter.

She'd just finished setting up when the station area came alive with people, many of them eyeing the food carts set up along the fringe. Soon there were droves of them, enough to leave Tifa aghast.

Here was another lesson about life in the slums: eating out was the norm. A general lack of running water at home meant that, for many, cooking wasn't an easy option.

And of the slums' many culinary offerings, those that could be eaten on the go─like Sector 8 Steamed Buns─were a particular favorite in the morning, when everyone was rushing to and fro.

"Here they come!" Pops said with a grin. "Look alive, Tifa!"

She was still gawking when their first customer flicked three coins into the jar.

"C'mon!" said Pops. "Grab a paper! Run your hand over the steam once to get it damp. That way it'll stick right to ya."

Tifa waved her hand over the steamer pot and slapped her hand against the stack of wax paper as instructed. The customer pointed wordlessly at three of the garnishes on display. Bell peppers, nuts, and celery. Tifa reached for a handful of sliced peppers but stopped short.

In her hand, she still only had the square of paper.

Bun first! she instructed herself.

Her hand whipped back to grab one and─

"Ouch!"

Pops was right. Fresh from the steamer, they were scalding hot, even with the gloves.

She looked down at her feet, where the dropped bun lay in the dirt.

"Sorry," she said, looking back up at the customer.

The man didn't appear to notice or care. He stared blankly at the large pot where the meat was slowly simmering.

Pops whispered, "Paper, then bun, then knife. Cut it open, pop the lettuce in, ladle the meat, add the garnish. Pinch it shut. Hand it over."

He added, "And for you, let's sneak in one more step. Before you do anything else, take a deep breath."

Tifa gasped. Of course. How could she forget about breathing? About concentrating?

She thought back on Zangan's lessons and drew a long, deep breath. She held it for a moment before an equally slow release.

The waiting customer turned his eyes to Tifa, interest piqued by this aberration in the food cart's snappy routine.

"Um! Sorry!" she stammered.

He smiled in return. "Keep at it, kid. You'll get there."

Tifa bobbed her head in thanks, grabbed another bun, and placed it into the other hand with its waiting square of paper.

The battle of her first day had begun.

Sector 8 Steamed Buns stayed open for business from six thirty in the morning to eight at night. Breaks were to be taken at Tifa's discretion when business was slow. However, as Pops explained, there were three rushes when she'd need to be fully alert and working her hardest: two hours in the morning, three for the lunch rush, and another three-hour block leading up to closing.

Her first morning rush was hampered by endless mistakes, but by lunchtime, she felt like she was getting into the swing of things. There was a rhythm to the work. The secret to success was finding it and remembering to breathe─just like Zangan's training. She visualized the flow of her movements: up from her feet, through her legs, across her back, and out of her hands. There was no weakness. No pain. Just a constant stream of motion.

In the end, she managed to make eighty-eight buns during the morning peak and a hundred and twenty at lunchtime. The numbers brought an intense feeling of accomplishment. She'd found the rhythm. Her persistence had paid off.

Between rushes, Tifa swapped out with Pops, tending the buns in the steamer while he handled customers' orders. Pops had set out a folding chair for them to sit and rest on, but Tifa never found an idle moment to make use of it: even in the supporting role, she found she had to be alert and watching, anticipating which passersby were likely to approach so she could have the right number of buns ready to slice and serve. For Pops, timing buns was second nature, handled almost subconsciously as he lounged at her side. But Tifa didn't yet know the signs. She observed and listened as Pops pointed out the telltale marks of likely customers.

At two in the afternoon, Pops thrust a couple of buns in her direction and said, "Here. Lunch. The first two are on the house. You wanna eat more, you gotta pay."

Tifa suddenly realized she was starving. She scarfed down her meal, inhaling big mouthfuls of air with each bite to cool off the steaming hot dough.

There had been a few starts and stops, but she felt like she was getting pretty good at the job. Her muscles were tired, but she was not in pain. Even her tender sternum seemed to be holding up.

It was the third and final rush of the day that laid her limits bare. A few minutes in, Tifa's arms and legs felt as though they'd begun to petrify. It was the sort of fatigue she remembered feeling after running through several of Master Zangan's books in succession, and she found all her will was needed just to remain in motion. For each new customer that stepped up to the cart, time stretched longer yet until the bun was finally handed over and the order complete. Dropped buns littered the ground at her feet. Drips and spills from the ladle had left minced meat splattered all across her workspace.

Finally, when Pops couldn't bear any more, he motioned for them to swap.

"I'm fine," she said. "I can do this."

To which Pops answered, "No. You can't."

He was right, and she knew it. With eyes downcast and a storm of remorse and disappointment swirling in her gut, Tifa relinquished her spot.

"You've got the talent but not the stamina," said Pops, with a hint of disdain. "It's a damn shame too. With your looks, we coulda pulled in more customers than this place has ever seen."

The words stung.

"Go on and get yourself home," he continued. "If you're ready to try again tomorrow, I'll see you in the morning. If not, don't bother comin' back. I can't afford to hold your hand forever."

Not long after Tifa made it back to her shipping container apartment, there was a knock at the door. She opened to find Rakesh.

He explained that he'd stopped by the cart in the evening to see how her first day was going and to offer a few words of encouragement. Pops had filled him in on what happened.

Honestly, all Tifa wanted to do was wrap herself tight in the blanket and bury herself in bed. But given all the support Rakesh and his mother had provided, it didn't feel right to turn him away.

"Holding up all right?" he asked. "Wanna stop by the clinic? Mom would be happy to give you a quick checkup."

"No. I'm not in any pain. I just need some time to sleep this off."

Rakesh raised his hands briefly as he responded, "Your call."

He cleared his throat and then asked, "Think you'll be able to go in again tomorrow? Pops sounded worried."

"I'll be there. It's not like I have much of a choice."

"I'm sorry, Tifa. I really wish we could waive the expense. It's killing Mom too, having to do this to you."

"I'll pay what I owe. I'm not asking to be treated differently from any other patient."

Rakesh smiled. "Thanks. You have no idea how much that means to us."

He reached a hand to one pocket and said, "Hey. Check this out. I brought you something."

It was another of Zangan's manuals. Book Two.

"I've already memorized this one, so you can have it." He placed the booklet on her bed, nodding goodbye before he headed out.

After Rakesh was gone, Tifa murmured, "I've memorized it too, you know."

She stood in the center of the tiny room and began performing the first form described in Book Two, leaving Rakesh's copy unopened on the bed.

When she was finished, she moved on to the next form.

And then the next.

Her body followed the movements of its own accord. Everything was going to be okay. She still had the things she'd learned. No matter how much else she lost, Zangan's lessons could never be taken from her.

As always, Zangan's forms helped. They lifted her mood and focused her mind, bringing her back in tune with her body. It became clear why the evening rush had overwhelmed her after she'd done so well in the afternoon. Yes, she'd been exhausted. Frankly, she'd been half asleep all day. Small surprise that her body had eventually cried out in protest when she continued to push it.

It was obvious enough now, but throughout the morning and afternoon, she'd been too wound up to notice. Anxiety had masked fatigue, pumping her full of adrenaline on which she managed to get by. But by the time the third rush rolled around, her nervousness had begun to subside.

As the forms calmed her mind, she grew conscious of an unexpected smell in the apartment. After a moment, she traced it to herself: the faint tinge of meat sauce clung to her body and clothes. Suddenly, nothing was more important than a shower and a round of laundry. But to manage the latter, she'd first need to go shopping for another outfit, and before she could do that, she needed more money, and...

When Tifa's eyes opened, faint light at the apartment's tiny window signaled a new day. Her concerns of the previous night were still unaddressed, but she felt well rested, and it was early: not yet dawn, judging by her previous experience.

She cautiously stretched her limbs, anxious at the possibility of searing pain at any moment. When her muscles instead relished in the movement, she lifted herself from bed and began to perform a few gentle squats. No problem there either.

On a whim, she decided to lift one knee, holding the first pose that Zangan had demonstrated in the village square all those years ago.

"It'll keep you going strong until the day you die."

She repeated Zangan's words, quickly following up with Zander's quip.

"Still kicking right up until we kick the bucket."

The memory lightened her mood. Today, she told herself, she'd make it to the end of the third rush.

Just like the morning before, the far end of Container Row was quiet and empty, save for the Waterkeeper waiting patiently in her rusty folding chair.

Tifa had plunked three gil into the can and was halfway inside the shower container before she spotted the difference. There were still five stalls, but one on a far end was now concealed behind a large blue curtain. Bold yellow letters were painted on the fabric: LADIES.

Wide-eyed, Tifa leaned back out of the container to glance at the Waterkeeper. The old woman was grinning from ear to ear.

"Four gil for the special shower."

"Is... Is this for me?!"

The woman waved the question off.

"Four gil," she repeated. "And if, say, you wanna shower twice a day─once in the morning and once at night─I'll cut you a deal. Only five gil per day, paid up front each morning."

It sounded almost too good to be true.

Mentally, Tifa noted the implication about the Waterkeeper's authority: apparently, the price to use the showers was whatever the woman decided.

"All right," agreed Tifa. "I'll be right back with the other two gil."

"By the time you get back, the whole Row's gonna be awake and heading to the showers," said the woman. "Go on. Get in there and freshen up. Consider it an introductory discount. One day only."

The second day of work flew by. Tifa made it all the way to closing time, and when the dust had settled and the day's sales were tallied, she'd sold nearly four hundred steamed buns.

It was a start, but not a triumph. Not yet. Pops appeared to concur, judging by his expression as he finished the tally. The last girl could sell a thousand a day. That's what he'd said.

Even so, Pops gave Tifa a cursory nod for finishing out the day.

"It all hinges on the rushes," he counseled. "Morning, afternoon, and evening. Three peaks per day. That's a total of 480 minutes in which we gotta do the bulk of our business.

"Now, 480 minutes works out to 28,800 seconds. You sold just shy of four hundred buns today, which means each one took you seventy-two seconds on average to make. That's over a minute per bun. Tell me, how fast are you gonna have to go if you wanna break a thousand?"

Tifa panicked for an instant, but then she saw that the calculation was quite straightforward.

"One bun every 28.8 seconds."

"Bingo. Now, we'll still sell the odd bun or two outside of peak hours, so let's round it off. Say, thirty seconds each."

"Two buns every minute?"

It was more than double her current speed. Was that even possible?

"Here's some advice. When I see you workin', I see a country girl movin' at a country pace. But you live in the city now. You gotta adapt to the city's tempo. Don't think; just do."

Pops looked her up and down and added, "Figure that out, and you'll go far. If I was a bettin' man, I might even say you've got fifteen hundred a day in you."

Tifa fumbled with the numbers in mind. In order to hit fifteen hundred buns a day, she'd have to make one bun every twenty seconds. Three buns a minute might be a feat possible to accomplish once or twice, but Tifa seriously doubted it was a pace she could maintain for hours on end.

When she expressed her misgivings, Pops scrunched up his face.

"The faster you get, the more customers we're gonna have outside of the rush too. Think about it. When a guy's walkin' by, lookin' for a bite, how do you think he makes up his mind? What's the deciding factor?

"Besides us, there are six other carts in front of the station. You've got our Sector 8 Steamed Buns, sweet 'n' spicy and guaranteed to have you thinkin' of home. But then there's the lighter, easy-on-the-spices Sector 5 Steamed Buns and the perk-you-up Sector 6 Skewers. Then you got them fancy-pants Slum Sandwich guys; the Veggie Soup shack for the health-conscious crowd; the thick, savory Rice Porridge boys for the heavy eaters; and, last but not least, the new cart on the block, the Spicy Noodle joint.

"Now, sure, folks have their likes and dislikes. But the number-one thing they're lookin' for is speed. Most of 'em will settle for whatever, just as long as the cart's got a line and it's movin' fast. Can't have no line at all─that's a whole other problem. The cart that wins is the one that pulls customers in twos and threes and keeps churnin' through 'em."

The explanation poured out of Pops in a hushed, excited tone, as if he were divulging the deepest secrets of the trade. Tifa couldn't help but lean in close, eyes wide and head nodding.

"Problem is," Pops announced, abruptly leaning back, "every cart here knows it, and we're all playin' to win. So we turn to one last trick to pull ahead of the pack. Sex appeal. You get a cute girl servin' up the food, and doin' it fast, and that's just enough to tip things in your favor. Now do you see why I picked ya?"

"You chose me for the job because you think I'm attractive?" Tifa hesitated. "I'm... I'm not sure that's..."

"No need to be modest. Between that sweet little face and that youthful quality you got about ya... C'mon. You know what I'm talkin' about. You're all grown up, and at the same time..."

Pops flicked his eyes from Tifa's feet to the top of her head.

"Anyway, maybe you're flattered, or maybe you think I'm a pig. Frankly, I don't care. Woman or man, when the name of the game is sales, looks are key. You're walking proof. I've never seen anyone make steamed buns so slow and still keep the customers flocking in."

Pops looked Tifa in the eye. "So if you can learn to work fast, I ain't jokin' when I say we could hit fifteen hundred a day."

"In the end, he had me on board. I mean, I'll admit I was a little repulsed at first. I didn't like the idea that people were coming to the cart because of how I looked. But at the same time, there was a satisfaction─almost an enjoyment─in seeing my numbers get better by the day.

"I'd try out little variations, shaving off a second here and a second there. I arranged the garnishes differently so I could reach the popular ones just a bit easier and practiced with the knife so I could cut faster. Like I say, it really reminded me of the Calisthenics Club and Zangan's training routines. I think I just enjoy that kind of stuff. It's easy for me to get wrapped up in a new challenge, setting new personal bests until my execution's flawless.

"I was starting to come around on Pops too. He wasn't one to mince words, but he didn't strike me as a bad person. As far as he was concerned, if you were good at your job, that was all that mattered. You always knew exactly where you stood with him."

Red XIII let out a deep, breathy rumble, somewhere between a house cat's purr and a lion's chuff.

"Your story is making me hungry," he announced. "I'd have liked to try one of those steamed buns."

"They were amazing! Although, to be honest, I never found out what kind of meat Pops was using to make them. I was kind of afraid to ask."

"Perhaps I'm not so hungry after all."

Tifa shrugged her shoulders.

"So," continued Red XIII, "did your efforts pan out? Break any records?"

"I did! About four months into the job─I remember, because it was just before my sixteenth birthday─I sold one thousand and three. That was a pretty good feeling."

"I imagine it was."

"And then my birthday arrived, and it was the first time in my life I didn't have anyone around to celebrate with. That left me feeling pretty down.

"But," Tifa continued, "things were about to get better. I didn't know it yet, but I was about to make my first real friend in Midgar."

It was Wednesday, the week following Tifa's sixteenth birthday. Wednesdays were her off days─the only day of the week that Sector 8 Steamed Buns wasn't open. Tifa had stopped by Dhamini's clinic for her monthly checkup.

It was a familiar routine. First, Dhamini would ask a few basic questions about how Tifa was feeling. Next, she'd palpate the grafts to see how they were healing. Last came the photographs.

As Dhamini had explained, the techniques used in Tifa's treatment were new and exciting. The medical community was eager for case studies, particularly ones with photos demonstrating the healing process over time.

But no matter how often Dhamini reassured Tifa that her face would always be out of frame, the idea that countless unknown doctors and researchers would be seeing photos of her bare chest was terribly unsettling.

"This discoloration─these black-and-blue patches," Dhamini said, pointing to several spots on Tifa's chest, "will fade over time. In fact, compared to the day you checked out of the clinic, they've already started to blend in with the rest of your skin quite well. I bet you've noticed."

Tifa had to agree that the grafts were starting to look much better.

"But," continued Dhamini, lips suddenly pursed, "this spot over here isn't looking so great."

She slid a finger across a portion of Tifa's solar plexus.

"If it doesn't take, you might end up needing another minor graft."

The doctor furrowed her brow and continued. "I wonder if it's because of that wire buried underneath... You know, the one they put in at Corel to help reinforce your sternum."

"I see..." replied Tifa.

"No need to rush into a decision right now. Let's just continue to keep an eye on─"

A loud yell cut Dhamini short.

"In all my years... !"

Tifa could tell it had come from the other side of the clinic. All the same, she scrambled to pull her top back on. Dhamini, for her part, calmly thanked Tifa for coming in, apparently unsurprised by the outburst from this other, unseen patient.

Tifa was on her way out of the examination room when Rakesh called out, "Tifa! Perfect timing! Think you could give me a hand?"

"What's the trouble?"

"We've got another patient in the back. Truth is, she's in need of a procedure a lot like yours, but she's absolutely refusing to go through with it. Think you could talk with her for a second? I just wanna show her it's not as scary as it seems. It might help her out, seeing someone who's been through the same thing."

Tifa hesitated. "I'm not sure I'd be very convincing..."

"You'll be great. I know you will." Rakesh smiled. "Oh! Just be sure not to mention how you got your injury. I'm told the lady likes to gossip. One of those people who seems to know everybody else. Probably best not to mention your new job either."

"Why can't I talk about my job?"

Rakesh hesitated. "Umm... Well, she's from Sector 7, see? The fewer people there are that recognize you, the better. Especially when it comes to people outside our sector. Easier to keep a low profile that way."

Rakesh's smile returned, and he motioned for Tifa to follow. "C'mon!"

His explanation had seemed a little forced, and Tifa still didn't know exactly what she was getting into, but she went along nonetheless.

Inside the back room, on the same bed Tifa had occupied half a year earlier, an elderly-looking woman was facedown in a hospital gown. The gown was partially open, and strips of bloodstained gauze ran across the woman's back, suggesting several long, narrow wounds.

Dhamini stood at the bedside, her usual cheerful demeanor nowhere to be found. When her eyes caught sight of Tifa, they all but begged for help.

"Tifa," Rakesh began calmly, "I'd like you to meet Marle. She had an unfortunate run-in with a monster and has some pretty nasty scratches to show for it. My mom is trying to recommend a skin graft, but─"

"Oh, just sew me up and get me out of here already!" groused the woman on the bed. "I don't need you trying out your newfangled treatments on me."

She glared at Tifa, eyes like daggers.

Dhamini cleared her throat. "Marle, I know it sounds frightening, but in the long run, you're going to be much happier with the graft. Given about five years to blend in, you won't be able to tell you were ever wounded."

The doctor motioned toward Tifa and added, "This young lady is another one of my patients. She had the same operation about six months ago, and you'd be amazed at what a difference it's made. Take a look at these photos."

Tifa swallowed.

In Dhamini's hands were several printed photographs. Photos of Tifa's chest.

"What are you showing me that for?! Get it out of my face! It's indecent!"

Dhamini returned the photos to a manila folder with a pained smile.

"Tell her what it was like, Tifa," said Rakesh. "It only hurt at first, right?"

"That's true. It wasn't so bad after a while."

Rakesh continued to prod. "And what about now? Any itchiness or discomfort?"

"No. None at all."

Tifa's right hand slid over to her left wrist, where it gripped the leather cord tight. She was trying very hard to remain pleasant.

"Enough," said Marle. "I don't need the sales pitch. How about you and your mother give me a moment with Tifa so she can tell it to me straight?"

Dhamini and Rakesh exchanged a glance. After a moment of clear hesitation, Dhamini nodded.

"All right," the doctor said with a pointed look at Tifa. "But I'd ask you to limit your conversation to details of the treatment itself. The clinic has certain standards of patient confidentiality to think about."

Doctor and son shuffled out of the room, and Tifa was left alone with the stranger.

"Flashing around photos of a woman's chest!" spat Marle. "Who do those two think they are?!"

She glanced back at Tifa, and in a much gentler tone continued. "Sorry about that, dear. Just an old woman's grouchings. I don't mean to make this any more embarrassing for you than it already is."

"It's fine. Really."

In truth, Tifa was elated to know someone else understood how she felt. "I guess I'm still kind of processing it all..."

"So what happened to you, anyway?" Marle asked, raising a brow. "Monster attack?"

"Um... That... probably falls under Dr. Oranye's standards of confidentiality."

"All right. Then tell me using a confidential voice."

Marle grinned. It was mischievous, sweet, and disarming all at once.

"It was a sword," whispered Tifa. "One in the hands of a very bad person. But I'd better not say any more. If his... associates found out I'd talked, I could get into a lot of trouble."

It wasn't a half bad answer, she decided. Sufficiently vague, but specific enough to ward off any digging.

"Bless my soul," replied Marle. "So you're on the run, are you? Sorry to hear it. I take it that means you didn't grow up in the slums."

"Not even in the city."

"Any family?"

"None."

"You poor, poor thing. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"How are you getting by? Working the Wall Market?"

Wall Market. Tifa didn't know much about the place, but she'd heard the name often enough. It was how other residents of the slums tended to refer to Sector 6. The neighborhood seemed to have a seedy reputation.

"No! Nothing like that!" she exclaimed.

"I see you've heard of the place. Here's some advice. A pretty girl like you could make a killing in Sector 6. But make no mistake. Whatever shop you're working for, they're making twenty times more than what goes in your pocket. Wall Market sucks you dry and throws you out.

"If you go in there knowing that, that's one thing. But don't let anyone try to tell you the Wall Market's something it's not."

"Thank you. I'll be okay. I know it's not for me."

"Maybe not. But if you don't learn to stand up for yourself, someone else may convince you otherwise."

"I know how to stand up for myself."

"Oh, I doubt that. You're the kind of girl who doesn't like to make waves. The teeniest bit of pressure, and you'll fold like a cheap suitcase."

As much as she hated to admit it, she realized Marle was right.

"I can tell," continued the woman, "because I'm the kind who likes to put the pressure on. Be glad I'm one of the good guys."

Marle grinned and began to roll onto her side, only to cry out in sudden pain.

"Are you all right?!" exclaimed Tifa.

"I suppose that's what I deserve for telling a fib."

There was a knock, but Rakesh didn't wait for a response. He opened the door, obviously glad for the excuse to step back in.

"Are you in pain?" he asked Marle.

"What do you think?" Marle grimaced. "Get on with the surgery already. I'll take whatever fancy treatment it is you used on Tifa."

"You're sure?"

"No, I'm not. So you'd better hurry before I change my mind. Oh, and Tifa? Come by and see me, would you? Nobody I know is gonna make the trek over to Sector 8 just to watch me lie in a hospital bed, so I could use the company."

Roughly three months had passed. It was another Wednesday, and Tifa was at the clinic visiting Marle.

All attempts to dig into Tifa's past ceased after that initial encounter. Their conversations instead focused on Marle's past and on the ins and outs of life under the plate. The woman had taken Tifa under her wing, intent on tutoring her in the ways of the slums from her hospital bed lectern.

Tifa learned that Marle had once managed a number of apartment buildings in Sector 7, which she'd been forced to give up when Shinra forcibly rezoned the land underneath. A search for new property to manage took her near the perimeter wall, which was where she ran into the monster that tore up her back.

"I think it was fate's way of saying I shouldn't stray too far from the heart of town. A personality like mine's meant to stay right in the thick of things."

That was the sort of headstrong confidence typical of Marle. She liked to talk of adventures she'd had around the slums as a girl of fifteen, and of her glamour days working in Wall Market.

Tifa also learned that she was a prominent figure in the Sector 7 neighborhood watch.

More than anything else, she was grateful for Marle's compassion. The woman seemed compelled to console the lonely girl driven from her hometown and left desperate for affection. She certainly didn't seem like the devious gossip Rakesh and Dhamini made her out to be.

At the end of every visit, as Tifa prepared to leave the clinic, Marle would ask the same question.

"Made any friends yet?"

And Tifa would always give the same vague reply.

"I think so."

She was careful never to imply that the new friend in question was right there before her eyes.

But their friendship came to an abrupt and disappointing end with Marle's discharge from the clinic. Tifa arrived at one of her scheduled checkups only to be told by Rakesh that the bed in the back room had been freed up a few days earlier.

"She was looking good and seemed ready to go home ahead of schedule," he explained. "Told us to give you her regards the next time you stopped by."

And that was it.

Tifa found herself back in an endless cycle of work, with nothing in particular to look forward to on her days off. Thursday through Tuesday, she manned the cart from morning till night. By the time the cart was emptied out, wiped down, and rolled back aboard its derelict railcar, it was usually eight thirty.

On her way home, Tifa typically stopped by the general store or another roadside cart, procuring something inexpensive for dinner─anything for a break from the monotony of steamed buns. Back at the container apartment, she ate and then ran through as many of Zangan's forms as she could complete without a sparring partner. Then it was time to hit the showers.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait for the cycle to begin again. Tifa lay in bed, basking in the pleasant exhaustion of a rigorous workout, but sleep's arrival was inevitably frustrated by fragmented thoughts that forced their way into mind. On better days, she'd imagine Nibelheim as it used to be, before the mountain was plagued with monsters. It left her feeling terribly alone, but it also seemed another, equally important sort of exercise. She had to remember. It was her duty not to forget the sights and sounds of the village, and the happy days she'd spent there, and the smiling faces of her friends and neighbors. The memories of that terrible, meaningless loss, and the anger that accompanied it, needed to be kept fresh.

But why? To what end? Thoughts of the future left her feeling bleak and depressed. How many years until she was free of the shackles of debt?

"When Marle checked out and our visits came to an end, I took it pretty hard. It felt like there was nothing left in my life. Just day after day of selling steamed buns with a big fake smile. Instead of going out to have fun, I'd spend my Wednesday evenings alone and in a daze. Whenever payday rolled around, I'd set aside part of my earnings and take it to the clinic.

"I mean, I could see that I was chipping away at the debt. At a thousand buns a day, I had enough to pay back about fourteen thousand gil each month. And by that point, breaking a thousand buns wasn't even a big deal anymore. Between that and the decision to keep my living expenses modest, I was actually managing to save up a bit of money."

Tifa smiled for a moment, leaning close to Red XIII to whisper about the purse she used to keep in the storage bin under her bed. From the very first day she was paid, she'd made a point of always setting aside a small portion to stash away.

"The routine was wearing on me, though," Tifa admitted. "Sometimes I'd let a complaint slip while working the cart. Pops would just laugh. He'd tell me we were nothing more than a couple of cogs in the unstoppable machine of Midgar, and that we had to keep turning whether we liked it or not. But I could never laugh it off the way he did."

Red XIII growled in apparent empathy.

"It got better, though," continued Tifa. "Wait till you hear about my seventeenth birthday."

The lunch rush was over, and Pops had just swapped with Tifa so she could get some downtime. She was arranging a few extra buns in the steamer when she noticed a new customer draw near.

"I'll take twenty-two of your finest Sector 8 Steamed Buns, please. Top 'em with whatever you recommend."

Pops's voice shot up a full octave. If Tifa hadn't been just as stunned, she might have laughed; she hardly ever saw Pops lose his cool.

She glanced at the customer. He was a young man with a round, open face and a thick torso padded with fat and muscle. If she had to guess, he was probably the same age as she was.

"You heard right!" said the customer with a wide grin. "The order's to share."

He pointed in the direction of the tracks, where a man and a woman leaned against the chain-link fence, absorbed in their own conversation. Their faces struck Tifa as particularly memorable; they seemed very Midgar-esque. Both appeared to be slightly older than their roly-poly companion.

"One for each of them," explained the customer, "and twenty for me."

He seemed very proud of this fact, and Tifa couldn't help but giggle. His eyes met hers, and he raised a hand to flash a confident thumbs-up. Tifa responded with a smile and a quiet nod. She edged over to Pops, intending to help with the massive order.

"Oh, and if you could put them in here, that'd be swell."

The customer held up a large wicker basket, steadying it against his chest, or maybe resting it on his stomach. Tifa wasn't sure. He waggled the basket from side to side.

"I hear you guys make a mean steamed bun," he said. "Melts-in-your-mouth goodness. I figured I had to try it for myself."

"Much appreciated," said Pops. It was his perfunctory response for every compliment.

"I'd also heard you've got a real cutie working here," continued the customer. "Frankly, the rumors don't do her justice."

"Thank you," replied Tifa with a practiced smile. But it quickly broke into another genuine giggle; the customer had turned his attention to the pot of meat sauce and was leaning in, nostrils flared to take in the sweet aroma.

"Say, what kind of meat is that?"

Pops began to answer. "This? It's─"

But the customer inexplicably shushed him.

"Wait! Wait! Don't tell me! I bet I can guess!"

"Sure. Take a shot."

Now even Pops was smiling. Tifa began slicing steamed buns and filling them as usual, fighting down unbridled laughter. As she finished the first, she placed it carefully into the provided container.

The customer immediately buried his face in the basket, loudly sniffing away. When his head popped back up, he looked like he was in heaven. Tifa found herself strangely flattered.

It wasn't uncommon for customers to leave the garnishes up to Pops and Tifa. Pops had always instructed her to respond by using whichever veggies were selling slower than usual. But for this particular customer, Tifa was determined to serve the best steamed buns she could make, complete with her favorite combinations of toppings─even if it meant risking a scolding later.

Surprisingly, when she glanced at Pops's hands, she found him doing the same. His fingers zipped back and forth in a lively, intricate dance, plucking generous helpings of each garnish from the display platters.

The customer stood mesmerized by the sight.

Tifa watched carefully, waiting for the precise moment that Pops finished off a bun to dart her own fingers in, mimicking his practiced movements as best she could. They went on like that, perfectly synchronized, one person grabbing the next bun and spooning on the meat while the other added the garnishes, until it began to strike Tifa as less a dance and more akin to one of Zangan's combat training forms.

The comparison elicited another laugh that she couldn't quite suppress; Tifa snorted, then stole an embarrassed glance at the customer, who she found grinning and bobbing his head to the rhythm of their movements.

Work at the cart had never felt so fun. The minutes flew by, and before Tifa knew it, she and Pops had already finished the twenty-second bun and piled it atop the others in the wicker basket. The customer took another whiff of the sweet aroma wafting up from the container held to his chest, then happily bounded off in the direction of his friends. He stopped before he reached the pair and, apparently unable to wait a moment longer, pulled one steamed bun from the basket and took a great big chomp. His round chin worked up and down in exaggerated motions, and after he'd thoroughly chewed and swallowed his first massive bite, he turned to look at Tifa and offered another energetic thumbs-up.

Tifa unconsciously returned the gesture, and then, to her even greater surprise, she saw Pops doing the same.

"That right there is a good customer," said Pops. "Gotta take extra-special care of the ones like him."

"Something tells me he'll be spreading the word about Sector 8 Steamed Buns."

"That too," replied Pops. "But I'm talking about the experience. Patrons like him... How do I put it? They remind me why I got into this business. There's a simple joy in bringin' a smile to a customer's face."

The portly customer had now reached the fence, and he and his two friends were happily munching away. When the other man─the one who looked to be the oldest─finished his bun, he reached toward the basket for another, only to have the basket's owner grab his arm and frantically wrestle him away. Meanwhile, the woman snuck a second bun of her own, turned her back to the others, and surreptitiously scarfed it down.

Tifa had to agree with Pops. The sight of the three rekindled warm, happy feelings she'd almost forgotten she possessed.

"Anyhow... No time to stand around," said Pops. "Those buns aren't gonna steam themselves."

The reality of the transaction sank in. They'd gone through twenty-two buns in a matter of minutes. Tifa would need to get more cooking right away if they were to have any ready for the next customer.

"Yes, sir!" she replied.

As she turned her attention back to the steamer, a drop of liquid rolled down her cheek. It took a moment to realize it was a tear and not a bead of sweat. Tifa wiped it away with the back of her hand, blinked, and murmured to herself.

"That's weird..."

There was another emotion lurking in her chest. She realized she was jealous of the three by the fence for the deep friendship they obviously shared. Their simple interaction had shown her just how lonely she really was.

Several days later, Tifa was heading home from work. Traversing the slums after dark was as unnerving as ever. She walked with her muscles tensed, wary of every sound and movement.

"Hey!" called a voice at her back. "Hey, you!"

Tifa whirled around, shoulders hunched defensively.

What she found was a very pretty young woman with a slender face and sharp nose.

"I knew it was you!" exclaimed the woman. "You work for Sector 8 Steamed Buns, right?"

Recognition finally dawned. It was the woman who had been leaning against the fence─one of the three friends who had "shared" the massive twenty-two bun order.

The trio had been by the cart a few times since, sometimes together and sometimes not. Tifa would smile and exchange a few words, but that had been the extent of their interactions following the spectacle of the first encounter.

"Oh. Hello," replied Tifa.

"My name's Jessie," said the woman. "Jessie Rasberry."

As the woman introduced herself, she placed a hand on one hip, cocked out confidently to the side.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Tifa Lockhart."

"Oh my gosh! Your name is as adorable as you are! Tell me, how old are you? Seventeen or so?"

"Sixteen."

"Aha! Well, it's nice to finally get to speak to you outside of work."

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Um... Is it just me, or am I getting some serious please-leave-me-alone vibes?"

"No! Not at all! I just... Well... Actually, yeah, you're probably right."

Truth be told, the thought of having a conversation with Jessie had her over the moon. Everything about the woman was so cool. So confident. But Tifa had no idea what to say to her, or how to say it.

A touch of worry crossed Jessie's face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'll let you get on your way. See you at the cart?"

Tifa nodded and mumured an apology. She turned away, resuming the trek back to Container Row. After a few moments, she glanced back over her shoulder. Jessie was standing in the road, watching her go. When she saw Tifa glance at her, she smiled and gave a tiny wave. Tifa bobbed her head slightly in response and continued on.

She was very nearly at the alley turnoff when she spotted a suspicious character coming down the street. There was no mistaking the attire or the attitude. The man wore a button-down shirt with a loud pattern, and his shoulders swung from side to side with every step.

He was a tout.

Marle had warned Tifa to avoid the type, and Tifa had once seen Rakesh jokingly mimic the distinctive swagger─an imitation she now knew to be incredibly accurate.

Even Pops had advised her to stay away. Apparently, he'd once been a tout himself, years and years ago. He told Tifa that if anyone ever bothered her to simply say she was under Manson's protection, and they'd back right off. In the rare event that those magic words didn't scare someone away, she was to run like hell.

Tifa veered to the edge of the street and attempted to ignore the man. The tout, however, had clearly noticed her. He cut across the street, making a beeline for Tifa.

"Hey, baby," he began. "Ever thought about putting those looks of yours to work? It's easy money. All you gotta do is sit and look beautiful."

"No, thanks. Not interested."

She tried to slip past, but he was quicker on his feet than she expected.

"Whatcha lookin' at the ground for? C'mon. Lemme see that gorgeous face of yours."

The man reached for Tifa's chin. She quickly leaned back, and the fingers passed through empty air.

She was still reviewing Zangan's forms every night, without fail. The tout didn't look particularly tough, and she estimated she'd regained more than enough muscle to take him. With each passing second, she saw another easy opening for a punch or a kick.

But she recalled Pops's warning. Touts didn't take no for an answer. They'd keep coming back until they got what they wanted. Better to minimize the interaction.

Try not to leave a lasting impression, he'd said. And if all else fails, remember the magic words.

An abrupt shout cut her deliberations short.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"

Tifa hardly had time to turn─and the tout barely had time to react─before Jessie came barreling in, leaping up at the last moment, leg extended to connect with the man's cheek.

He yelped and hit the dirt with a thud.

Jessie was back on her feet in a flash, shouting "C'mon!" as she grabbed Tifa's hand and dragged her down the nearest alley. They didn't slow until they'd turned several corners and were deep in the tangled web of Sector 8's backstreets.

Finally, when there were no sounds of pursuit, Jessie stopped and released her grip. Between heavy breaths, she said, "All right. Let's get you home. Where do you live?"

Tifa had no clue where they were or how to get back. She fumbled to describe the general store on the main street and the alley she always turned down to get home.

"You mean... you live on Container Row?" asked Jessie.

"Yes. That's the place."

"Wow. I wasn't expecting that. But don't worry. I can still take you."

She didn't wait for Tifa to respond. Jessie trotted off down another alley, and Tifa hurried to follow.

As they walked, Jessie confirmed that the guy she'd knocked over was indeed a tout. To be precise, he was connected to Don Corneo. And Don Corneo, Jessie explained, was the guy who controlled the Wall Market.

"I dunno if I'd call him one of Corneo's goons, though," laughed Jessie. "That'd be a little too generous. He's about as low in the pecking order as you can get."

Still, his job was to find girls to work in Corneo's clubs. He lacked muscle, but he was plenty persistent.

"The reason I'm telling you all this is to warn you," said Jessie. "Wall Market? Steer clear. Anything connected to Corneo is a definite no-go. You got that?"

"Okay."

"Not to go all mommy hen on you or anything. I'm guessing you've at least heard of Sector 6."

"Just a little. Everyone says to stay far away."

"For good reason too."

"Hey, um, Jessie... ? Are you... Do you study some kind of martial art or something?"

"You mean the jump kick? Not too shabby, huh? Used to be part of my repertoire for action scenes. That was the first time I've actually managed to get my heel to connect."

Jessie's grin widened as she said, "Truth is, I'm an actress."

"Like a movie star?!"

"Well, currently I'm on a little bit of a hiatus."

"It all makes sense..."

"What, are you saying I'm so extraordinarily beautiful that showbiz is the only line of work I could be in?"

"Yeah."

"Well, look at you, with all the big compliments! You better cut that out before you make me blush!"

Jessie squealed with delight. Her laughter was so infectious, Tifa began to giggle too.

"Anyway, is this starting to look familiar?" Jessie asked. "We should be pretty close by now."

Sure enough, the next alley onto which they emerged was the one that led to Container Row. Somehow, all the twists and turns had brought them back.

Tifa hurried past Jessie, exclaiming, "Thanks for the help! I can make it from here!"

"No problem. But, um, I'd be happy to see you all the way home. It can't be that far, right?"

"Oh, uh..."

In truth, Tifa wasn't sure she wanted Jessie─or anyone, really─to witness her living arrangements. She was in her second year of slum life; she'd had plenty of time to grow aware of just how bad she had it. For a while, she'd even toyed with the idea of moving, abandoning the option only when she realized it would mean that much longer before her debt was paid off.

"C'mon!" exclaimed Jessie. She pushed ahead of Tifa once more, leading the way down the alley.

Soon they'd reached the checkpoint, where the Watchman sat on his stool. When he saw Tifa, he mumbled a greeting and shifted to one side to allow them to pass.

"Wow. You've got a security guard and everything..."

And then the moment Tifa feared had finally arrived: they were standing at the door to her container.

"Well... this is me," she said sheepishly.

She undid the padlock and lifted the latch.

"Ooh! How retro!"

Jessie's comments held no trace of derision, but even so, they had Tifa sinking deeper and deeper into embarrassment.

"Mind if I take a peek inside?" her new acquaintance asked. "I mean, if it's not too forward. I'm dying to see what you've done with the interior."

"All right."

Jessie darted through the open doorway, filled with glee. Tifa followed and reached for the cord to turn on the light. The apartment was more or less the same austere setup as the day she moved in; if there was any change to speak of, it was the smattering of new clothing she'd acquired, all out on hangers in plain sight.

"Um... When did you move in? Yesterday?"

"A year or two ago. I'm planning to move again someday, but I figure this is good enough for now."

"And you're all by yourself? No mom or dad in the picture?"

"My parents aren't around anymore."

"Oh. Sorry..."

Jessie's gaze wandered over the contents of the apartment.

"Huh. I take it the shower and restroom must be outside," she mumbled to herself. "Guess it makes sense. Containers aren't exactly built with plumbing in mind."

She turned back to Tifa and asked, "How much does this place run you?"

"Fifteen gil per day. I like to shower a couple times a day, so that adds another five. In total, it works out to six hundred gil. Oh, but I don't have to pay more when there's an extra day in the month. Just a flat six hundred per month."

Jessie furrowed her brow, hesitating before she finally asked, "Is there something in particular that's keeping you here?"

When Tifa decided to open up, it wasn't because she wanted help. She just wanted someone to listen. Just that alone would make all her hard work bearable. And for whatever reason, Jessie seemed like a person she could trust.

"I'm working off a debt," she confessed.

"Ah... " Jessie nodded, as if everything had fallen into place. "Got a long way to go?"

"Four years, give or take."

"Wh─?!"

Jessie flumped down on the bed in shock. It took her a moment to recover, but once she did, she looked up at Tifa and patted the spot beside her.

"Come have a seat. Tell ol' Jessie all about it."

Tifa obliged. She took a deep breath, formulating her thoughts, and began with the climax: the tale of a certain SOLDIER, name left unsaid, who'd gone psychotic and set her hometown aflame. From there, she kept going right up to the present day, allowing her emotions to rage like wildfire as she jumped from one event to the next.

As she spoke, she felt pangs of regret. What was she doing with her life? How had she allowed the past year and a half to slip by? She was focusing on her debt, treating it as some sort of refuge, when in reality she should have been tracking down every scrap of information on Nibelheim she could, to bring herself closer to the truth.

By the end, tears were streaming down Tifa's cheeks.

Jessie's words were gentle. "Wow... You've been through so much..." She smiled and patted Tifa on the back, adding, "I think we can definitively say that Tifa Lockhart is the hardest-working person anywhere in the slums."

The praise felt warm. Tifa sniffed and reached a hand to wipe away her tears.

"It doesn't sound to me like you've been avoiding your past," continued Jessie. "If anything, you've been doing exactly what you should to keep yourself safe.

"I kinda pride myself on staying abreast of Shinra's atrocities, and I haven't heard anything about Nibelheim. That says to me that the company's not just keeping quiet; they're actively covering the incident up. Which means if you don't step carefully, you could be vanished in the middle of the night or worse. Promise me you won't start digging without talking to me first, okay?"

Tifa hesitated before nodding.

"I'm not saying you should give this up. We just have to play the long game. You deserve justice, and your dad deserves revenge so he can rest in peace."

Justice. Revenge. It was a step beyond uncovering the truth and more than Tifa had dared hope, but once Jessie brought the notion up, she couldn't get it out of her head. Tifa's right hand anxiously tugged at the cord on her left.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked.

"Call it a motherly instinct. Or don't. That'd be embarrassing. I just hate to see a person in need.

"And if I could help you with the debt, believe me, I would. I'm not exactly rolling in cash, though."

Jessie reached an arm around Tifa and pulled her close. Tifa sagged against Jessie's shoulder, exhausted now that the story was out.

"Where one fails, many prevail," counseled Jessie. "Together, we can take on the world."

Thus began a time of happiness and growth. Tifa would spend one or two nights a week with Jessie. At times, Biggs and Wedge were there too─those were the names of the two friends who also visited the cart. Wedge was the one with the big appetite.

Tifa's circle of acquaintances grew, as did her knowledge of the slums. Jessie introduced her to several restaurants that were safe to eat at even after dark.

Her wardrobe began to flourish too. Jessie brought by items she thought might look good on Tifa, and she shared tips and tricks from the world of show business: how an actress should carry and project herself onstage. The effects were dramatic. Even Tifa could see how much more confident she appeared. Biggs in particular was in awe; he admitted that when they first spotted Tifa at Sector 8 Steamed Buns, she'd reminded them of a small, frightened animal.

It was Tifa's seventeenth birthday. She'd just finished wheeling the cart back into its railcar and was handing the day's earnings to Rakesh. Pops sauntered off into the night, whistling to himself, just like he did at the end of every workday.

She was about to follow when Rakesh stopped her.

"Hey, Tifa?"

Something was obviously bothering him, and she found herself unconsciously on guard.

"I dunno how to say this, but... it's your new friends. Word is, they run with a real sketchy crowd."

"You mean the neighborhood watch?" Tifa's response came sharper than she intended.

"For them, the watch is just a cover. They're Avalanche."

"Avalanche?"

It wasn't the first time she'd heard the name. If anything, it was hard to avoid talk of Avalanche in Midgar; company broadcasts often mentioned the group, describing it as an anti-Shinra organization bent on disturbing the peace, responsible for acts of violence all over the world. Supposedly, it was under the command of a mysterious individual by the name of Elfe.

"Well, so what if they are?" retorted Tifa. "They're not bad people."

"It isn't a question of how you feel. In Shinra's eyes, they're terrorists, so you need to cut ties and stay far away. If you got caught up in one of Public Security's raids on the group, I dunno what I'd do..."

On the way back to Container Row, the Watchman informed Tifa that she had guests.

That's odd, she thought. Who could it be?

She traversed the rest of the alley nervously, craning her neck as she neared the clearing. Leaning against her apartment's outer wall were Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge.

When they spotted her, Wedge called out, "Welcome home!"

And Jessie dashed over for a big hug and an enthusiastic "Happy birthday!"

No sooner had she thanked them than Biggs piped up with the reason for their visit. "Listen... We know you've got work again tomorrow, but we thought maybe you could spare a couple hours to unwind."

His tone was cautious, and the other two watched Tifa intently, feeling out her response.

"There's no home-cooked birthday dinner," apologized Wedge. "But we've got a whole mountain of snacks you can munch on!"

"More important, there's something we'd like to take you to see," added Jessie.

"Really? What is it?"

Jessie grinned, and all three guests responded in unison, as if they'd planned the whole conversation in advance. "You'll just have to come and find out!"

Tifa didn't have a clue what she was in for, but then again, she figured she didn't have any reason to decline.

They wound their way through the slums for roughly thirty minutes before arriving at an abandoned home near the city's perimeter wall. The building, nestled in a sprawling scrap heap, looked ready to collapse at any moment, but when they stepped inside, Tifa found the interior clean, if bare, and far roomier than she would have expected. A crowd of eight was already assembled inside, and she had the impression that others were likely to arrive too, though for what purpose, she still couldn't say.

Several faces were vaguely familiar, possibly from occasional patronage at Sector 8 Steamed Buns, or perhaps from a passing introduction made by Biggs or Jessie.

When it looked as if everyone had arrived, Jessie raised her hand to draw the room's attention.

"Hey all!" she announced, then scurried over to lead Tifa to the center. "I'm sure some of you already know my good friend Tifa Lockhart. And I'd just like to say that today, believe it or not, happens to be her seventeenth birthday. So how about we give her a nice, warm welcome?"

Biggs began to clap, and others quickly joined in. Several of the strangers cheered and shouted their best wishes. Wedge brought his fingers to his mouth for a long, trilled whistle, only to be shushed by another patron. Apparently, they had to be careful about making too much noise.

"Thank you. Thank you all," said Tifa, turning from one face to the next, offering each a slight bow.

An older man─easily the eldest in the room─cleared his throat and said, "Well then. Shall we get started?"

Everyone grew quiet, shuffling toward the back of the room and taking a seat on the floor facing the whitewashed wall.

A small desk was carried to a spot just behind the seated audience, and on it was placed an unwieldy device that Tifa recognized as an old film projector. There had been one much like it in Nibelheim.

So that's what we're here for, she thought. They invited me out for a movie night.

Sure enough, the room's lights flicked out, and a beam of light shone from the projector, filling the white wall. Tifa saw a landscape in monochrome: a wide shot of a barren wasteland. In the center stood a lone young man who stared into the camera and began to speak.

"Hello. I'm Yuri Romana, mentor of planetology. Today, I'd like to speak to you about your relationship with our beautiful world. I'll unravel the mysteries of the planet's inner workings and show how it links us all.

"I'm sure some of you will have heard these things before. If so, I ask that you please bear with me. There's much to be gained in repeating the basics. In fact, it is my firm belief that it is the only way for us to overcome the oppression we face and successfully instill future generations with a firm understanding of our one and only home. It is up to each of us to find our own words and voices to express the true nature of life."

For the next half hour, the man on-screen described the flow of life between the planet and its occupants. When a person passed away, the body degraded and returned to the soil. But the spirit was reabsorbed into the lifestream, becoming one with the planet.

This spiritual energy continued to course throughout the planet, deep under its surface, bringing vitality and strength. Ultimately, portions of the lifestream would siphon off to become new life that populated the surface. Life came in all shapes and sizes, and in all things was life. Life was eternal, and the planet was our precious, irreplaceable vessel on which we traversed the infinite cosmos.

The film ended, and once the lights were on and the projector put away, the other audience members quickly filed out.

Jessie motioned Tifa to the door, and the party of four retraced their steps home. At a fork in the road, Wedge and Biggs split off, and then it was just Tifa and Jessie, walking in pensive silence.

Jessie cleared her throat and asked, "So, what did you think?"

"It was... I guess the best word I can come up with is mysterious. I always assumed that when you die, you're gone. Goodbye. The end."

"Do you know who first proposed that belief?" replied Jessie. "It was Shinra. They claimed to have scientifically proven that there's nothing after death."

"Before Shinra came to power," she continued, "the people of the republic used to believe in heaven and hell, and that the gods determined which one you went to based on how you lived your life. But long, long before that, in the very distant past, people had the teachings of planetology. They understood about spirits and the lifestream and tried to live in harmony with the planet."

"Wow. I had no idea."

It occurred to Tifa that if Jessie really believed in the things described in the film, she wanted to believe them too. But that didn't make them any less strange and hard to accept.

"I guess what I wanted to say is that... at least from the way I see it, your dad isn't really gone. He's just returned to the planet. And since our spirits are linked to the planet too, if you take the time to respect the planet and to listen to the things it tells us, you'll always be in touch with your dad."

Jessie looked down at the ground and shrugged. "I dunno... I just thought maybe you'd find that comforting."

They'd arrived back at Container Row and were standing side by side in the quiet night.

"Nibelheim will always be with you. And your dad will be too."

Jessie reached up and took both of Tifa's cheeks in her hands. The palms felt warm against her skin.

"You're not alone."

Tifa brought her own hands to Jessie's wrists.

"I know. I've known it since the first day you walked me home."

Jessie's eyes widened, and she scrambled backward, whipping her hands to her own cheeks.

"Hey! What did I tell you about making me blush?!"

Tifa giggled and said, "Thanks for seeing me home again. See you later?"

Jessie nodded and dashed off, hands still at her cheeks. It wasn't until she was out of sight that Tifa recalled Rakesh's comments. She'd meant to broach the subject, to find out whether Jessie truly was involved with Avalanche.

Tifa shrugged. Did it really matter?

Resting on the grass outside the chocobo pasture, Tifa continued telling her story to her shaggy companion.

"After that I started going to screenings fairly often. There were lots of different films with narration on different aspects of the planet's plight.

"The location changed every time; you never knew where the next screening would be held until the morning of. If Shinra caught wind, they'd try to shut the thing down or harass the attendees, so we had to maintain secrecy.

"After a while, I started to believe that the philosophy could help me. I thought planetology might... No, I wanted it to be able to free me from the burden I'd been carrying."

"And just what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" growled Red XIII. His eye had narrowed ever so slightly.

"Since the first day I woke up in the slums, I'd been telling myself I had to hang on to my father, the villagers, and the truth that only I knew. I couldn't allow myself to forget any of it.

"Whenever I was struggling to keep up with the day-to-day of my new life or found myself laughing with my new friends, I'd realize I was letting that duty slip from my mind, and I'd feel cold fingers of guilt creeping up on me.

"So when I heard the films' message... When Jessie reassured me that my father and my friends were still with me, inside of the planet, it was like a tiny part of that burden had been lifted. I felt like maybe I wasn't obligated to preserve those memories all by myself."

"Planetology has many interpretations," rumbled the beast. "Mine is rather different from yours."

"Yeah. Later on, I started to see things differently. But at the time, that was how I felt. And at the time, I was grateful for it."

Tifa was at the cart, skimming the froth from the simmering pot of meat, when Pops posed a rather unusual question.

"You're from Corel, right? You heard about the explosion at the reactor?"

"Um... Yeah. That was quite some time ago, wasn't it?"

"A year or so. Lately, rumor's been goin' around that it wasn't an accident after all. They're sayin' Avalanche was behind it. That's why Public Security's been swarmin' the slums. They're huntin' down agitators. Not that the reason for the crackdown particularly matters. If not Corel, they'd find some other convenient excuse. They always do."

Tifa tried to appear unconcerned, but she found her hands shaking so badly that anything she skimmed with the ladle ended up right back in the pot.

Pops gave her a hard stare.

"Don't you let yourself get dragged into it."

Nearly a month passed without any word from Jessie. It was by far the longest they'd gone without seeing each other since growing close.

As concerned as Tifa was, she didn't have any way to get in touch. Jessie had always been the one to show up on Tifa's doorstep or wait outside the railcar lot after work. Once or twice, Tifa had tried to ask where her new friends lived; Jessie's answers were vague, and she was always quick to change the subject.

And then, one day, Tifa awoke from deep sleep to a hurried knocking at the door. She could tell immediately that something was amiss. Even the air was thick with tension.

Tifa lurched up from bed, fumbling with the padlock. When she finally had the door open, Jessie was leaning in against the frame, blood streaming down her forehead.

"I'm sorry," blurted Jessie. "I'm really sorry. I swore to myself I wouldn't come to you for help..."

"What are you talking about?! We're friends!"

She yanked Jessie into the apartment and quickly shut and locked the door.

Given how hard Jessie was panting, she must have sprinted all the way to Container Row. She slumped to the floor, back resting against the side of the bed.

Tifa waited patiently for Jessie's breathing to calm. When it had, she said, "You're Avalanche."

"Bingo," replied Jessie, her voice still soft and airy.

"And Biggs and Wedge? Them too?"

"Right again."

"Is that why you wouldn't tell me where you live?"

The questions came out sharper than Tifa intended. A surge of anger threatened to rise, and she had to consciously battle it back down.

"You were safer not knowing," replied Jessie. "Public Security could show up at any moment─just like they did tonight."

"Is it the reactor in Corel? Were you involved?"

"Ooh. Someone's stumbled onto some juicy gossip. Where'd you hear about that?"

"I'm not a child. Don't treat me like one."

Jessie flinched, then clutched at her side with a stifled yelp, her face contorting with pain.

"What's wrong?! Have you been shot?!"

"Jumped off a roof. I don't think anything's broken, but the landing sure wasn't graceful."

Tifa was already up and yanking the padlock from the door. Jessie sensed what she was planning and pleaded with her to stop. It was exactly what Shinra would be hoping; they'd be watching the clinics and hospitals, waiting for injured targets to show up.

Still determined to find some way to help, Tifa rifled through a drawer, pulling out a small vial of painkillers. She handed it to Jessie and then grabbed the large water jug, explaining that she'd be right back.

Container Row was deathly silent. Tifa had come to understand that this was a place for folks who had hit rock bottom. All the residents of the Row had enough problems of their own without poking into anyone else's business; a young woman showing up in the middle of the night, bloodied and out of breath, didn't even merit a curious peek from the windows.

She was more concerned about the possibility of Shinra troopers. Tifa eyes darted around nervously as she waited for the jug to fill. When it was about as heavy as she could manage, she lugged it back, the weight making her hurried steps awkward and uneven.

Inside, Jessie had slumped to the floor, where she lay motionless.

Tifa scrambled to her side, leaning close to check for breathing.

"Don't worry. I'm not dead," croaked Jessie. "Not yet."

The following morning, Jessie was more or less her usual cheerful self, minus the occasional pained grimace when she shifted her weight. Tifa was hesitant to leave her friend alone, but it was a workday, and Jessie seemed to be doing well enough.

But when the morning rush was over, Tifa put her newfound acting skills to the test: she doubled over, moaning of a sudden pain in her stomach.

In nearly two years, she'd never called in sick or asked to leave early─except, of course, that very first day on the job. Pops was thus bewildered. He scratched his head and begrudgingly allowed her to take the rest of the day off.

Tifa made straight for Dhamini's clinic, where she continued the act.

After an agonizingly long sit in the waiting room, she was summoned to the back to see Dr. Oranye. The story was simple enough: Tifa claimed to have stumbled and slammed her torso into a large, dull object. The pain had been intense, though it wasn't quite as bad this morning as it had been last night.

Dhamini listened patiently, declaring that the suffered injury was unlikely to be a fracture.

"For the time being," she said, "let's just manage the pain. I'm prescribing an analgesic, but it's rather potent, so don't rely on it too heavily. Only take it if the pain starts to get overwhelming. Spend today and tomorrow resting; if you don't see improvement by then, or if things starts to feel worse, it may be a sign that there's internal bleeding. In that case, I'd recommend you bring the patient by so I can look at her myself."

Tifa's mouth fell open. Dhamini smiled and winked.

"It was a clever story, but there's a conspicuous lack of bruising to substantiate it. I am a doctor, you know."

Tifa's cheeks burned. With a great deal of trepidation, she managed to drag her gaze up to meet the doctor's. Dhamini regarded her with concern.

"There's a lot going on in the world these days," Dhamini said. "Take care not to get dragged into something you might regret."

Disoriented and upset, Tifa rushed from the clinic and all the way down the street to Container Row. When she arrived at her apartment, she found the latch down but the padlock missing. Her blood chilled, and she scrambled inside.

Jessie was gone. The only trace that the woman had ever been there was a single folded letter on Tifa's pillow, along with the padlock and its key.

Going to lie low for a while, it read. Thanks for the help, and sorry about the door. Didn't want to lock you out of your own place.

The strength drained from Tifa's body. She yelled into the dingy apartment, "If you're gonna drag me into this, don't drop me halfway!"

Then she was burning with rage again, punching and kicking the empty air, each strike accompanied by a shout of frustration.

Eventually, Tifa tired and, seeing nothing better to do with herself, decided to head back to the cart and finish out the workday.

Her return just preempted the evening rush. The difference was stark. Pops's fatigue was evident, and he greeted her with a wide smile. Here, she felt appreciated.

From the dinner rush all the way through to closing and cleanup, she worked with more determination than ever before.

Life was again work and nothing else. The days flew by, and before Tifa knew it, her eighteenth birthday was drawing near.

She was making her way home from work one evening when she found a throng at the entrance to the alley for Container Row. Its members gaped and strained their necks at something beyond the turnoff. As she reached the edge of the crowd, she heard whispers all around.

"Sheltering a terrorist," they were saying. "Someone on the Row. I heard the trooper mention Avalanche!"

Cautiously, Tifa began to cut her way through.

Up ahead, she heard a woman scream, "I told you! I don't know nothin'! Been ten years since I seen the boy!"

Tifa recognized the voice almost instantly. She began shoving people aside, fighting her way down the alley. Onlookers yelped and shouted in protest, but she paid them no mind, pushing and pushing until finally she was ahead of the crowd.

Near the Watchman's post, three Shinra troopers stood over a cowering Waterkeeper, weapons trained on the woman as they continued their interrogation.

Tifa saw another figure sprawled facedown not far from where she stood. She recognized its crumpled cape; it was the Watchman. She stepped forward and crouched at his side.

When the old man saw her, he rasped, "... Aisha. Don't let them hurt Aisha."

She'd never heard the name before, but she knew immediately that he was speaking of the Waterkeeper.

Tifa stood, glaring at the troopers. One finally seemed to notice that she'd pushed out in front of the crowd.

"Halt!" he shouted, rifle swiveling. "Hands where I can see them!"

The weapon gleamed in the alley's yellow light, its small black muzzle threatening death. One bullet was all it would take.

The hairs at the back of Tifa's neck stood on end. Her knees trembled violently. What was this feeling? This rush?

"This a friend of yours?" snarled the trooper. He was looking at the Waterkeeper.

The woman's shouts grew frantic. "I've never seen her before in my life! She's ain't got nothin' to do with this! None of them do!"

The trooper turned back to Tifa and adjusted his grip on the rifle. The corners of his mouth curled into a wicked sneer.

Tifa's fingertips trembled.

Somewhere from behind the crowd, a shout erupted.

"Officers! Over here! He's escaping down the main street!"

The trooper nearest the Waterkeeper slammed the butt of his rifle into the old woman's skull, sending her to the ground. He and one of his partners pushed past Tifa, heading for the street. The assembled crowd cried out in fear and pressed against the alley walls to make way.

The remaining trooper took a few menacing steps forward. He jammed the barrel of his gun into Tifa's breast.

Humiliation and rage seized her. Before she could process her own actions, the toe of her boot was against his chin, and his neck had snapped back with a cry of pain. The trooper fell backward onto the dirt. His bulky helmet rolled away, leaving his face exposed.

He was young. Maybe even younger than she was.

The revelation left her frozen, but someone grabbed her arm from behind, pulling her away. Tifa plopped down onto the ground, rear end first, as the shadow of a man darted past. When it reached the trooper's─the child's─side, it drew one hand across his neck in fluid motion. Blood gushed out in rhythmic spurts, and a strangled gurgle escaped the youth's lips.

Tifa recognized the assailant as the Watchman, saw the gleam of the knife blade in his hand. The terrified cries of the onlookers escalated to sheer panic.

That was the moment when Tifa blacked out.

When she next opened her eyes, Rakesh was sitting on a chair at her side. She was in her own bed, in her own apartment on the Row.

She bolted upright, gasping, "The boy! The... the trooper! What happened to him?!"

"The Watchman carried him off. Don't worry. He'll take care of the body."

She wished she hadn't asked.

"And the Waterkeeper?" ventured Tifa.

"She's at Mom's. Gonna have some bruises, but nothing life-threatening."

"Thank goodness... I hope he was able to get away."

"I'd say the odds are good, given that he was never here in the first place. Shinra must've had some lousy intel. The guy's Avalanche, though. They got that much right."

"I heard someone shout that he was fleeing down the main street."

"That was me. I was just improvising, trying to get the troopers' attention off you. Things were going great until... Boy, I don't think any of us saw that kick coming."

"Me neither," answered Tifa. "I guess I just couldn't hold it in anymore. My body acted all on its own."

"It was sure something... I feel like I've finally witnessed what it means to be truly strong."

There was a hint of awe in Rakesh's voice. Her actions had left a deep impression.

"I don't think Master Zangan would have approved," she said.

"Zangan," snorted Rakesh. "You know the thing that gets me? For all his sage advice, he's never around when you really need him..."

Rakesh trailed off for a moment, then piped up with, "Hey, maybe you ought to think about taking a shower. It might help you calm down."

She didn't have the energy to argue, so she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her knees were still shaking. It was no longer the adrenaline-induced trembling of staring down a rifle; the magnitude of the day's events had caught up with her, and her legs didn't seem up to the task of carrying this monumental new weight.

More upsetting was the thought of Rakesh seeing her tremble. She pivoted back, sliding her legs onto the bed and under her blanket once more.

"What's it like outside?" she asked.

"Everyone's gone. No troopers. No rubbernecks. Nothing. Manson's people will get in touch with Shinra's, and with any luck, we'll all go on like none of this ever happened."

He grimaced, his next words more spat than spoken.

"Fucking Avalanche. See why I warned you? I told you they were trouble."

Tifa didn't answer. Her fingers curled tight around the leather cord as she swallowed her anger.

"Hey, Rakesh?" she finally said.

"What is it? I'm here for you. You can tell me anything."

"I think I'd like to be alone now."

Rakesh's dismay was plain. Tifa briefly wondered why he'd hoped to stay, but she decided she didn't really care. At that particular moment, she didn't want to have to think about anything at all.

"The choice to engage in combat, or even to train in martial arts... These are decisions inextricably linked with death. By raising your fists, you implicitly accept the possibility that you may one day take someone's life."

Tifa paused, running a hand through the long, soft grass. "It sounds so obvious now. But before that night, I'd never really thought it through."

"Based on your story, it doesn't sound like you were the one responsible for the young man's demise," rumbled Red XIII.

"That's what I tried to tell myself. But I was only running from the truth. Before you fight, you first have to make peace with death. You have to go in knowing that you or your opponent might not make it out. I wasn't ready to do that, so I shouldn't have struck him in the first place.

"The way I see it, whatever you're fighting for had better be important. Otherwise, all you're left with after victory is a crushing sense of regret. Death is too high a price to pay for some minor satisfaction."

"Hmph. You humans are certainly adept at overcomplicating things."

"Yes. We most definitely are. And me more than most."

The following day was a workday. Tifa didn't even contemplate asking for time off. Work was her one solid reality in a sea of uncertainty. If she abandoned her routines, she risked being swallowed up, mind sinking deep beneath the dark, churning waves.

But when she traversed the alley on her way home that evening─and every subsequent evening─she couldn't help but see the young trooper lying there in the dirt, blood still spraying from his neck. His final, choked gurgles looped through her mind, echoing across the alley walls.

She wanted to get out. She wanted to leave the Row far behind. It was no longer the vague, shiftless longing she'd once divulged to Jessie, but an urgent, pressing need.

The next time Rakesh was counting out her pay in the office, she broached the subject.

"I've been thinking about a new apartment..."

Rakesh's eyebrows shot up. His discomfort was plain to see.

"I mean, I don't have to live on the Row forever... Do I?" she asked.

"Of course not. Once you're done paying off the debt, you're free to live wherever you want."

"Why Container Row? Is it your mom? Does she want to keep me nearby?"

"More like Manson. It's one of his rules."

"What does Manson have to do with it? Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the job, but why should that mean he gets to decide where I live?"

"It's complicated. See, Mom's clinic owes money to Manson, and when you couldn't cover your treatment, she fell behind on payments. Manson agreed to leave the clinic be if you and I were willing to work for him to pay off the debt.

"One of his stipulations was that he gets to choose the job. Another was that you stay on Container Row. Manson takes these agreements seriously. If you break the rules, there's gonna be blood."

The revelation had Tifa aghast.

"You mean the money I'm paying you isn't going to your mom? It's going to Manson?"

"Ultimately, yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What difference does it make? The amount you owe doesn't change. And besides, when you checked out of the clinic, you didn't seem to care about the details."

"I trusted you. I thought you were acting in my best interests!"

Her fingers were clenched tight around the leather cord.

Rakesh smiled. "I am. And I'm gonna keep looking out for you. Just keep your faith in me, and everything will be fine. At the rate you're selling, it'll be less than three years before you're a free woman."

He lowered his voice and added, "Or... there are ways you could work it off faster. I'd never dream of pushing you into it against your will, but... if you wanna talk Wall Market, just say the word."

In that moment, whatever sliver of trust she'd still had for Rakesh was gone for good.

When Tifa returned home, she yanked the storage bin out from under her bed and dug down to where the purse was stashed. When she pulled it out, she was surprised by its weight. Inside was every gil she'd managed to set aside in some two and a half years of work.

After double-checking that the apartment's door was securely latched and locked, Tifa began arranging the coins and bills in orderly stacks across the floor. Once finished, she grabbed a pen and paper, calculating the total in relation to her remaining debt.

Two years.

If things kept going as they were, she could have everything paid off in two years.

Immediately after the conversation with Rakesh, she'd been fuming. She'd wanted to demand a breakdown of her treatment expenses to see how her debt had been calculated. But now that she'd had time to think it over, she wasn't sure it was worth stirring up trouble. She'd taken the number at face value, accepted it as gospel for years. At this point, what did she stand to gain from kicking up a fuss about it, or challenging the lies about where her money was going or Manson's incomprehensible rules?

There were things she probably should have done, and things she shouldn't have. But she decided she'd live with─and accept─the consequences of her actions.

Just two short years until her life was in her own hands again. The goal brought her strength. She'd climb out of this debt all by herself and show them that she would not be beaten.

Tifa smiled at Red XIII.

"It takes me time to make up my mind, but once I do, I'm unstoppable. My sales at the cart were stronger than ever, and I kept earning, saving, and making payments. Wednesdays were devoted to training and review of Zangan's techniques. Honestly, the rigid, repetitive days no longer bothered me. I felt like I could march on like that, right up until the end."

Red XIII reacted with a gentle huff. "An attitude that certainly befits your personality."

"That's how I saw it too. I mean, I won't lie... Sometimes I dream of leading a life of glitz and glamour. But if I have to choose, I'll take quiet and predictable over exciting and uncertain any day of the week. Just a nice, hot shower and straight to bed, y'know?"

"And yet your newfound predictability was short-lived."

"Huh? How'd you know?"

"I've begun to notice a pattern to this story of yours."

There was a certain young man who stopped by the cart every few days for lunch. Tifa had come to recognize his face, but their interactions were always brief, lasting less than a minute, tops. Whenever he approached, Tifa smiled and nodded, as she did for all their regulars. Usually, he'd return the greeting with his own gentle smile and then watch with interest as Tifa completed his order with her quick, practiced movements.

One particular day, he accepted the finished bun with a comment that took her by surprise.

"The big eighteen, huh? Congratulations."

Tifa's hands froze, the knife buried mid-slice in another bun.

"How do you know it's my... ?"

"I was there for your seventeenth."

Suddenly, she put it together. The planetology screening. It was the only explanation. He must have been one of the others in attendance that night at the abandoned house near the scrap heap.

Tifa's pulse raced.

"There a problem here?" snapped Pops.

It was the tone he used whenever a clueless customer lingered too long at the counter in attempt to chat Tifa up. Tifa glanced at Pops to indicate that the customer wasn't unwelcome, then returned her attention to the youth, her next words hurried and hushed.

"Do you know Jessie? Or Biggs or Wedge? The three who were with me at the screening."

The young man's expression clouded. "Yeah. I remember them," he began slowly. "People said they were with Avalanche, so I kept my distance."

Suddenly his eyes grew wide, and he stammered, "Oh! But I hope you don't think everyone who studies planetology is like that! We don't all support terrorism!"

Tifa responded with feigned relief, adapting to the conversation's unexpected turn.

"Why do you ask?" he continued hesitantly.

"They owe me."

She didn't elaborate, figuring the statement was vague enough to not constitute a lie. The man nodded and headed off without another word.

The following day, he returned. He nonchalantly placed his order, and then, when Pops seemed busy, whispered to Tifa.

"About yesterday... I asked a few acquaintances of mine. They say there's an apartment building in Sector 7 called Stargazer Heights. The landlady might be able to point you in the right direction. Apparently, she's one of those people who knows everybody else."

"You did that for me?" replied Tifa. "Thank you..."

"No problem. But... I was wondering if I could maybe ask one tiny favor in return."

The young man's voice dropped further still. Tifa could barely hear it over the bubbling of the meat sauce.

"Could I get a picture of the two of us?"

She smiled. "Sure!"

The youth held a camera out to the next patron in line, who accepted with a chuckle. He then backed up next to the cart and struck a pose. Tifa hoisted herself up, leaning out over the counter to get in frame. She found herself grinning from ear to ear.

When the photo was taken, the youth exclaimed, "Great! How about one more? This time, maybe you could─"

Before he could finish, Pops thundered at their backs.

"If you're gonna keep holding up the line, you better fork over some cash!"

The wait until the following Wednesday was agonizing. When it finally arrived, Tifa made her way to Sector 7 first thing in the morning.

If she'd thought Sector 8 was a cluttered mess, its neighbor was a thousand times worse. The whole place was made up of narrow, winding alleys, most of them unpaved. Everywhere she went, the air was thick with dust. The unpredictable tangle of alleys also boasted an unpredictable tangle of shops.

Every so often, Tifa stopped to look upward, noting the location of a mammoth pillar supporting the Sector 7 plate. It was a trick she'd quickly discovered out of necessity, as a way to orient herself among the chaos.

After several stops to ask for directions and only a few moments spent wandering lost, Tifa emerged into a clearing with an old two-story apartment building that matched the description of Stargazer Heights.

Open-air corridors ran along the exterior of each level, facing the clearing. Each corridor had three doors, for a total of six units in the building. And situated next to each door was a condenser for an air conditioner, all identical; apparently they came furnished. Tifa couldn't begin to imagine how exorbitant the rent must be.

A metal staircase at one end of the building provided access to the upper corridor and units. Next to it stood a thin, almost frail-looking old woman. On Tifa's approach, the woman's eyes went wide, and she cried out in astonishment.

"Tifa!"

Tifa couldn't believe it. It was Marle! The patient she'd met in Dhamini's clinic!

How long had it been?

"Bless my soul... You sure took your sweet time coming over to visit!"

"I'm sorry. I had no idea where you lived."

"What do you mean?! I left my address! I told the doctor's boy to make sure you got it."

Tifa recalled Marle's abrupt discharge from the clinic. Rakesh hadn't mentioned anything about a message, and Tifa highly doubted it had simply slipped his mind. No, this was intentional.

"How's the injury?" asked Marle. "Feeling back to your old self?"

"Yes. Almost completely. The skin color's still a little off, though..."

Marle chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean. My back's still got a long way to go too. It's a shame, really. In my younger years, and with the right type of dress, I could have more than a few men swooning every time I walked away.

"Anyway, where are you headed? If you've got business in Sector 7, I'd be happy to make introductions."

"This is Stargazer Heights, isn't it? I understand the owner of these apartments is well connected."

"You heard right. You're staring right at her."

"You're the landlady?! Then maybe you can help me. There's someone I'm searching for."

"And who might that be? Just give me a name."

"Well, there're three, actually. Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge."

Marle furrowed her brow.

"Biggs and Wedge... Yeah, I know them. Those two are on the neighborhood watch. And there's a chipper young lady who's with them more often than not. I imagine that must be Jessie."

Bingo, thought Tifa.

"They're friends of mine," Tifa explained. "We spent a lot of time together last year, but we fell out of touch, and now I have no idea where they are."

Marle's brows had pinched together so hard, her eyes were closed. What she was thinking about, Tifa couldn't begin to guess.

"Tell me something... How well do you know those three?"

Tifa's voice fell to a whisper as she answered, "You're... You're talking about their connection to Avalanche, right?"

"Hmph. Well enough, I see. And... ? Do they know where to find you?"

"Yes. They've been to my home several times."

"And doesn't that tell you something? If they haven't been by, there's probably a reason."

"I understand that. I would like to see them, but if that's not possible, I'd settle for knowing whether they're okay. I'd pretty well given up on ever tracking them down, but the other day, I stumbled across a lead that brought me to you. I have to at least try. If I don't, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"Hmm... I suppose I can ask around. How much time you got?"

"I don't have to get back until evening."

"Good. Let's find you a place to sit down."

Marle gestured at a side street and proceeded to explain the way to a local establishment run by an acquaintance. Tifa could wait there for a while until Marle had news.

Tifa smiled to her companion in the grass. "And that's how I got to know a little place called Seventh Heaven."

From Marle's description of the bar, Tifa had imagined a tiny hole- in-the-wall located in one of the sector's tortuous alleyways. Seventh Heaven turned out to be considerably larger.

The building was centered atop a raised foundation. A wide terrace wrapped around the exterior, furnished with several tables and chairs. By Tifa's measure, the patio alone was large enough to accommodate four Sector 8 Steamed Buns food carts. The floor space of the bar itself could probably fit eight.

She imagined the possibility: Twelve steamed bun carts, each selling a thousand buns, for a total of thirty-six thousand gil per day.

A wry smile touched her lips. With money like that, she could pay off her debt in a matter of days or weeks.

She shook her head vigorously and returned her attention to Seventh Heaven's interior. Devoid of the imagined food carts, it felt quiet and empty.

In front of her, on the table, was the tall glass of iced tea she'd ordered. The liquid had an unappealing cloudy-white appearance. The glass itself was scratched up beyond belief.

As far as she could tell, the entire establishment was run by a staff of one: the elderly man standing behind the bar counter. Both his hair and mustache were white, and he was clad in an impeccable gray suit, complete with necktie. He looked every part the gentleman, and yet his complexion was pale and sickly, like the color of the dirt in the clearing outside.

His voice was soft as a whisper. Every movement he made was so slow, it was almost painful to behold.

It seemed obvious to Tifa why the place was nearly deserted. If any other customers arrived, the man wouldn't be able to keep up. All in all, the experience offered by Seventh Heaven seemed an incredible waste of such a lavish space.

She'd been sitting for some time when Marle arrived. The woman pulled open Seventh Heaven's heavy double doors, spotted Tifa, and made a beeline for her table.

"Sorry to keep you," she said.

Marle didn't glance in the bartender's direction or even pretend to look at the menu as she sat down. She cut right to the chase.

"I've arranged to have word spread that you're looking. It may take some time, but I guarantee the individuals in question will hear about it. What I can't promise is that they'll respond. It's not like I can twist their arms."

"I understand. Thank you."

It wasn't the breakthrough Tifa had hoped for, but it was a step forward, nonetheless.

In a low voice, Marle continued. "From what I'm told, the timing's not great. Avalanche's leadership is in chaos. Shinra's sensed it, which is why they're going all out with the raids.

"As it is, the different cells have no way to coordinate. They can hardly meet up without worrying about troopers kicking the door down. So they go on doing their own thing, operating as a bunch of splinter groups while Shinra tries to stamp 'em out, one by one."

"I see..." murmured Tifa.

She recalled the night Jessie showed up with blood streaming from her forehead. Had her friend been on the run ever since, desperately trying to stay one step ahead of Shinra's troopers?

"Oh!" exclaimed Marle. "I suppose it's obvious, but my guarantee does come with one caveat. Your friends won't be getting your message if they're already dead."

Marle kindly offered to walk Tifa back to the station. On the way, she talked about Seventh Heaven and its obvious lack of clientele. The man at the counter, she explained, was the bar's owner and manager. Folks in the neighborhood called him "Old Monty." For years, he'd hawked cocktails from a roadside stand not too unlike Pops's steamed buns cart, until he finally realized his dream of building a real shop.

From the day it opened, Seventh Heaven was a hit. Lately, however, Monty had begun shortening the hours, eventually scrapping evenings altogether.

"He had a real cutie of a bartender working for him," explained Marle. "But the girl up and quit. Started dating a Shinra employee and moved topside. Old Monty put out notices for a while, trying to find a replacement, but good bartenders are hard to come by.

"Worse yet, Monty started having health troubles. He's a lot younger than he looks, you know. Same age as me, in fact."

Marle sighed.

"So there's no one left who can mix drinks?" asked Tifa.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't say that. Monty's about the finest bartender there is. It's just that his joints can't keep up with the work anymore. He's too stubborn to admit it, but if something doesn't change, he's going to lose the place. He's still payin' off the builder for the construction costs."

"That's a shame. It has such a lovely atmosphere."

"Doesn't it, though?"

They were nearing the station. Marle abruptly stopped and grabbed Tifa by the arm, her voice low and furtive.

"Tell me something... Do you like making money?"

"I don't know if I've ever thought of it in terms of like or dislike... I earn because I have to."

Marle gave a satisfied nod. "Good answer. Now tell me, when's the next time you're off work? Think you can stop by Sector 7 again?"

"Wednesday is always my day off, but... what do you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking Seventh Heaven could use our help. How about you start swinging by on Wednesdays? Every Wednesday."

"Huh?"

"Don't tell me I haven't sparked your interest. I'll sort everything out with Monty. All you have to do is show up."

A job at Seventh Heaven. The prospect certainly did spark her interest. In fact, for the first time in a very long while, Tifa found herself excited.

Marle shrugged. "Of course, I understand that it's your day off. If you'd rather spend it in peace and quiet, don't let me stop you. But you should know..."

Her voice grew even more hushed.

"... the previous bartender was taking home sixty percent of the night's sales. That was her deal with Monty."

Tifa smiled. "It's all right. You've already convinced me. I'll be there."

Yet even as she said it, there was a nagging feeling that perhaps she'd agreed to the proposition a little too eagerly.

Tifa's enthusiasm about Seventh Heaven quickly bled over into her existing job. All week, her steamed bun sales were stronger than ever, and Pops was in the best mood she'd ever seen.

However, Marle's opportunity did require some adjustments. With Wednesdays booked from morning to night, Tifa needed to find other windows during the week to keep up with the usual activities of her day off. Most important was her training; rather than a stripped-down set of exercises each evening coupled with a complete review of Zangan's teachings every Wednesday, she'd need to split the forms back into sections, covering one book per night.

That particular change wasn't entirely unwelcome. She'd begun the Wednesday tradition because of an excess of time. In a way, it was nice not to have empty hours, if only because she didn't have to come up with ways to fill them.

When the promised Wednesday arrived, Tifa departed first thing in the morning. She rendezvoused with Marle at Stargazer Heights, and the two headed to Seventh Heaven side by side, the morning air still crisp.

Monty was happy to see them─overwhelmingly so, in fact. The workday hadn't begun and he was already showering Tifa with praise, saying what a difference she was going to make. Marle seemed to have sold him on her two-plus years of experience at the steamed bun cart.

At any rate, he proceeded to fill Tifa in regarding the establishment.

Seventh Heaven opened at eleven. Lunchtime ran from eleven to two, with a rotating special for each day of the week. As far as meals went, the daily special was the only thing Seventh Heaven offered. Monty would continue to take care of the cooking.

From two to five was teatime. They served coffee and tea, hot or cold, along with two varieties of juice. There was also an assortment of cookies and slices of cake. The coffee and tea were prepared in-house. The juice and snacks were purchased in bulk.

From five to midnight, Seventh Heaven was a bar, serving alcohol and finger foods. With Marle and Tifa helping out, today was to be the grand reintroduction of evening hours. However, due the departure of the previous bartender, the drink menu had been significantly pared down. They'd no longer be serving the cocktails they'd come to be known for.

"It's these creaky elbows of mine," explained Monty. "Thanks to them, I can't shake worth a damn."

Marle shook her head. "I don't know why that stops you. You can still stir, can't you? Plenty of cocktails are stirred."

Monty gave her a hard look. "A bartender who can't shake has no business serving cocktails. That's my philosophy, and I'm gonna stick to it."

Marle sighed. "Smart. Tank your whole business just to prove a point."

"Um..." Tifa raised a hand tentatively as she interjected. "Sorry, but... drinks can be shaken?"

Monty and Marle stared at her in stunned silence.

In the end, the plan was to have Tifa waitress from opening until eight at night. She'd be taking orders and delivering drinks and food for customers seated at the tables both inside and out on the patio.

"Keep a washcloth with you," advised Marle. "Thanks to the sector's dirt roads, there's always a new layer of dust settling on the patio tables. Be sure to wipe 'em down often."

When she headed out to do so, the first thing she noticed was the staring. She felt the eyes of every passerby on the street─or square, really, given how much it widened adjacent to Seventh Heaven. In fact, it wasn't just curious passersby. Even the residents were eyeballing Tifa from their shop fronts and the windows of their homes.

"Something the matter?" Marle asked when she walked back inside. "If your jaw gets any tighter, you're going to chip a tooth."

"Just nerves, I guess... Is it me, or am I suddenly the center of attention?"

"Ha! What'd you expect? That's what you're here for!"

It finally clicked.

She was serving the same purpose for Seventh Heaven that she did for Pops: drawing in the crowds.

She'd more or less grown used to the idea of being on display. Still, she didn't want it to be the only role she filled. Where was the fun in that?

If she was going to stick with this job, she wanted to have Marle's and Monty's respect. She wanted to impress.

During a noontime lull, she approached Monty behind the counter and, mustering up all her courage, blurted, "I'm really sorry to say this, especially on my first day, but... The lunch plate? It doesn't look appetizing at all."

"No need to apologize. Believe me, I know. And it's past time to do something about it."

"I'm sure we can come up with something. I bet Marle would be happy to help too!"

"I'm starting to worry I owe Marle one too many favors as it is. But you're right. Next week, let's all have a sit-down and brainstorm ideas."

As the day wore on, the number of customers steadily grew. By late afternoon, the tables were so full, the deserted bar of last week seemed like something out of a dream. And that was only the beginning; after five was when things really picked up.

At Marle's urging, Monty announced that cocktails were, in fact, back on the menu. He stirred away as Tifa busily flit among the groups of happy drunks, dropping off drinks and picking up empty glasses.

At eight, Monty pulled Tifa aside as promised, handing her the day's pay. It took Tifa a moment to process the stack of bills in her palm. Monty had carefully counted them out: one thousand gil in total.

"This is too much!" she protested.

"Fifty percent of the day's earnings. Not one gil less." Monty smiled and added, "You know, if you stuck around till closing, you'd take home almost double that amount. Nights are where the real money's at."

It took a vigorous shake of her head to ward the temptation off. "I'm really sorry, but I do have to get going. I've got my other job to think about too."

"Understandable. I'll be looking forward to seeing you next week."

She nodded and thanked Monty again. But when she made to leave the bar, Marle's voice shot up above the clamor.

"Bad news, fellas! Tifa's headed home!"

The tenor of the room changed instantly; patrons hollered protest and gripped the sides of their heads as they cried out in dismay. Marle glanced at Tifa, a mischievous grin on her face.

Tifa drew a deep breath and announced, "I'll be back next week! I'm looking forward to a long career here at Seventh Heaven!"

She bowed her head deeply, turned, and stepped out the doors, almost floating on her new high. Seventh Heaven indeed. The joy of setting new records for steamed buns sold wasn't even close to the elation of a day working here. And on top of that, there was the money! A thousand gil on her first day, with the potential for double!

Ripples of laughter passed through Red XIII's copper coat.

"You're making fun of me again!" pouted Tifa. "You're not even trying to hide it anymore!"

"I assure you, that is not the case," he countered, but his voice continued to betray him.

"Look, I'll admit I was really focused on the numbers. But what else was I supposed to think? Money was the key to my freedom. All I knew was that my life was on hold until I paid off Manson's stupid debt!"

"I'm told that money tends to have a profound effect on the human mind."

"Definitely so. But setting the figures aside, the point is that I was growing into bigger and better things."

The following Wednesday, Tifa woke at dawn as always, eager for the day ahead. She was returning from her morning shower, toweling her hair as she walked, when she noticed Rakesh leaning against her container.

"Morning!" he called. "Heading out?"

"Yeah..."

"Gonna be away all day?"

"I'm, um... meeting a friend."

"Hey, that's great. Glad to hear you're being social again."

Tifa fumbled for a response, trying to appear calm. Inside, she was indignant. What did it matter what her plans were? Why was she obliged to inform Rakesh?

Rakesh must have noticed the tightness in her jaw. He held his hands up and said, "Hey, don't mean to intrude. It's your day off. Your time is your own."

"Do you need something?"

"Manson's just worried. That's all. A little bird brought word from Sector 7, and he's starting to get the impression that you might have a second job."

"Well, I don't."

The words came out a little too forcefully. Lying had never been her forte.

"If it's an honest misunderstanding, then no harm done. Still, he asked me to pass along a message, just in case."

"Well? I'm listening."

"‘Don't forget. You belong to me.'" The words seemed to pain Rakesh. "That's Manson speaking. Not me. But I've got instructions to keep an eye on you, and I have to be able to say I'm doing my job."

"Great. Anything else?"

She stared him down. When he didn't respond, she yanked the padlock from the latch and slammed the door once safely inside.

In recent months, Rakesh Oranye had begun to feel like a scourge on her life. Frankly, so did this mysterious Manson character. Nonetheless, she was determined to repay her debts, no matter how distasteful the creditor. It was an issue of stubborn pride.

It helped that selling steamed buns had never felt particularly objectionable, and that she and Pops made a good team.

Still, the allure of Seventh Heaven was too great to ignore. Regular shifts there could cut months from her timeline to freedom.

Little did she know, the bar's intervening week had been a bumpy one. The moment she stepped in the doors, Marle rushed forward and clasped Tifa's hands.

"It's Monty," she exclaimed. "One moment he was fine, and the next, he'd collapsed on the floor. The doctor's saying it's his heart."

"Oh no!"

Tifa's own chest constricted at the news.

"They've got him at home, and he's hanging in there, but... Oh, Tifa... He's devastated. All week, he'd been talking about how the three of us were going to turn this place around."

"I'm so sorry..."

Tifa recalled their promise to discuss the lunch menu. When she brought the issue up, his eyes had begun to shine. It was an expression Tifa knew well; her calisthenics students had worn it whenever they boasted of their grandchildren's latest exploits.

For Monty, the grandchild in question must have been the bar itself. Or maybe...

"I've been holding down the fort," said Marle, interrupting Tifa's contemplations. "But coffee, tea, and the baked goodies are about all I can handle on my own. That's what I'm planning to tell the customers again today. No lunch plate, and we're only open from eleven to five."

"Only till five? Isn't that a little early?"

"Any later, and we start drawing the night crowd. I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna deal with a bunch of drunks. Not when Monty isn't here to back us up. No reason to put you through that either. Not without some more experience."

In the space of a few minutes, Tifa's bright new future had shattered to pieces. Everything about the day had been a mess, right from the moment she'd encountered Rakesh.

Still, she helped Marle prep, setting out the signboard to indicate they were open for business.

It hadn't been long when Marle announced, "Here they are."

Tifa looked at her questioningly, and Marle gestured toward the windows. "Our new regulars. Every day for almost a week. They sit outside, order a coffee and a glass of juice, and drink about one thimbleful every hour."

Tifa peeked through the panes. A large, burly man was sitting at one of the patio tables, the small wooden stool straining under his immense weight. With him was a little girl who was struggling with all her might to pull herself onto the opposite seat. She slipped and was about to fall backward, but the man─her father, judging by the delicate ease of the interaction─leaned forward to scoop her up and set her safely on the stool.

"At least one of them's not so bad." Marle grinned. "Daddy-daughter date. Barret and Marlene Wallace. Isn't she adorable? Itty-bitty thing's only two years old."

"You asked their names?"

"A nosy old gal like me? How could I not? But here's the juicy part: apparently, the two of them are roughin' it. No home, no inn, no nothin'. Anyway, get on out there and take their order, would ya?"

The order, as Marle had predicted, was one cup of coffee and one glass of juice. Tifa returned to the counter and prepared the drinks. She carried them out, and as she set the glass down, Marlene offered a bright "Thank you!" along with an adorable little bow.

She next set down the cup of coffee. The father─Barret─slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose just enough to glare over the rims. Tifa hightailed it back inside.

The next hour of business crawled by.

"We're hardly getting anybody today," remarked Tifa.

They'd had a grand total of two other two-tops. Both had ordered coffee, quaffed it, and scurried out as soon as the mugs were empty. Now it was the raucousness of her first day on the job that felt like something out of a dream.

"Far as I've seen, we've had at least five other would-be patrons that made it to the top of the stairs and turned right around. Half the sector knows you're working today, but nobody can work up the courage to come in."

The rest of the afternoon dragged on in much the same manner, until, eventually, their proposed five o'clock closing time was only an hour away.

"Hey, Marle?" began Tifa. "I've gotta be honest. This whole situation really irritates me."

"Barret? Tell me about it. He sits there all day glaring at everyone who walks by. It's pretty obvious that's why we aren't getting any customers."

"Well, that too... But what I mean is Marlene. I feel bad for the girl. When I took their order, I could see that her clothes are filthy."

"It's a shame. I'll give you that."

"I wonder if there isn't something we can do to help."

Marle sighed. "Listen... I've been sticking my nose into people's business so long, I'm a regular pro. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the slums've got more cheats and sweet talkers than you can shake a stick at. The second they figure you for a sucker, they'll bleed you dry.

"So by all means, be sympathetic and lend an ear. But for anything beyond that, you need to keep your boundaries firm."

"How do you mean?"

"Take the girl an extra drink. Tell them it's on the house." Marle set out another glass on the counter. "For me, that's as far as it goes. I know what trouble smells like, and those two stink to high heaven."

Tifa poured the juice, but the memory of the girl's disheveled appearance continued to gnaw at her.

She slid a straw into the glass and headed for the terrace.

When she was just shy of the doors, Marle called from the counter, "Oh, and don't forget to tell them we close at five!"

Outside, Tifa found two of the patio stools pushed together to form a crude bed. On it slept Marlene, curled up like a kitten. It was adorable and heart-wrenching at the same time. The girl was so tiny. So vulnerable.

Meanwhile, her muscled father leaned forward on his stool, elbows on the table for a better view of the street. As usual, he was glaring at everyone who passed by.

Only then did Tifa notice Barret's hands. Or rather, his hand. Singular. The man's right arm ended somewhere just above the wrist, covered by a dirty scrap of cloth and a cord wrapped several times around his bulging forearm.

Fear gripped Tifa as she imagined the tale behind the missing appendage. Had he lost it in an accident? A war? Visions of violence invaded her mind.

She was locked in that moment of panic when Barret turned his attention away from the street. He lifted his hand─his left hand─to slide the sunglasses down his nose and stare at Tifa again.

His eyes were large, with surprisingly long lashes. They possessed a gentleness, in stark contrast with the aura of intimidation radiating from the rest of his person.

Battling her nerves, Tifa was careful to meet his gaze directly as she spoke.

"This is for Marlene. It's on the house."

She set the glass down carefully so as not to wake the sleeping girl.

"And," she added, "we're very sorry, but Seventh Heaven will be closing at five today. We appreciate your understanding."

He seemed surprised and, frankly, distraught.

"Five?! You gotta be shittin' me!"

To which Tifa nervously replied, "No, unfortunately, I'm not. We're having some staffing issues and are unable to serve any alcohol for the time being, so we're closing up early."

"Five o'clock..." he repeated, this time soft and wistful. "You gotta be shittin' me..."

"I promise you, I most certainly am not."

"All right. I gotcha."

Relief washed over Tifa when he didn't press the issue.

Still, she hadn't cared for the man's flippant, almost-churlish manner of speech. She wanted to say something about it but forced herself to turn and walk away from the table.

When she reached for the door handle, her eyes landed on the leather cord wrapped about her wrist, and for a brief moment, she was back in Nibelheim, days before her fifteenth birthday. Zangan was rummaging through the contents of his knapsack, finally turning back to face her with the mysterious gift in hand.

By turning away from Barret, had she demonstrated control, or was she simply grasping for an excuse not to offer assistance? Rage wasn't the only face of her inner foe. Rage threatened to rob her of reason, but cowardice was equally insidious. Cowardice whispered that sometimes it was more sensible not to act. Better to disengage and avoid the hassle. Tifa could recall many times throughout childhood when she'd allowed herself to be led by others rather than standing up for what she felt was right.

"I'm better than this," she muttered to herself.

She removed her hand from the door and twirled to face Barret once again.

The man looked up at her and grumbled, "Thought you said we have another hour. It's only four."

"If you don't mind me asking... When that hour's up, where will you go next? Where will you take Marlene?"

Barret sat in silence.

"Where do you two sleep?"

"Here and there."

"I see... And... what about clothes? Doesn't she have any other outfits? I noticed neither of you are wearing socks. Is that because you don't have any? And what about her shoes? The soles are worn through!"

"Pretty standard, if you ask me. We are livin' in the slums."

"No. If you ask me, it's pretty bad. Even for the slums."

"It ain't gonna kill us, all right?"

Tifa slammed her palm against the table. Barret jumped in his seat.

"That's the bar you set for yourself? If you're not dying, you're doing fine? Doesn't your daughter deserve better?! She needs a bath! She needs her hair washed! She needs clothes! They don't have to be new, but they should at least be clean!"

"Daddy... ?"

Tifa looked over to find she'd woken the girl.

"Daddy, is the lady angry?"

"No, honey... We're just, uh..."

Marlene stared up at Tifa. Tears welled in the little girl's eyes.

"Don't yell at Daddy!" she sobbed.

Tifa tried to soothe the girl with a smile.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I woke you up, didn't I?"

Marlene just shook her head violently.

"Daddy didn't do anything wrong!"

"I know. You're right. I promise not to yell at him."

"Good."

The little girl bobbed her head in satisfaction. The motion shook flakes of dandruff loose from her tangled locks and sent a slight odor wafting through the air: further evidence of how long she'd been without a bath.

For Tifa, that was the tipping point. Her eyes turned back to Barret, this time filled with fury.

"After we close up shop, you two are coming with me to the Sector 8 slums."

"Excuse me?" snapped Barret.

Marlene regarded Tifa with obvious terror.

Hoping to spare the child additional unease, Tifa leaned close to Barret's ear and whispered, "You know why business always seems so slow around here? It's because our would-be customers are too terrified to come near the place when they see you sitting out front!"

She snatched Barret's empty coffee cup to take back inside. The big man flinched.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause no trouble."

At which Marlene again began to howl, "No yelling! You promised!"

Tifa looked from the girl's face to her father's again. She could hardly fathom the life they must have led to end up as they were.

When she returned to the counter and recounted the interaction, Marle was unimpressed.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I know. I heard you loud and clear."

"Another busybody. Just what we need around here." Marle sighed. "Hold down the fort, will you? I'll be back before closing."

Seventh Heaven was as quiet as ever during Marle's absence. Just before five, the woman returned, storming up the steps to the patio. She stopped in front of Barret, hands on her hips, launching into a long tirade that Tifa couldn't quite make out. The burly man quickly pulled the sunglasses from his face, terrified and nodding obediently at every word.

Eventually, Marle stomped inside, Barret and Marlene trailing after.

"... the basement," she was saying. "I just got back from Monty's, and he gave the okay. He keeps it furnished for his personal use. It's got a bed and plumbing and everything you'll need to get by. So get your tushes down there and into the shower."

"Hold up. Just who the hell's this Monty guy you keep mentioning?"

"Remember the gentleman tending the counter last week? White hair? White mustache?"

"Yeah, I remember the old fart."

"Charming. Well, that old fart, as you so eloquently describe him, happens to be the owner."

Barret's head sank between his shoulders, and Tifa nearly burst out laughing. Every movement the man made was exaggerated. She decided that his speech and manners could use some work, but he didn't seem to be a bad person.

Marle was still berating Barret. "Frankly, Monty's been fretting about that poor girl's welfare since the day you first showed up."

"Guess I probably oughta go see him and say thanks for lendin' us the room... "

Marle walked to one side of the bar, making her way along the half wall that separated the kitchen from the floor. After carefully checking her footing, she took a tiny hop, shoes reconnecting with a deep, hollow thud. Then, to Tifa's amazement, a small, square portion of the floor began to sink downward. It was an elevator!

Marlene squealed with delight and ran to join Marle on the slowly sinking panel. Barret scrambled after her with a shout, scooping the little girl up into his arms before she could reach the edge.

Marle slid out of sight, and an eventual clunk from the machinery indicated that the elevator had come to a rest.

"Come on down and see!" she called from below. "All three of you!"

The square panel slowly rose back up, and Barret glanced at Tifa. Tifa shrugged and stepped aboard. Barret followed, Marlene still in his arms.

"This time Daddy jumps!" exclaimed Marlene.

"You got it, angel."

The large, muscled man hopped in place, landing with enough force to make the panel shudder.

The square again began its descent. For a brief moment, a cross section of Seventh Heaven's wooden floor filled their sight, and then the bar was gone, replaced by a clean, well-kept studio apartment. In one corner rested a well-made bed. Other furnishings included an expensive-looking couch, a small table with two chairs, and a television. It was a perfect little living space for two.

Marle stood in the center with her arms folded.

"Monty had always dreamed of building a secret hideout," she explained. "Guess you could say he never really grew up. All I see is a massive waste of money. Especially that ridiculous elevator. And he says he still isn't done with the place. Wants to add a pinball machine... Anyway, it's yours to use as you like."

"Now that I've seen the place, I definitely have to pay my respects. Where can I find the guy?"

"I think he'll manage just fine without your respects. If you really feel the need to say something, save it until tomorrow. Now, I'm serious. Get yourselves into the shower before I pass out." Marle made a show of pinching her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, and here," she added, holding out a small bundle of clothing with her other hand. "I brought a change for Marlene. A dress and everything else she needs. I'm guessing she's no longer in diapers."

"I'm a big girl!" Marlene replied with obvious pride.

Once more, Tifa was filled with the urge to scoop the girl up in a big hug. It was a new and somewhat bewildering feeling. Perhaps their brief interactions had awakened some motherly instinct.

Marle looked at Tifa. "I'll get these two sorted. You can run along─

"Oh!" exclaimed the woman, interrupting herself. "I almost forgot. You and I have one other thing to discuss. I'll take you back upstairs."

The two returned to the square panel of the elevator. Marlene called after them as she tugged her arms free of their sleeves.

"You have to jump! Jump to make it go!"

Marle grinned, her eyes turning to slits. She hopped in place with another little thump, and the elevator began to rise.

On the way up, Tifa pondered Seventh Heaven's mysterious owner. The existence of the room was startling and the design of the elevator eccentric, to say the least. What sort of past was hidden behind the man's dapper, white-framed features?

"I'd also like to see Monty," she announced. "To express my thanks. And to wish him a quick recovery."

Marle shook her head. "Next week. He'll need a few days before he's up for visitors."

"Oh..."

"Don't you fret. Monty's got me looking after him. Heaven knows I'm stuck with the old coot."

Obviously eager to change the subject, Marle next asked, "What's your take on Barret? Now that we've heard more than two words out of the guy, I'm thinking he'd make a pretty good bouncer. Not to mention all the heavy boxes he could lift for us."

A snort escaped Tifa. Not one hour ago, Marle was lambasting her over the decision to take Barret and Marlene to Container Row. Now that the two vagrants were officially in Seventh Heaven's care, the woman was acting as if she'd meant to help them all along. Her infinite kindness was showing through.

"I'm the best busybody this side of the plate," sniffed Marle. "I'm not about to be shown up by a little rustic like you."

When they reached the patio, Marle took a quick glance around to make sure no one else was in earshot.

"Got a reply from Jessie," she whispered.

Tifa's eyes widened.

"She says, ‘The week after next, on your day off. Wait to hear from me regarding time and place. Excited to see you.'"

Her breath caught in her throat.

She was actually going to see Jessie again!

"How's that for a surprise?" Marle winked.

"Thank you! I don't know how I can ever repay you..."

"Enough of that. Just tell me we'll keep seeing you at Seventh Heaven. Same time next week?"

"Of course!"

She parted with Marle at the doors, glancing back once as she made her way down the street. A few would-be customers milled about Seventh Heaven's steps, obviously disappointed to find the bar closed. She wondered if they were there to see her and felt a twinge of regret at not being able to welcome them with a smile.

If only she knew how to make cocktails. They wouldn't have to wait until Monty was ready to come back; they could resume evening hours immediately.

Or perhaps it was better to focus on the lunch menu first? Soon her mind was racing, filled with ideas for how to save Seventh Heaven and dreams of what the establishment could someday be.

She was halfway down the alley leading to Container Row when she noticed Rakesh. He was leaning against one wall, near the spot where the Watchman used to place his stool.

"Welcome back," he said.

"Thanks," she replied hesitantly.

"Whatcha been up t─" Rakesh cut himself off with a shake of his head. "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry. It just slips out."

"What're you doing in the alley?"

"Manson's got me in charge of monitoring who comes and goes. Just till we find a new watch."

"Oh. Must be tough."

"Eh." Rakesh shrugged. "It's one more responsibility to balance, but whatcha gonna do?"

"Right. Well... good night."

Tifa was anxious to exit the situation before Rakesh launched into another tirade about how Manson called the shots and there was no getting away. She hurried to her apartment, yanked off the padlock, and shut herself inside.

When she tugged the cord for the light, she was greeted by familiar squalor. Whatever glimmer of new hope the day at Seventh Heaven had fostered, or belief in how much better things could be, the dingy apartment was here to laugh them away.

She knelt by the bed, dragging out the bin and yanking the purse free from a tangle of clothing.

She held it to her chest in silence there on the floor. She didn't need to open it. She didn't need to count the money inside. She knew exactly how much it contained. Every bill and every coin represented a sacrifice. She'd chosen a quiet existence, free from indulgence, and the effort was poised to pay off, speeding repayment of her debt by a full year.

Two years left to freedom. Two years until she was no longer bound by Manson's rules. The comforting weight of the purse in her arms brought strength surging back to her body. Tifa stood and began retracing Zangan's forms.

She hadn't seen her master for years. What was he doing? Where could he be? The forms, she knew, were slowly slipping─becoming more hers than his─and she didn't know what to make of it. She wished Zangan would knock at her door as he had in Nibelheim, unexpected and unannounced, eager to observe her progress and offer critiques.

In all that time, had Zangan never passed through Midgar? Wouldn't he attempt to seek her out? Surely he could inquire at the clinic. Dhamini and Rakesh would tell him where to find her. Rakesh had only to lead him down the main street, point out the alley to Container Row, and...

Tifa froze mid-form.

How had she not seen it? When Marle had checked out of the clinic, she left an address. Maybe hers wasn't the only one Rakesh had conveniently failed to relay.

She rushed out of her container and back up the alley.

"Rakesh!" she yelled.

He was still leaning against the wall.

"Whoa, there. Something wrong?"

"When Marle went home from the clinic, she left a message for me. But you didn't tell me about it, did you?"

"Marle... ?"

He was feigning ignorance. She could tell right away.

After a moment, his face lit up─a forced expression, if she'd ever seen one─and he said, "Oh! The older woman who had the skin graft. Yeah, I remember her. Man, that was what... two years ago? No message, though. I would've remembered that. She was pretty old, and you know how elderly people are... Months down the line, they claim to have said something when they really didn't, and then it becomes this whole big argument."

Now he was rambling. Nervous.

"Has Master Zangan been by to see you?" she pressed.

"Zangan? Um... Nope. Not for a long time."

"How long? When was the last time he visited?"

"Uh... I'm not sure. Lemme think..."

He was stalling, trying to whip up a story, and it wouldn't have been more obvious if he'd said as much out loud. How had she never recognized what a terrible liar he was? Anger bubbled up from the pit of her stomach: anger at herself for not knowing better. Right hand flew to left wrist, clamping down on the leather cord like an iron vise. Lately, she'd noticed the cord was black and full of tiny cracks.

Rakesh cleared his throat, finally answering with, "I honestly couldn't say exactly. But trust me, it's been ages."

Tifa's voice grew cold. "If you see him, tell him where I am. Tell him about Container Row and about the food cart. Ask him to come find me. And make sure your mother knows to tell him too."

"Yeah. Sure. Of course."

An overly sweet smile spread across Rakesh's lips. He seemed relieved, as if he'd dodged a bullet─or a fist.

Another Wednesday rolled around. Tifa had been excited to see Marlene all cleaned up and wearing her new outfit, but the news at Seventh Heaven was even bleaker than before.

Monty had passed away.

As Marle told it, his condition had taken a sudden turn for the worse on Sunday. When she checked in on him early Monday morning, he'd gone cold, and his chest was still.

Barret found some small consolation in the fact that he and Marlene had paid the man a visit on Sunday, just long enough to express their thanks for the use of Seventh Heaven's basement.

Marle reached for Tifa's hand and gripped it tight. "I'm sorry. I should have let you see him last week when you asked. I feel awful..."

Tifa didn't know what to say.

The old woman forced a smile. "Nothing to do now but keep our promise to the old coot... Let's make sure Seventh Heaven shines while it lasts."

Marle turned to get things ready for opening, and to Tifa's astonishment, so did Barret and Marlene. In the intervening week, they appeared to have divvied up the establishment's responsibilities. Barret mopped the floor with a determined grimace. Little Marlene scurried to the back and returned with a washcloth, proceeding to run from table to table wiping down each of the stools eagerly, if not necessarily thoroughly.

The girl was wearing an adorable little dress with an oversized bow at the back, a vast improvement over her tattered former attire. Her hair was thoroughly brushed and shining.

"We'll go until five again today," explained Marle. "Oh, and be prepared to stick around for a bit after closing. We've got some important things to discuss, courtesy of Monty."

All in all, business wasn't too bad. Marle joked that things had improved as soon as Barret adopted his new routine; since taking up residence in the basement, he'd begun heading out on long walks through the slums, leaving Marlene in Marle's care during business hours and returning in time to help with the close each evening.

The little girl, for her part, appeared to enjoy the arrangement. She sat behind the counter in a tiny chair, just high enough to peer out over the bar and vocally take charge of all the goings-on of Seventh Heaven.

"According to Barret, they arrived in Midgar about a year ago," Marle mentioned during a lull. "Marlene was just a babe."

She lowered her voice so the little girl wouldn't hear, and continued. "They'd been wandering from town to town. Along the way, Barret took an interest in planetology, and he kept up with it here in the slums. The believers hold quiet gatherings and film screenings, you see.

"Anyway, he says he met some woman at one of the screenings and wanted to find her again, and that's how he ended up here. His plan was to sit on the patio every day and watch the road, hoping she might pass by.

"But here's the kicker," said Marle, leaning in closer. "The woman he's searching for? None other than Jessie Rasberry."

Tifa nodded in silence.

"Where we go from here is up to you. Help put him in touch or no, I'll respect your decision. Of course, I'll have plenty to say about it either way."

A customer signaled from his table; Marle went to tend to his order. For no particular reason, Tifa glanced at the counter, and her eyes happened to meet Marlene's. She smiled at the little girl and then impulsively puffed up her cheeks, widened her eyes, and spun her pupils in a wide circle. It was a face Tifa's mother used to pull to get her daughter to laugh. Not once in her life had Tifa thought to copy it. In fact, she hadn't recalled her mother's silly faces for years until this particular instant, when this one inexplicably popped into her mind. In any case, it sent little Marlene into a fit of giggles.

They were closing up when Barret returned. His expression was one of obvious disappointment.

Marlene ran to her father, welcoming him with a great big hug. When Barret released his grasp on the girl, Marle called, "Marlene! How about you go downstairs and watch some TV? Stamp will be on soon."

"Really? Can I?"

Marlene looked at her father, who smiled back and said, "Go on. Enjoy your show."

The little girl squealed with delight. She scrambled atop the secret square panel, and─while simultaneously shouting "Jump!" at the top of her lungs─leapt into the air and came crashing down on the wood with an impressive thud. She waved at the other members of Seventh Heaven's ragtag staff as the elevator descended and she sank from view.

Marle placed a palm-sized notebook on the counter.

"We'll start with you, Tifa," she said, gesturing at the well-worn notebook. "This here is Monty's life's work. It contains every cocktail recipe he ever came across or made up himself. He wanted you to have it."

The moment Tifa laid eyes on the notebook, her heart skipped a beat. She was destined to pass through this moment, like a waypoint set by fate for her journey through life. Both in size and color of binding, Monty's notebook was indistinguishable from the booklets detailing the secrets of Zangan's art.

"It must have been very important to him."

"If you can handle the weight, and the responsibility, it's yours."

"I can," responded Tifa.

She picked the notebook up and glanced inside. Monty's immaculate handwriting filled every page, top to bottom, interspersed with numerous hand-drawn illustrations.

"Damn," murmured Barret. "If you memorize what's in there and we open back up in the evenings, this place'd be hopping in no time. I could be your bouncer. Anyone gets outta line, I'll throw him out by the scruff of his neck."

"The three of us carrying on the legacy of Seventh Heaven... It might be fun."

It sounded like a fairy tale, almost too good to be true.

Barret flashed a confident grin. "You bet it would."

Marle didn't share their enthusiasm. When Tifa noticed the woman's downcast eyes, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"If only we could. There's a payment due on the property. Two hundred thousand gil by the end of the month. Monty was still paying off the cost of Seventh Heaven to the builder who constructed the place. The builder had already been more than generous, letting Monty drag out the repayment much longer than they originally agreed. But he's got his own finances to think of, and Monty's passing only made him more anxious."

"Only two hundred grand? Seems like a steal for a place this size."

"That's what we'd pay up front. After that, it's back to the original monthly installments."

"Ah. I getcha."

Barret scratched at his stubble and added, "Wish I could pitch in, but I ain't got ten gil to my name, much less thousands."

"Monty's estate will cover forty thousand of that down payment. It'd be up to us to cover the other hundred and sixty. Otherwise, Seventh Heaven goes up for sale. And trust me, it won't stay on the market long. This is prime real estate."

Barret took the news in stride. He shrugged and said, "Too bad. Marlene's gonna be sad about leavin' this place."

"And then what?" demanded Marle. "Don't tell me you're gonna start sleeping out in the open again."

"Sleeping bags ain't cheap."

"What kind of father are you?!" exclaimed Tifa.

He met their exasperation with a dismissive sniff.

"Spare me the lecture. I want what's best for the girl, same as any dad. I'd dress her up, braid her hair, make sure she's got a hot shower, and give her a big ol' fluffy bed to sleep in─if I could. But when you're broke, you don't really have the option.

"The one thing I can give us is freedom. No beggin'. No borrowin'. The second you let yourself get tied down by someone else's coin, you've lost your agency. Takin' on debt's the kinda behavior that leaves your parents chokin' back tears."

He was speaking hypothetically; he had no reason to think his words would hit so close to home. But Barret's admonishments forced Tifa to see her situation for what it truly was. No ray of hope could change the reality that she was tied down, slogging through an existence others looked upon with pity and disdain.

"My parents are dead," she replied. It was the only piece she could find to refute.

"Aw, shit. Don't tell me you're sinking in debt. How old are you, anyway?"

When Tifa remained quiet, Barret sighed. "I didn't mean to strike a nerve. It's just... Hell, it doesn't mean they're gone. Your parents live on inside the planet, y'know? You, me, we're all connected. As long as we've got the lifestream, we've still got the people that matter to us, whether they're breathing or not."

"Wrong," interjected Marle. "When you're dead, you're dead. Done. Free of your worries, and everyone else is free to stop worrying about you. Be happy that the people who cared about you will carry on your memory, and keep your planetology nonsense to yourself."

"Hmph." Barret scowled, but held his peace.

"Anyway, it sounds to me like we've reached a decision. Sorry to say it, but come the last day of the month, we'll be closing our doors for good," Marle said.

Barret nodded. "Let's go out with a bang."

The conclusion drawn by Marle and Barret, and the speed at which it was reached, left Tifa frustrated. They were talking about the fate of Seventh Heaven. About Monty's legacy. How could they agree to surrender it so flippantly?

A tiny, trembling voice interrupted her thoughts.

"No more home?"

The three adults had been so engrossed in their conversation, they hadn't heard the elevator carry Marlene back to ground level.

"No more Seventh Heaven?"

She was on the verge of tears.

Barret tried to steer her attention elsewhere. "Hey, what happened to your show? What's Stamp up to?"

But Marlene only shook her head.

"No more home?" she repeated. "I don't wanna sleep outside."

"It's all right, baby. We'll get by. Daddy'll find you another home."

"I like this one! I wanna stay here!"

Barret walked toward the panel, bending to pick Marlene up, but the girl slipped past and ran to Tifa, peeking out from behind her legs.

"Here!" she shouted again. "I wanna stay here!"

Her lip continued to tremble, and then she was past the brink, erupting into a long, loud wail.

"I have money," Tifa blurted unexpectedly. "I have the hundred and sixty thousand."

Marle and Barret stared at her wide-eyed.

She didn't know if it was right. She didn't know if it was smart to tell them about the money or to offer to keep Seventh Heaven afloat. But she found herself doing so anyway.

When they'd discussed the details and Tifa announced that she was heading home, Barret offered to walk her to the edge of the sector. She shook her head and told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted. They needed to talk, he said. Leaving Marlene in Marle's care, he followed her out into the night.

"I'll pay you back," the burly man said. "I dunno how or when, but I'll find a way. Even if it means I gotta make the ghosts of my own parents cry."

"It's fine. Really. I'm doing it because I like the place. I want to keep working there. I'm going to learn Monty's recipes and put cocktails back on the menu. By the time I'm done, Seventh Heaven's going to be the most popular bar in the slums. It's just the kind of adventure I've been looking for."

She glanced at Barret and smiled before allowing her eyes to return to the packed dirt of the sector's streets. "I won't lie and say Marlene's crying had nothing to do with it. But all she did was push me along in the direction I was already headed.

"So... if you're really set on paying me back, buy a pinball machine someday. We'll put it in the corner, just like Monty wanted."

"Hmph."

She was glad for Barret's company. Putting the feelings into words helped steel her resolve. For all the times she'd calculated the months and years remaining until she was free from her debt to Manson, everything beyond was a blank. Seventh Heaven had intersected her journey right when she needed it, offering new purpose and new means to get by. Barret had the secret base under the bar, but for Tifa, the bar itself was a sanctuary among the slums.

"I got one other thing to ask," said Barret. "I hear you're a friend of Jessie Rasberry's."

She looked up with a start. "Did Marle tell you?"

"Marlene. She knows that's where I'm goin' everyday─to look for Jessie."

Tifa recalled that Marlene had been behind the counter when Marle told her of Barret's search. The little girl certainly was perceptive.

"Can you put me in touch?" he asked.

"Can I ask why? If it's about planetology, I'm pretty sure there's someone else I can introduce you to. One of the customers at my other job is a big believer."

"For me, planetology's just the front." Barret's voice grew quiet. "I'm lookin' to go deeper. I want an intro to Avalanche.

"I heard the film screenings usually have operatives in attendance. That's why I started goin'. So far, Jessie's the only one I'm sure about, and believe me, I've put out a hell of a lot of feelers. I want in, but Shinra's squeezin' so tight, the whole organization's gone quiet."

"I hear it's only gotten worse because of the news from Corel."

"That's where me 'n' Marlene rolled in from."

A chill ran down Tifa's spine.

"She and I both lost our home and family. Now Shinra's sayin' Avalanche was behind the explosion. But if you ask me, the company's the one that started it all. I came to Midgar to tear their whole damn empire down, starting with that."

He thrust a finger high into the air, pointing at one of the city's distant reactors.

"If somebody doesn't stop those things, we all lose. I didn't think about it till I started listenin' to the planetologists, but that's what mako reactors do. They suck up life. The planet's dyin', Tifa.

"Thing is, Shinra's too much for one man to take on. I need allies. Where one fails, many prevail, y'know?"

Tifa couldn't help but smile. Jessie had used the same expression during her first visit to Container Row.

"So whaddaya say? Me lookin' for Jessie and you knowin' the girl... It's what Marle would call fate, don't you think?"

"Maybe so. Whether Jessie meets with you or not is something she'll have to decide. But I'll let her know you're looking."

"Good enough. Looks like I owe you another one, Tifa."

The next week passed without incident─or so it seemed. Sales at Sector 8 Steamed Buns had been as strong as ever, and Tifa was rolling the cart back toward its railcar on Tuesday night when Pops posed an unusual question.

"You still spendin' time with those Avalanche folk?"

"Huh?"

Tifa didn't remember mentioning anything about spending time with Jessie and her friends to Pops. There was the sudden and unexpected warning he'd issued about the group as a whole─she still remembered the way her hands had trembled as she skimmed froth from the pot of cooking meat. But she felt certain that was the only time their conversation had touched upon Avalanche.

"No," she finally answered. If he really knew, there wasn't much point in denying it. "I don't know where they are these days. I guess you'd say we fell out of touch."

"Good. It's for the best."

He seemed unusually somber.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just somethin' I heard. There's a meeting tomorrow night at ten. Real hush-hush. Representatives from all the different factions of Avalanche are gettin' together. Hard to say what it's about, but if I had to guess, they're probably trying to regroup and take the offensive.

"What they don't know," continued Pops, "is that Shinra's onto them. Word from topside is that the company's preppin' helicopters, special forces units, the works. They're gonna hit Avalanche so hard, it won't be comin' back."

"Oh."

"You're the best business partner I've ever had, and I don't like seein' you upset. So I figured maybe, if you happened to still have any friends who might be at this meeting, you'd wanna warn 'em. That's all."

"I appreciate the concern. But really, there's no need."

"All right, then. See you Thursday."

Pops began to saunter off. A few steps out, he said, "One of these days we'll hit fifteen hundred yet."

A surge of guilt swept through Tifa. She thought of her growing commitment to Seventh Heaven, and her arms fell slack. The cart rolled to a stop.

"I..." It took her a moment to gather the courage to say it. "I'm planning to quit. As soon as my debt to Manson is settled, I'll be going elsewhere."

Pops stopped walking but didn't turn. He responded with a hum, and then, "You gettin' close to payin' it off?"

"No. I'm still a ways off. I just thought I should let you know in advance."

"Fair enough. How 'bout we aim for two thousand before you go? The more you sell, the quicker you get outta here."

Halfway down the alley to Container Row, Rakesh was leaning against the wall, still manning the watch.

"Welcome back," he said.

"Thanks."

She avoided his eyes and walked quickly by.

"Hey, Tifa?" he called after her. "How about swinging by the clinic tomorrow? It's been a while, and Mom would love to catch up."

"Sorry. I've got plans."

Rakesh didn't push. "Oh. No worries. We'll take a rain check."

She was several paces away when she had the impulse to turn around and snap, "You can quit worrying about my intentions, all right? I'll stay here and work for Manson until the money's all paid back."

She twirled away and stormed off, not leaving him a chance to reply.

Every gil she'd saved and stashed away was now going to Seventh Heaven. It meant several more months under Manson's thumb, but that was fine. It was the path she'd chosen, and she was determined to work harder than ever.

It was her other problem that had her worried. How was she supposed to warn Jessie about tomorrow's raid?

Maybe Jessie already knew. Maybe she wasn't planning to attend in the first place. Still, Tifa didn't want to take the chance. There had to be some way to get in touch.

Her hand was on the padlock when the idea struck, so hard it made her gasp. It was a long shot, but surely worth a try.

Tifa hurried to the far end of the Row, where she found the Waterkeeper on duty as always. She calmed her breathing, trying to sound casual.

"Evening."

"Tifa. How's your day been? Gonna grab a shower before bed?"

"Yes, but... I was wondering if I could ask you something." Tifa lowered her voice. "I've heard Avalanche is planning a big meeting tomorrow at ten, but Shinra's laying a trap. I want to get a warning out."

"Why're you tellin' me? Shinra's the one that thinks my boy's runnin' around with the group. I ain't lyin' about it bein' ten years since I last seen him."

"Oh. I see..."

"And anyway, where'd you get yourself a dangerous piece of information like that?"

"It was someone I work with. He calls himself Pops."

Even as she said it, she wasn't sure it was a detail to be sharing. Did the Waterkeeper know who Pops was? Was it safe to be talking to her about Pops's secret?

The woman folded her arms in front of her chest. "Hmph. Yeah, I might know the guy. Still, it don't change the fact that there's nothin' I can do to help."

"Sorry," apologized Tifa. "I figured it might be an awkward topic."

The Waterkeeper pursed her lips tight. It seemed their conversation was over.

Tifa returned to her apartment, racking her brain for other options. Marle had delivered a message once. Perhaps she could do it again. Marle's method didn't seem particularly quick─it had taken days to get through and for the response to come back─but it was still better than nothing.

Was it worth risking an immediate trip to Sector 7? It was late, and the streets could be perilous. Then again, come morning Tifa would be headed in that direction anyway. Why not leave now and spend the night at Seventh Heaven?

She pulled out a bag and was about to begin packing. Almost as if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

"No need to open up," came a small voice that Tifa recognized as the Waterkeeper's. "I just came to say that our little chat jogged my memory. My boy once told me about a way to reach him, so I tried it and got through. He seemed real happy about your message. Said he'd share the news with all his friends."

"That's good to hear," replied Tifa. "Thank you for telling me."

"One other thing... Seems there was a message for you too. ‘Tomorrow, Wednesday, nine p.m. at the birthday theater.' That's all he said."

"Huh?"

Her confusion received no reply; the Waterkeeper was already gone.

Birthday theater...

Tifa puzzled over the words. Tomorrow was the day she was supposed to meet Jessie, and─

Of course! The planetology screening! The first one she'd attended, on the night of her seventeenth birthday. Jessie had said she'd be in touch; the message had to be from her, asking to meet at the abandoned home used for the screening.

When Tifa went to shower early the next morning, the Waterkeeper was no more cordial than usual. It was as if the previous day's conversations had never occurred, and perhaps that was the point: as far as anyone else was concerned, they hadn't.

Tifa had dozens of questions. Most of all, she longed to know the specifics of this mysterious method of communication the woman had alluded to. How had she been able to get in touch with her son so quickly? And how had the message meant for Tifa been relayed in the process? Was the Waterkeeper able to contact Jessie too? Everything Tifa had heard about cell phones in the slums suggested that signal strength was just as bad or worse than Nibelheim. But if it wasn't a phone, what else could it be?

As she left the Row that morning, she briefly stopped at the mouth of the alley, turning to observe the jumble of shipping containers. She found herself imagining the occupants of the other units─something she used to actively avoid doing, on Rakesh's advice.

What if all this time, Jessie had been lying low here, ensconced in one of the other anonymous containers, right under Tifa's nose? The idea struck her as comical, and yet somehow within the realm of possibility.

When she arrived at Seventh Heaven, the place was alive with activity despite not yet being open for business. Marlene was running from chair to chair, furiously wiping each one down with her damp washcloth.

"Marlene might be even better at drawin' the crowds than you," announced Barret. The giant of a man was beaming from ear to ear. "The last three or four days, business has been boomin'. So much so, I'm thinkin' we could make it on mornings and afternoons alone."

Marle rolled her eyes. "Don't kid yourself. We've still got a long way to go."

She turned to Tifa and said, "Listen, about the builder. Does next Wednesday at seven p.m. work? I'll have him swing by the bar to pick up the payment in person."

"I'll have it ready."

"That's a lotta cash to carry around," observed Marle. "You got it in large bills?"

"Oh, um..."

Tifa hadn't considered the logistics.

"Most of it is in bills. But there are a lot of coins too."

"I can give ya a hand," said Barret. "We'll close up shop for the day, and I'll meet you at your place in the morning."

"How long are you expecting this trip of yours to take?!" griped Marle. "Marlene and I are perfectly capable of holding down the fort while you two fetch the cash."

Barret responded with a cheerful, "You got it."

"Good. Now that that's settled, let's get this place open. We've got a reputation to uphold."

Within minutes, Tifa could see that Barret was right. Business was booming, and just as he'd boasted, Marlene was the center of it all. The most surprising development was the number of families. The little girl's presence seemed to have solidified Seventh Heaven's reputation as kid-friendly.

That evening, as the last few customers filed out, Marle sidled up to Tifa.

"Tonight's the night, yeah? Your long-awaited reunion."

"I hope so."

"Just remember one thing. She's Avalanche. No matter how good a person she may be, that doesn't guarantee anything about her associates. These freedom fighter types tend to have all the best intentions and all the worst ways of seeing them through. No act's too scummy if it's carried out under the banner of justice, or so they'd have you believe."

"I'll be careful."

"Then off you go. Skedaddle before I decide to lecture you some more."

"Sorry to make you worry."

"You should be!"

Marle did look about to say something more, but Tifa hurried to the doors, turning back only briefly to repeat that she'd have the money with her next week.

Jessie's proposed meeting spot was located in Sector 8, right along the border with Sector 7. Tifa knew the place well; she'd visited the lone, empty house several times when Jessie first disappeared, hoping to perhaps run into her. The surrounding lot, with its endless, towering heaps of scrap, was a familiar sight, if somewhat unsettling.

Over all her visits, she'd never encountered anything dangerous, but the landscape made her nervous all the same. Who knew what might be lurking among the jagged shadows?

The time of day didn't help. Night elsewhere in the slums was a facsimile. The sun lamps turned on and off, but it was never truly dark under the plate with its countless blinking lights. Out here near the wall, night was primal. It stirred fear and flooded the nostrils with reminders that the city and its great bulwarks were but a few fragile stacks of metal on the planet's vast surface.

A voice hissed from among the scrap.

"Tifa!"

Her heart nearly leapt from her chest, first with fear, and─after she turned─again with joy.

"Jessie!"

Tifa's long-lost friend sported a hooded sweatshirt and lightweight, cropped pants. She dashed around the stray piles of scrap toward Tifa, the light rapping of her footsteps puncturing the silence of night.

"We have to go. This place isn't─"

For a moment, Tifa couldn't comprehend what happened. The whole world seemed to explode around her. She heard a deafening roar and saw fountains of orange and yellow sparks billowing from a mound of rusted metal at her side. The sparks traced long, impossibly slow arcs through the air.

Then a hand was on her wrist, and she was being pulled forward, running, weaving among the piles of scrap.

"Stay low and zigzag!" commanded Jessie. "We gotta get back to the heart of the slums!"

There was another violent burst of staccato, and Tifa's mind finally caught up.

Gunfire.

Something unseen whizzed past. She felt a sharp sting at her cheek and cried out, whipping her free hand up to nurse the pain. Her fingers came away red and wet. Her head began to swim.

"Over there!"

Tifa heard the words, but her mind couldn't piece together what Jessie meant.

"Don't let go," she pleaded.

"I won't."

The weapons blared again, and the dirt at Tifa's feet popped and plumed. More sparks flew from the endless piles of scrap, bounding over to singe her where the bullets had missed. All around was chaos. Death buzzed through the air. She was afraid, and her stomach threatened to turn inside out.

"Stupid," muttered Jessie.

"What is it?"

"Open your eyes and see for yourself."

They'd come to a stop. At some point, Tifa must have squeezed her eyes shut. She cautiously opened them and peered around. They were huddled in the shadow of a giant rusted construction vehicle─what the years and scavengers had left of it, anyway.

"I'm guessing three with machine guns," whispered Jessie. "They must've been waiting among the scrap when you and I showed up. They don't have a shot on us now, but they will if we try to move."

The weapons had indeed ceased. Perhaps the assailants weren't quite sure of their targets' location.

Jessie sighed. "Shit. Betcha that's exactly what they want. Like waiting for a couple of birds in a bush."

"Who are they? Why are they shooting at us?"

"You heard about the joint meeting, right? The site we'd chosen is near the outer edge of Sector 6. Last night, when we got your tip, we figured the location must have leaked, so we called it off.

"Thing is, Shinra's stupider than we thought. They didn't have a fix on the actual meeting site. Just a vague tip that it'd be somewhere in the outskirts of the slums. So what do they do? They arrange teams to storm every suspicious location they can think of along the city's entire perimeter."

Jessie pointed to the sky. "Listen."

Tifa caught the distant roar of helicopters, gunfire, and explosions. Jessie was right. They weren't the only ones currently under fire.

"By the time we figured it out, I was too late. I'd sent word for you to meet me here by the wall. I'm just glad I made it at all. Another minute and..."

Shaking her head, Jessie continued. "Anyway, we're screwed now. It'd take a miracle to get us out of this one. Like, the kind of thing they'll write books about someday. In the musicals, the heroine always gets whisked off to safety, but reality's not so kind. You wouldn't happen to have a weapon on you by any chance?"

"Only these," replied Tifa, holding up her fists.

"Ooh! Check out Miss Confident! I'm guessing they don't work as well when the other guy's got better range?"

"Probably not. Well... maybe. I've never tried."

Tifa flexed an arm absentmindedly as she commanded herself to breathe.

"Um! Let's scratch that! I appreciate the willingness to try. I really do. But experimenting now would be a good way to wind up dead."

A slow whine filled the air, rupturing into a long, loud roar, much deeper than the staccato braying of the weapons from before. Bullets pinged off nearby metal in such numbers, they formed their own constant ringing. The cacophony held for an eternity, assaulting their minds and ears until the sound alone seemed just as capable of killing as the slugs it signaled.

When it finally paused, Jessie groaned, "No, no, no... They're pinning us down so they can close in. Standard maneuver. Oh, god! I can't die yet. I'm too young to die!"

She shook her head vigorously. "Okay, how's this? We make like we're throwing in the towel and watch for a chance to bolt. Got something white? A handkerchief? Anything?"

Tifa tried to think, but another fusillade filled her ears with thunder. This one seemed to stop as abruptly as it started... or perhaps not. She could still hear it, though muted and far off. Maybe the noise had blown out her hearing.

A strangely familiar voice yelled out in between bursts of fire. A male voice.

"Tifa! You hurt?!"

"No way!" gasped Jessie. "Life is a stage! A gallant hero swoops in for a daring rescue!"

"Tifa!" repeated the deep, resonant voice. "You still breathin'?! Answer me!"

Tifa couldn't believe it. What was Barret doing out here?!

"I'm alive!" she shouted back, thin and trembling. "Over here!"

"Come on out," called Barret. "Three scumbags down. Let's not be around when their friends show up."

Jessie cautiously emerged from their hiding spot behind the rusted construction vehicle. Tifa followed.

"You're a hard woman to track down."

In a small clearing roughly ten meters off stood Barret.

"H-hey! I remember you!" stammered Jessie. "From one of the planetology screenings. Barret, right? What are you doing here?"

"Like I said. Been searchin' for you. Turned the whole sector inside out tryin' to track you down."

"Great. Not only is Shinra after me; I've got a stalker too."

Tifa hardly heard them. Her eyes were locked on Barret's right arm. Fitted over the amputated wrist, and extending up most of the forearm, was the largest gun she'd ever seen. It looked like the sort of thing normally mounted on a military vehicle, or lugged onto a battlefield during wartime. Its six barrels still steamed and glowed faintly from the hail of bullets recently unleashed.

"Barret..." she finally managed to say. "Where did that come from?"

"This ol' thing? Just a little symbol of my resolve. I try not to wear it around town, out of consideration for the normal folk. But when the goin' gets tough..."

Tifa's eyes finally registered the other occupants in the clearing: three Shinra troopers, all dead on the ground. Next to one was a heavy-looking machine gun; it must have been the source of the deafening thunder she and Jessie had endured under cover. Still, it was nowhere near the size of Barret's weapon.

"Lucky for you two, these morons got cocky. Left their backs wide open when they advanced. I just hope Tifa can look past it."

"Huh?"

"It was either you or them."

"Oh... Yeah, I know."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Marlene."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of it."

In the distance, they could still hear the blare of other automatic weapons. Helicopters darted through the undercity skies, some near the plate and others swooping close against the ground.

Jessie cleared her throat. "Think maybe we could save the conversation until after we get the hell out of here?"

"Good call. Tifa, let's get you home."

"You're coming with me?"

"Marle's orders. And, Jessie, I'd be obliged if you could join us. Got a few things I wanna ask before I lose you again."

As the trio made their way to Container Row, Barret explained his well-timed appearance at the abandoned house.

"You can thank Marle," he said. "Practically shoved me out the door, squawkin' about how things didn't feel right and I needed to keep an eye on Tifa. So I tailed you out to the wall. Lost sight of you for a while in the scrap heap, but our friends from Shinra were nice enough to point me right to you."

"Nice of you to wait until we were seconds from dying," replied Jessie, glowering at their new companion.

"Hey, all's well that ends well."

At long last, they arrived at the alley for Container Row. Rakesh, still at the Watchman's post, was visibly shaking when he caught sight of Barret.

"Just inviting a couple of friends over," said Tifa.

"C-cool. Don't let me stop you."

He stumbled two steps backward, pressing up against the alley wall with eyes as wide as saucers. Tifa very nearly burst out laughing. As she led her friends the rest of the way to her apartment, she realized the tension of the firefight was finally beginning to subside.

"My humble abode," she announced beside the door. "I appreciate the escort. Did you want to come inside?"

Barret regarded the container with suspicion. "Not sure if I'm gonna fit, and frankly, I'm none too excited to find out. But Jessie and me have things to talk about, and since it could get intense, privacy's probably best."

"You know, today was supposed to be my big reunion with Jessie."

"I'll keep it short," promised Barret.

She removed the padlock, opened the door, and stepped aside. Barret went in first, with a few helpful shoves from the girls. Next was Jessie, and finally Tifa.

"Oh, geez," groaned Jessie once they were all inside. "This place was not designed with three people in mind. Especially when one of them's the size of a tank."

Barret was hunched uncomfortably against one wall, and again Tifa had to stifle laughter.

"Why are you livin' in this dump?" complained the big man. "It's more depressing than sleepin' on the streets."

"It's... complicated."

"All right, big guy," said Jessie. "What is it you're dying to discuss?"

"I'm gonna keep it simple."

Barret lowered himself to the floor with a thud. He shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position, eventually settling down cross-legged.

"You're Avalanche, and I want in. Set up an intro with your leader for me. Elfe, was it?"

Jessie perched on the edge of Tifa's bed, casually drawing her feet up to sit cross-legged as well. Tifa leaned against the wall across from her, listening to the conversation.

"Oof..." muttered Jessie, scratching at her cheek and then the side of her stomach. "That... might not be as simple as you think. Lemme try to explain."

Barret leaned forward.

"As far as whether Elfe's in charge, you're right and you're wrong. In theory, she still leads the main faction─the original Avalanche, I guess you'd say. The only thing is... there hasn't been a lot of clear direction from HQ for a few years now. It's like Elfe's core group has lost its drive, or it's not sure what it wants to accomplish anymore.

"Whatever the reason, it's causing serious friction. Members have been splitting off, each with their own ideas of how to move ahead, and now we're left with a bunch of little Avalanches instead of one cohesive group. We're talking three, ten, maybe twenty members per faction. Nowhere near the manpower needed to take on Shinra in any meaningful way.

"Lately, some of us have been trying to merge back together or at least cooperate, but it always ends up in arguments that get us nowhere. Some of us are trying to take down Shinra. Others the reactors. Some talk of saving the planet but won't offer any specifics of how we're supposed to do it. And a few factions even wanna seize control of the city to run it themselves, or to try and bring back the old republic.

"Tonight's meeting was supposed to be another attempt to bring us together. Honestly, though, who are we kidding? It's never gonna happen. It's hard enough coming to an agreement when it's just me, Biggs, and Wedge."

"The hell... ?"

Barret wrinkled his brow.

"As I see it," said Jessie, "our top priority should be stopping the reactors. Whatever it takes. Blow 'em up, if we have to.

"Biggs just wants to be a thorn in Shinra's side. He's on board for pretty much anything that'll piss the company off, except he can't come to terms with the fact that ordinary people might get hurt.

"And then there's Wedge... Every time we talk about this stuff, he says it's up to Biggs and me, and he'll go along with whatever we decide. Problem is, we never actually decide. We go around and around in circles, talking about what we'd like to do.

"If the joint meeting hadn't been called off, they would've gone down the list, eventually asking to hear from a representative for the Sector 7 Slums Division─that's us─and I would've had to stand up and say sorry, we've got nothing. No goals, and no concrete plans to achieve them."

"So what you're sayin'," remarked Barret, "is that you need a leader. Not just Avalanche as a whole, but your little division too."

"That pretty much sums it up, yeah."

"How about me?"

Jessie snorted. "Just like that, huh?"

"Why the hell not?" groused Barret. "You gotta try somethin'. There ain't no bull's-eye if you never take the shot. And if you find out halfway through that you been usin' the wrong gun, you roll with it. Adapt. Ain't nobody smart enough to predict every twist and turn, anyway.

"Point is, shit don't get done sittin' on your ass. You gotta act. Put me in charge, and I'll whip the whole operation into shape. Just grab hold of my back, hang on, and we'll knock 'em all down. Who's in charge of your faction, anyway? You or Biggs?"

"In the Sector 7 Slums Division, everyone gets an equal say. That's our whole ideology. We love meetings and taking votes."

"Uh-huh. And look how far it's got you. Time to try somethin' different."

"I dunno... Weigh in on this, would you, Tifa?"

"More hands make less work," insisted Barret. "And here I am offerin' you two. Or one and a gun, anyway. It's fate."

"What about this is fate?!" Jessie threw her hands up in exasperation. "Ugh. Fine, you're right. We're not getting anywhere as we are now. You've got drive, or at least the blind stupidity to take the first step forward, and god knows we could use some of that. So go ahead. Show us something different."

The warm glow of evening was creeping across the chocobo farm.

"Jessie decided to give Barret a shot, and the rest is history. Not to say things weren't rocky while our iteration of Avalanche found its legs. Biggs in particular needed time to warm up to our new leader, but eventually he was swept up with the rest of us. It was hard to resist Barret's relentless drive to act."

"It sounds to me like the large one staged a hostile takeover," Red XIII said dryly.

Tifa laughed. "In a way. But Barret gave us the momentum we badly needed. For a little while, it was even enough to pull several other factions along for the ride.

"Ultimately, though, Jessie was right. The bigger the group, the more opinions to mediate. Arguments became common, deliberations started to drag on, and Barret couldn't take it. He'd fume in the corner until, boom, he was up on his feet yelling that the meeting was over. ‘My way or the highway!'

"And one by one, the other factions chose the highway, leaving the Sector 7 Slums Division on its own again. The last time Barret exploded, he cut all ties and declared we were better off without them."

"I'm amazed at how you continue to put up with him."

"I told you. Fate brought our paths together. Just like it was fate that led us to you in that lab."

"Hmph." Red XIII stretched a hind leg up to scratch behind one ear. "Be that as it may, I'm anxious to hear how things resolved with the other buffoon in your story."

"Huh? Who?"

"Rakesh. Clearly, not everything with that young man was what it seemed."

The following week sped by. When it was Wednesday again, Tifa woke early, quickly finished her shower, and waited in her apartment for Barret's arrival.

She was grateful for the arrangement. The purse was heavy, and she knew she'd feel a lot more secure taking it to Sector 7 with Barret at her side. A hundred and sixty thousand gil was an awful lot of money.

And it was a momentous step. This was the down payment for a brand-new chapter of her life. She'd be the proprietor of Seventh Heaven, and with any luck, she'd turn enough of a profit to someday own it in full. If the slums had taught her anything, it was how to be persistent, chipping away at a debt one month at a time.

It took some convincing, but she'd managed to get Marle to agree to step away from the bar. She wanted to know Marle would be safe, free from suspicion of any ties to Avalanche. Nonetheless, Marle assured her, she'd be stopping by often to speak her mind and lend the occasional hand. In Tifa's mind, it sort of defeated the purpose of stepping away, but past a certain point, there was no arguing with the woman.

Tifa would continue to spend Thursday to Tuesday at Sector 8 Steamed Buns until her debt to Manson was settled. Meanwhile, Barret had agreed to run the bar. In two years, give or take, Tifa would be free to dedicate herself to Seventh Heaven full-time. If nothing else, the wait would give her plenty of time to master Monty's cocktails.

There was a knock at the door, and she heard Barret's gruff voice.

"Let's do this," he said.

She invited him in, but this time he elected to remain outside.

"Get this," he said as she pulled the bin from under her bed. "Shinra's little fireworks show last week? Ended up damaging property topside too, and the residents with a voice ain't happy about it. Shinra's gonna have to dial back the raids until this blows over."

His chuckle abruptly died when he realized Tifa hadn't joined in.

"Tifa... ? You listenin'? I'm sayin' this is our opening. Our chance to strike!"

She'd stopped listening the moment she realized it was gone.

The purse. The hundred and sixty thousand gil. Gone.

"It's not here," she whispered in shock.

"Huh?"

"The money. I kept it in a purse hidden under my clothes. But it's not here."

She flipped the bin over, dumping its contents. Clothes, accessories, and underwear spilled across the floor, but she didn't think to care.

"Yowza," Barret drawled.

"Cut it out. This is serious!"

"I'm bein' serious. A hundred and sixty big ones is a hell of a lot of dough. When's the last time you saw it?"

"Late last night. I checked on it before I went to bed."

"Which means whatever happened to it musta happened this morning. You been in your room the whole time?"

"Yeah. I was waiting for you all to... Wait! My shower! Every morning at dawn, I take a shower!"

Tifa shoved Barret from the doorway and broke into a sprint. At the far end of the Row, she found the Waterkeeper in her chair as always.

"This morning," she gasped, half out of breath. "When I was taking my shower, did you see anyone?"

"What, over by your place? Turn around and see for yourself. Can't see squat from here."

The old woman pursed her lips and began to fold her arms, but stopped.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "But the Watchman did come by for a shower. When I told him you were in there, he said he'd come back later. Didn't wanna disturb you."

Tifa quickly thanked the Waterkeeper and made straight for the alley.

Barret caught up on the way. "Checked your place over as best I could. No sign of the cash."

"I think I know who's responsible."

When the temporary Watchman wasn't at his post, she rushed out to the main street, signaling Barret to follow. From there, they ran hard.

Sector 8 was just beginning to wake, and without any morning crowds to push through, they made good time. When Tifa finally stopped, panting hard, they were standing outside the clinic of Dr. Dhamini Oranye. Rakesh's home. If she didn't find him here, she'd check Manson's railcars.

Her hand was on the door when they heard the shouting. It was a man's voice, loud and menacing. There was a crash, followed by a woman's terrified shriek.

The door was unlocked. Tifa calmly pushed her way inside.

She heard a dull thump and a gasp, as if someone had been punched in the gut, followed by another crash and the unmistakable shatter of glass.

"Please! No more!" screamed a woman. The voice was shrill, but Tifa knew it had to be Dhamini's.

"Stop! Look, I've got your money!"

This one, breathless and laced with pain, was Rakesh's.

Barret lifted a thick finger to his lips, urging Tifa to wait and see how things played out.

"Oh, I'll be takin' it," announced a third voice. "But it don't change the fact that you're a week late."

Tifa's mind was reeling. The last voice was the most familiar of all, but it didn't make sense. What was going on?!

"See, I got a reputation to think about," continued the third voice. "If I let this slide, pretty soon everyone's tryin' to jerk me around."

"We aren't trying to jerk you around! I swear!"

"Oh, you aren't, huh? Then why's the payment late? Whatcha been up to this past week?"

Rakesh mumbled a response Tifa couldn't quite make out.

"Don't play dumb with me! You've been down at the races, bettin' your mother's hard-earned cash on those damn, stinkin' birds again. Cash that was s'posed to go to me!"

"I had a lead! It was a sure thing!"

There was another loud crash─undoubtedly some piece of medical equipment being knocked to the floor.

"Please don't break any more!" begged Dhamini. "Mr. Manson, please!"

Tifa let out an astonished cry. Her hands clamped over her mouth, but it was too late.

"Who's that? Who the hell've you got out there?!"

A small, pale old man emerged from the clinic's back room, clad in a bright red shirt and matching red trousers. When he saw Tifa, his jaw fell open, and he stammered her name.

"You're Manson?" she managed to respond.

Pops's eyes wandered uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, and finally exhaled a deep sigh.

"Guess there's no use tryin' to hide it. Wednesdays are when I take care of my other business."

"You're the one who's been keeping me tied down with these stupid rules?!"

"Hold on, now. What's this about rules?"

"Manson's rules. Rakesh told me..."

There was a terrible sinking feeling in Tifa's gut.

"Oh, Rakesh told ya, huh? Well then. How 'bout we let Rakesh explain? He's in the back, nursin' a bloody nose."

Tifa and Barret followed Pops-slash-Manson to the back. Rakesh was waiting behind the door, right eye red and swollen, a streak of half-dried blood between his nostrils and upper lip.

"Mr. Manson!" he exclaimed. "Please! At least take what we've got. I know it's not enough, but..."

Rakesh proffered an all-too-familiar purse.

"That's mine," said Tifa.

"I'll be takin' that," snapped Barret. He swatted the purse from Rakesh's hands and quickly put it out of reach.

Rakesh scrunched up his face, protesting with a loud "Hey!" as if he honestly believed the money belonged to him.

"Explain," demanded Tifa, her eyes locked on his. "Or if you won't, I bet Pops will."

Rakesh visibly swallowed but did not speak.

Pops sighed in exasperation.

"Kid owes me a damn fortune," he said. "Racked it up bettin' on the chocobos and just about every other kind of odds you can think of.

"Ever since then, the clinic's been shiftin' the burden onto its patients, overchargin' 'em for treatment. His mom's in on it, of course. At this point, there're too many victims to count."

"What... what about mine?" asked Tifa. "How much was mine supposed to cost?"

Dhamini shifted uncomfortably, still huddled in the far corner of the room.

"A third," she mumbled. "I'm sorry, Tifa. Really, I..."

Tifa's breath caught in her throat.

A third of what she'd been asked to pay.

Her right hand fumbled for Zangan's memento, pulling it tight─only for it to snap. Astonished, she felt her hand go slack and watched as the tattered black cord unraveled from her wrist and fell to the floor.

"You should be grateful," quavered Rakesh. "I was looking out for you. I lined up a decent job and made sure you'd never have to resort to the Wall Market."

Barret scoffed. "Let's go, Tifa. Leave these scumbags before they start to rub off on us."

"Yeah," agreed Tifa. "But before we do..."

Both hands clenched into fists. She raised them in front of her chin, breathed in, and held.

She released, long and slow, and then...

Book Five, Paragraph One, Section One, Part One.

Her right jab was swift and smooth, landing square on Rakesh's jaw. He spun in place, slamming into the clinic's wall before sinking to the floor. Dhamini screamed and rushed to her son's side, cradling his head in her lap, but Tifa felt no trace of guilt or regret.

She regarded Pops calmly. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

"Yeah. But hell, I'd finally found me a real looker who could do the job right. Rakesh came up with the plan, and I kept mum 'cause I didn't wanna lose ya. I told ya, didn't I? You're the best business partner I've ever had."

"I loved working at the cart. It taught me the joy of serving customers. Even when the rest of my life wasn't going well, I could show up for work, concentrate on the buns, and forget about everything else. If you'd asked me─if you'd been fair about it, like a real business partner─I would've been happy to stay."

"Aw, hell," muttered Pops with a disappointed sigh. "Been livin' the criminal life too long for that. You hang on to what you have and don't ask questions."

Tifa turned her eyes to Dhamini.

"I expect I won't be hearing from you about this debt, or anything, ever again."

"It's our problem. We'll take care of it. Thank you for all you've... No... Sorry for everything we made you do."

"Tifa," croaked Rakesh. He pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. "You don't understand. I love you. That's why I─"

Book Five, Paragraph Two, Section Two, Part One.

One foot swiveled back. The other snapped high, the heel of her boot slamming into Rakesh's nose with a satisfying crack.

Red XIII rumbled in apparent satisfaction.

"That final side kick was precisely the resolution I needed."

Tifa smiled. "Thus concludes the story of my young, impressionable years."

"And you've grown out of those, have you?"

"I think so, yes."

His pale eye held on hers, searching. Tifa stared defiantly back.

"And Zangan?" her companion asked, turning his muzzle away as casually as he shifted the subject.

"No clue. But the next time I see him, whenever that may be..."

"Ah yes. Your long-overdue exam. Still eager to learn the deepest secrets of his art?"

"Not really. The next time we spar, I'll be using my own style. I intend to teach him a thing or two about leaving me alone for so long."

Red XIII chuffed, sending a ripple through his fur from neck to tail.

In the distance, Tifa spotted another wave of wind rolling through the grass.

"Better catch up with the others," she announced.

The gust arrived just as Tifa Lockhart stood. She turned into the breeze, staring out over the vast expanse yet ahead, and confidently strode forward.