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Final Fantasy 7. Tifa Lockhart: Journey to Midgar.	By : Nickamano Category: Final Fantasy VII > General Views: 7312 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 is created and owned by Squaresoft, now Square-Enix. Nothing here is owned by me. It was created for entertainment purposes, and I am not profiting financially from the creation and online presentation of this story.

Chapter List
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23. Four.
Sector Four was easier to navigate, as there was less of it that needed to be navigated. There were the piles of trash and discarded construction materials all over the place in every direction as far as she could see. And there were only two paths that cut through it all. There appeared to be very few buildings or homes, however there was an old warehouse or depot in the distance. A huge two storey structure of brick and concrete that dominated the view ahead.

Tifa followed the trail that moved in a vaguely straight trajectory. And from early on she could hear a distant cacophony, a vocal fog, infusing the dull dust-ridden air. A tumult that bounced around off the all-surrounding trash, making the reverberating sound’s origin hard to detect. She could tell it was raised voices, shouting, jeering, celebrating, applause. Though where it came from and what it meant, she had no clue. Though the guy sitting on his veranda had mentioned something about Sector Four being a centre of gambling.

Maybe it was games or races, and what she could hear was the audience. She found one other forking trail that cut away to the right and disappeared around a corner. While ahead of her, there was another chain-mesh fence, with a loosened section, pad-locked in place but so loosely that it would allow someone twice her width to pass through it without touching either side.

Beyond the fence, almost silhouetted in the meagre illumination, was a whole mass of people. It looked like some kind of illusionary nightmare for a moment - a dull, grey shapeless form with a hundred heads and twice the number of arms and legs, all moving around independently of each other. The people all had their backs to her and they were clearly the origin of the din.

Tifa slipped into the rear of the group and started to politely shimmy and excuse her way toward the front, which she assessed was a circle of bodies around whatever source of entertainment they were observing and doubtless gambling on.

She made it part way before the polite attempts to manoeuvre herself toward the front started to get more difficult, less accepted and then downright infuriating. There were a couple of attempted gropes as, slipping past some random bloke, she came into their awareness. Her extreme physical attractiveness was registered and then a hand would hurriedly pinch her bottom through her short, black leather skirt or someone would step across her path and try to ‘accidentally’ brush against her breasts with an arm.

The first time it happened she ignored it, the second she gave the grinning pervert a threatening look, his hand came away from her bottom but the grin and the sense of victory remained. The third time she punched the guy lightly in the face, broke his nose and covered his shirt in blood from collar to crotch. The fourth time she broke the guy’s arm and dislocated the limb from his shoulder. Leaving him screaming incoherently on the floor, being absently kicked and trampled by the apparently blind gatherers surrounding him. No one else tried to assault her after that display.

The physical abuses made her feel slightly more forgiving of the men who had expressed their lust and desire verbally or asked her off the cuff to join them for a drink. Though each approach was arguably, a step beyond the one before it, they could be considered variations on a theme. Though unless there were twenty attempted rapists all trying to abuse her simultaneously and working in cooperation, they wouldn’t stand a chance, and she knew it. Tifa was utterly confident in Zangan’s teachings in that regard. Even though the number of times she had actually had to use her skills in a real self-protection scenario against humans she could count on the fingers of one hand. Plus, the majority of those occasions had taken place on this very journey.

She pushed on, moving through the crowd, which she now realised was an actual circle, ignoring the rising of disgruntled and angry responses to her polite attempts to get to the front of the audience, most of which faded anyway when they got a look at who was manoeuvring ahead of them. She soon discovered that the ‘ring’ was circular and painted with simple white wash on the smooth ground, which was revealed to have once been the car park area of the big warehouse, filling the background.

There was a woman sitting in a tall chair with steps leading up to the seat, the chair was bolted into the concrete floor. Tifa assumed her to be a judge or referee or maybe the master of ceremonies. There were also elevated lights, like repurposed streetlights, set up at the four compass points, that filled the circle with a dull, dirty orange light.

The outside of the circle was formed by scores of overexcited ribald onlookers, probably six or seven deep. And inside the ring there was a big, burly dark-skinned man, stripped to the waist with a massive muscular torso gleaming under the lamplight as though oiled. He was walking around the circle’s circumference continually. He wore dark, loose trousers tucked into military-style boots and he acted the way he looked, imposing, threatening, intimidating, like a bouncer. He was holding what looked like a two-foot long electric cattle prod and was using it to keep the pushing and shoving crowd on the outside of the painted circle. Giving people short jolts that made them jerk and yell in mild pain and then shove angrily at the laughing individual or individuals that had more than likely shoved them deliberately forward in the first place.

And then there was the individual in the centre of the circle. He was around Tifa’s age, maybe two or three years older. And he was Lean and hard and muscular. He had a dark blonde mop that fell over his face, half covering one dark eye. His skin was pale and bore a number of scars, though his on-display muscles were toned and well defined. He wore a pair of loose canvass shorts that ended at his knees, torn away by the looks of them, and lightweight pumps over his otherwise bare feet. Across the back of his shoulders and upper back he bore a gaudy tattoo in bloodred of a rampant phoenix, with its wings spread right across his shoulder blades and beneath it were three symbols, which Tifa recognised were written pictograms of the western most continent but couldn’t read them.

She felt a blunt nudge against her bare upper arm and turned to find a smooth and smarmy looking individual looking down at her. The woman was tall and muscular herself, fiery red hair spiked outwards like a sunburst. Tifa looked up at the tall woman who, age wise, might have a decade on Tifa.

“Hey beautiful!” She sang through a toothsome smile. “Care to make a bet?”
“I’m looking for a kid called Piran, I was told he fights here…” She said, having to raise her voice above the din of the crowd.

The woman frowned and cocked her head, her eyes passing between Tifa and the young man in the middle of the ring.

“Well, that’s him, innit…” The woman stated, bemused.
“Well, yeah. I thought it probably was, but I’ve never seen him in the flesh...”
“So? You wanna place a bet, or what?”
“No, I just wanna talk to him.”
“No chance a’ that.”

Then she looked over the teenager again. And smirked.

“Well, maybe after his fight, if he wins and wants to celebrate. He might jump you to head of the queue, if you know what I mean...”

It was Tifa’s turn to look bemused. The woman huffed stared down at her for another second and then, noticing someone on the other side of the circle trying to catch her attention, she gave Tifa a shrug and then disappeared into the crowd without another word.

Tifa frowned in frustration and turned back to stare at the young man in the middle of the circle, wondering about maybe just walking up to him here and now and asking him about Zangan. However, she was almost certain the big bouncer guy would have something to say about that. She decided instead to wait until this, whatever it is, was done with for the night and then accost him afterwards.

Tifa was still trying to decide to try and see if she should shout the guy over, when the woman in the tall chair lifted her microphone and announced that the under twenty-one Champion Piran was awaiting a challenger. Three rounds in the ring against the undefeated Piran will win any challenger three thousand Gil, three minutes will win him a hundred Gil.

Immediately a big guy, who could have given the huge bouncer type with the cattle prod a run for his money, shoved his way through the crowd, essentially opposite Tifa, slapped down what she assumed was some kind of entrance fee onto a little table beside the tall chair, and then stepped into the painted ring. Piran didn’t even acknowledge the newcomer’s presence.

At once, there was a loud flurry of action from every point of the crowd as people started to place and take bets on the outcome. Tifa was bumped and jostled but for once it was because she was in the way rather than anyone’s target. She stood there patiently, taking in the challenger. He was big, over a head taller than Piran, who was himself taller than Tifa. He also looked square, as broad as he was tall and hugely muscled. He was bare chested, wearing only cropped trousers that ended half way down his calves and soft ankle length boots. He was bald and had small, narrow, dark eyes framed by thick brows, a flat, wide nose and thin, straight lips with some stubble surrounding his mouth and jawline.

The big guy walked straight over to Piran, no messing around, no introductions, not even a shake of the hand. Tifa was almost surprised.

Piran turned to face him, looked him up and down and then launched himself up into the air in a typically Zangan technique.

That clinched it for Tifa, she had definitely found the right person. The air-born kid lashed out with his right foot, using the ball of his foot in a classic no-nonsense jumping side kick. The impact struck the big guy straight to the chest, however his musculature there was so dense and he knew the correct breathing technique to dissipate the impacting energy, that he reacted as though having been being tickled with a feather. Piran grinned as he kicked off from the man, who took the impact as though he was made of concrete. Then the kid backflipped and landed on the balls of his feet, a short distance from his opponent.

The big guy ran at the kid. It was a slow lumbering run, though his intention was to make up for it by the power of his size. And probably to rely on his ability to take the lower-power punches and kicks he fully expected Piran to make. However, that was the core of one of Zangan’s many lessons, to turn enemy’s strengths into weaknesses.

So Piran side-stepped, a well-timed movement that kept him in close proximity to his opponent, and then leaped again though not quite so high this time. He slammed a heel into the pressure point under the big guy’s armpit. And as he retracted the snap-kick, he leaned forward, using his downward momentum and drove a fast and hard elbow into the side of his neck. The sudden violent impact blocked the blood-flow to the guy’s brain, essentially pinching his carotid artery shut and they both hit the floor at more or less the same time. Piran into a lightweight mog-stance, the big guy flat on his face. Tifa knew at once that the kid’s opponent was unconscious and not likely to get up again for a good ten minutes.

The crowd went into an uproar, half of them enraged, the other half elated. Miniature scuffles erupted around the circumference of the circle and the bouncer with the cattle prod had to earn his wages for the next couple of minutes.

It took six men to pick up the unconscious big guy and carry him out through a forced open gap in the crowd. Piran stood in the middle of the circle once again, head down, picking dirt or more likely dried blood from under his fingernails. A gaggle of women and girls were advancing from different parts of the crown, like they were in heat, all heading toward Piran their faces flushed and smiling, though they also started scuffling between themselves delaying their overall advance.

Tifa took her opportunity while she could, while the bouncer was occupied and the girls were pushing and shoving at each other. She hurried across the circle, being careful to approach Piran from the front with her hands open and in plain sight.

“Excuse me, I take it you’re the same Piran from Midgar who was trained by Master Zangan?”
“Listen girl.” He sighed, apparently inconvenienced. “If you want an autograph, it’ll cost you twenty Gil.”

And then he looked up at her, did a double take, looked her over again. Slowly, a smirk appearing on his lips. He passed a long slow examining eye across her jutting breasts, before looking back up at her, smirk widening into what was probably a rare smile.

“I’ll only sign my name if you have it across your tits.” He added, a glint in his eye. “If you want a fuck, I’m in the Slum Goblin, across the way in Sector Five. Come and find me later. Anything else, fuck off.”
“I just wanted ask you…” But he interrupted her.
“I’m not interested, unless you want to screw me…” He paused, considering for a moment, “…Unless of course, you’re a romantic. Yeah, you are kind of a top-of-the-barrel piece aren’t you… Okay… I’d agree to a date, first. Drinks and dinner, then we screw.”
“No, thank you, I just wanted to ask you about Zan…” But he interrupted her.
“You turning down a date and yet, you still want something from me? You been sucking exhaust fumes or something?”

Tifa was momentarily speechless. All he had to do was answer a question…

“Listen, I’m one of Zan…”
“Don’t give a fuck.” He snapped, cutting her off again. “Agree to a date and then you can tell me all about it. I’ll listen, I’ll even buy you dinner before we go back to my hotel room…”

She saw the bouncer out of the corner of her eye notice her and start across the circle, she had barely a second.

“How about this. I’ll challenge you. If I beat you, here and now, you answer all my questions. If you win, I’ll go out with you once. Once!”

He looked at her for a long moment and as the bouncer reached for her shoulder to drag her out of the circle, Piran’s hand came up, open palm, facing the bouncer, who immediately pulled up. Piran eyed Tifa again, then he smiled an unpleasant predatory grin.

“Okay, you’re on. I’m gonna enjoy fucking you, girl. I’m really gonna enjoy it… Gonna make it last.”
“So, you agree?” She interrupted him this time, impatient to get her answers and not interested in the contents of his filthy, sordid mind.
“Just said so, didn’t I?” He growled at her.

He suddenly about-turned and wandered over to the tall chair and started chatting to the woman seated there.

“We have another challenger…!” The woman announced over her microphone. “Champion Piran versus… Tits!”

The place filled with laughter, whistles and lewd derogatory shouts. Piran came back to the centre of the circle with a nasty grin on his face. Tifa grimaced, because of the nickname and the increasingly colourful and atrocious shouts coming from the crowd. The same crowd who once again were tossing around prospective odds and placing bets like the world was about to end.

Inside the circle, Tifa took a deep, calming breath and steadied herself for the fight. Ignoring the fact that Piran was playing up the newly rabid crowd.

“How ‘bout I rip her top off?” He was yelling. “You wanna see tit’s tits? You wanna see that rack?!”

The crowd yelled their enthusiastic response.

“Oh, you do, do you?!” He shouted, laughing. “Get me a thousand Gil on the table and I’ll make it happen!!”

There was a mad clamour as people began to toss their cash together trying to donate enough between them. They managed it within a minute. Tifa ignored it all, centring herself, breathing slow and steady.

The money found its way to the table and Piran started to practice his dragon claw techniques into the empty air. It was a fair choice, if one did want to tear off the clothes or flesh of an opponent, the talon-like open hand position would be the best method. Hooking and dragging, using the fingers like barbs. Tifa wasn’t concerned.

Some guy beside the table counted the assembled Gil and then gave the nod to Piran who grinning, came back into the centre of the circle and took up a Deathclaw-stance. Tifa just stood there facing him.

He took a moment and a few calming hand gestures to bring the crowd down in volume and under control. Soon enough, a near hush filled the circle.

Piran was too excited, too horny and too arrogant to stand there and wait for her to attack so, of course he made the first move.

He burst forward, coming in with a fast and precise front kick, which Tifa immediately sidestepped, allowing him to slide past her. As she sidestepped, she hooked one arm around and under his kicking leg, jolting the pressure point behind his knee with her knuckles to make his leg useless. At the same time, her other arm cocked across her chest, drove a brutal horizontal elbow strike hard into his sternum. The energy of the devastating impact made his heart skip and then suddenly accelerate. There was a rush of pressurised blood that smacked into his brain causing him to instantly blackout. Tifa had angled the elbow slightly downward so the energy of the strike was displaced across a slightly wider area; so as not to crush his sternum or pop his heart, but there would be one hell of a bruise once he woke up in a half hour or so. She took his weight as he collapsed and lowered him gently to the ground. It had taken less than two seconds.

Tifa had to wait the half hour before he came around in the Slum Goblin hotel, where his manager and some girl had carried him between them. The manager pestered Tifa for a chance to manage her too, all the while. The girl just snapped at her, for hurting her ‘lover’ and for following them back to his hotel “haven’t you done enough?!”. Though half of her anger, Tifa felt even as she ignored it, came out of insecure jealousy.

And of course, on reaching the hotel bar, Piran was carried and not easily, up the stairs to the furthest room on the upper floor. Tifa stayed downstairs where she ordered a meal and a drink, and where she found herself accosted almost nonstop by admirers. She had a dozen drinks bought for her and twice that many people hanging around her trying to chat her up, seduce her, proposition her.

She was irritated to begin with, but after ten minutes of constant fending off of people who wanted to date her or take her home with them, or expected something in return for having bought her a drink she had never asked for, her temper was as frayed as it had ever been.

She somehow managed to maintain her cool and finish her meal, which was a soupy broth. It was very watery, with too much salt and not enough actual flavour but it filled and warmed her. And the drink, a strong homebrew of some description, also helped to take the edge off. She didn’t accept any of the dozen drinks bought for her and of course that incited not a small degree of animosity among her potential suitors. The comments about her went from ‘hot’, ‘stunning’, ‘babe’ and the like - to ‘bitch’, ‘cock-tease’, ‘ice-queen’, ‘Snow’.

Tifa eventually slammed her fist down on the table, abruptly silencing her critics. There were plenty there who had seen her take apart the under-eighteen’s champion after all, and her momentary flaring temper reminded them of what she was capable of underneath the attractive young physicality. The crowd dissipated quickly, half the bar’s patrons vanishing into the ether as she rose from her table, making her intended direction apparent. The other half of the patrons parted just as quickly, forming a clear corridor from her corner table to the plain wooden staircase leading upstairs to the rooms.

She took the stairs quickly, putting a palm to the backs of her thighs to stop anybody getting a nice upskirt view from the ground floor. The stairs led to a rickety balcony leading in a half hexagon around the upper storey. All the rooms, five of them, were in a line on the right. Four bedrooms, bisected in the centre with a single bathroom.

As she passed each room, she heard sex noises from inside them. Rhythmic male grunts formed the usual underlying bass line, while floating above were louder, higher pitched sounds. The rhythmic squeaking of bedsprings, thumping of metal bedsteads on walls, the slaps of flesh on flesh and feminine gasping, moaning, and sometimes gasped and colourful curses.

Ignoring the tell-tale sounds from the other rooms, she hurried across the balcony to the room at the far end. There was silence behind this door. She knocked once and then entered. The room was basic but comfortable looking, with a double bed against the right-hand wall, a window opposite the door, a bedside table, a wardrobe and a little washbasin. Piran was sitting up on the bed and the girl who had helped to carry him up to this room was sitting beside him.

“You took your time.” Piran grunted, a tremulousness to his voice.
“What they hell are you doing here!” The girl started shouting as she turned and saw Tifa coming in. “Get out, you bitch! Haven’t you done enough!”
“You’d best leave Risa.” Piran said. “We have business to discuss.”

“What? No way! I’m not leaving you alone with her! She might hurt you again!”

“If she did, what could you do about it? No, you go. But stick around downstairs, I’ll have need of your special relaxing skills later.”

Tifa could tell from Piran’s grin and Risa’s blush that he was talking about some kind of sexual service. She stepped to one side as she allowed the slender twenty something to pass her by on her way out. The short haired blonde flashed her crystal blue eyes at Tifa’s and gave her a threatening look as she stormed past, small breasts quivering under her simple tight t-shirt. Skin tight pale blue trousers showing off her narrow hips, tight little ass and her short shapely legs.

“You’ll have to forgive Risa, she’s rather possessive.” Piran said. “A little too possessive, I’d dump her but she’s a great little fuck… Very dedicated and attentive.”

Tifa came to a halt at the foot of the bed, but Piran tapped the blankets at the side of him so, with a shrug, she came around and sat where he indicated.

“I’ve never been taken apart like that before. That was quite something.”

He took a moment, his eyes predictably roving over her curves again, drinking in her beauty before he gave a little shrug of the shoulders.

“You beat me fair and square. What do you want?”
“You’re one of Zangan’s students, aren’t you?” She asked, trying to keep her sense of excitement and nervousness under control.

“What do you know of Zangan? You a student too? I guess you’d have to be to beat me.”
“Yes, I’m trying to find him.”
“To answer your question, yes, I am a student of his. Or was… I’m not sure anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well. He only teaches children, doesn’t he? So, I’m not sure, after we come-of-age, what’s supposed to happen. Does he test us and declare us adept, and then send us out into the world with all his skills and knowledge? Or does he just stop turning up, abandons us.”
“The Zangan I know would never abandon his students.”

Piran just shrugged and then dropped his eyes once again to stare at more enticing parts of Tifa that he apparently found her face. His comment obviously suggested something that Tifa didn’t like to think of as possible.

“When did you last see him?” She pushed, starting to feel a little desperate.
“Not for a couple of years. I got the feeling he didn’t approve of my using his teachings to make money. But he knows what life is like down here, I didn’t think he’d just abandon me outright though.”

His eyes came up to hers for a second. But he glimpsed the hurt there and his view once again, dropped to her chest and then her thighs. He went on.

“But it’s been a couple of years. I mean, what else am I meant to think? I have to eat and keep a roof over my head and fighting is all I have ever been good at…”
“So, you’re telling me you haven’t seen him in two years and you have absolutely no clue what he might be?”
“Got it in one.”
“Do you know…” Tifa had to pause because she felt the tears coming and a sense of despair was beginning to rumble upward from the pit of her stomach. “Has he ever mentioned any of his other students to you? Ever?”
“Never heard of any, never met any, ‘til now. I know he has over a hundred, or so he says, but he’s never mentioned any by name.”
“How in the hell do I find him then?” Tifa murmured to herself, the rising despair suddenly settling in her heart.
“Fuck knows.”
“What am I supposed to do now?”

She turned her head toward the window, the tears were starting to flow and she couldn’t even bring herself to hide them in front of Piran.
“Tell you what, Tits…”
“Don’t call me that!”
He just ignored her complaint.

“If you’re staying here, you’ll need money. Luckily for you, you have two distinct avenues where a girl of your… Qualities, can make a fortune. One’s doing what you did today in Sector Four, just not against me. The other’s right here in Sector Five.”

However, Tifa wasn’t listening. She was already up off the bed, absently heading for the door. Her mind elsewhere, wondering what to do. Where else she could look? Who else she could ask? However, no answers would come to her. And all the while her heart was beginning to break.

“By the way… If you ever change your mind, I’m still up for that date.” Piran shouted after Tifa but she was already shutting the door behind her.
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Final Fantasy 7. Tifa Lockhart: Journey to Midgar.