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Final Fantasy 7. Tifa Lockhart: Journey to Midgar.	By : Nickamano Category: Final Fantasy VII > General Views: 7306 -:- 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
- 28
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- 30
24. Aimless.
Tifa wandered aimlessly, walked until her legs felt numb and heavy. Her mind was full of nothing but fears, her attention anywhere except where she was going. She felt ensnared in a thick cloak of helplessness, despair and loss. Zangan had succeeded in avoiding her.

Did he really hate her then? Did he blame her for ruining their master-student relationship? She loved him! Couldn’t he see that? Didn’t it mean anything to him? It must though, she knew he loved her too. He had proved it numerous times over. So why was he hiding from her, avoiding her?

She knew she was asking questions with no hope of any answers and that seemed to hurt her even more.

The cloak of helplessness seemed to make her stumble. It blinded her, along with her flowing tears, to the path. It weighed heavily on her shoulders, as though her mostly empty backpack was filled with bricks. She wandered aimlessly, following paths, taking random turns, not looking where she was going.

There were no signs of the passage of time this far under the plate, Tifa felt like she had found her way close to the narrowest part of whatever Sector she had wandered into and was as far from any potential natural source of light as she could be. Hours could have passed, or days. Nothing was familiar, there were no signs of other people, just piles of trash and dark windowed domiciles.

She thought of knocking on one and asking for help but she couldn’t trust anyone here. She kept on walking, having nothing else to do, no other ideas, save for hopefully finding somewhere she could bed down in for the night, somewhere hidden and safe. Where she would surely embrace her grief along with her exhaustion. And yet she knew she could never be safe in this place. She couldn’t trust anyone. She had banked on Piran leading her to Zangan when all her dreams could once again come true, and they could settle together, in love and happy. However, Piran had nothing for her, nothing but slimy lust and his own bitterness toward Zangan which seemed to have led to a betrayal of Zangan and his teachings.

The realisation hit her abruptly as her thoughts, just like her tired lead-weighted legs, continued on their own endlessly downward-spiralling journey.

She couldn’t find Zangan. It was impossible. She was out of clues. Out of ideas. Out of possibilities.

When she had been banking on Piran having an idea of where she would be able to find him, she had felt like she could do anything, that nothing could have stopped her. She had put complete blind faith into that prospect. And yet now she knew that Piran had no knowledge that could help her, she felt like she couldn’t do anything. Her despair was complete, an ocean, a maelstrom pulling her down, drowning her in its crushing murky depths.

And at that moment, she just wanted to go home, to get a hug from someone who cared about her, someone she could fall back on. Cloud, Dan, Meiday, even Wel. She just wanted her father. Wanted to feel his arms around her, the soft tickle of his moustache. To be enveloped in his protection and his love. To hear him say everything would be alright. She wanted her dad to make it better. But they were all dead or gone. She couldn’t find Zangan or Cloud, and she didn’t know where Wel or Meiday or Dan had ended up.

Grief struck her again, like a punch to the gut, winding her. She couldn’t catch her breath; she couldn’t breathe at all. Her lungs refused to work. She felt her limbs going numb. A new terror struck her, and with it a racking of uncontrollable shivering took her over. Sharp spasms of pain ripped through her chest, throbbing insistently and tightening across her ribcage, making breathing harder still.

Sudden physical exhaustion gripped her, dragging her downward, her knees buckled. She tried to fight to pull herself back up, however the weight of her grief, her thoughts, her despair pulled her down and she stumbled, collapsed, hit the ground hard.

Winded, she tried to suck in a deep breath but all she got was cloying dust from the hard-packed earth under her face and a headful of that chemical odour on the air, which made the inside of her skull thrum and pound painfully. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears and she had never felt it beating so fast before.

The last thing Tifa sensed was her own body lying on the ground, curled up in a foetal ball on her side, hugging her knees while she wept uncontrollably, shivering and all but suffocating on dust and her pain-cinched lungs.

<><><>

The moment Tifa was shaken back to reality came in the form of a hard tug on one of the straps of her backpack. It yanked her bodily half up off the ground but also gave her an unexpected handhold, upward from the deepest quagmire of her black pit. Even though her senses weren’t yet obeying her, she became dimly aware of people standing around her, two or three of them. And that someone was trying to haul the backpack from her shoulders.

Someone tried to snatch her gloves from her but her hands were already clenched into fists, making it impossible for them. Probably in response, she took a kick to the stomach and another to the head. At the same time as her head spun, she felt the strap of her back pack biting into her shoulder and worrying violently back and forth. Along with the movement, came the sound in her ear of fabric sawing, being cut. And a realisation slowly dawned that someone was cutting through the strap of her backpack. Someone’s hand abruptly cupped one of her breasts, she heard a grunt of interest.

Tifa lashed out wildly, a fast, horizontal sweeping armbar, not any particular one of Zangan’s techniques but still she felt a powerful collision with someone’s leg, a shin she thought. And she felt and heard bone splintering under the high-powered impact of her forearm. Someone cried out in agony and the hand clutching her breast let go, she got a sense of someone falling backwards and a dull, earthy thud caught in her ears.

“Ahh! My leg, my fucking leg.”
“Fuck this, let’s get outta here!”
“My fucking leg man, shit!”
“Hang on, I nearly got this…”

Then the strap came loose on her backpack, and whoever was hauling on it flipped her over onto her stomach in their efforts and then the bag was yanked off her other shoulder.

“Got it! Let’s go…. Damnit man, help him up!”
“Ahhh! Fuck man, be careful!”

And a second later there were running footsteps accompanying slower scraping footsteps along with more painfilled complaints, the echoing noise dissipating into the distance.

Tifa lay there on her stomach, her heart still hammering, fear overriding her. She was consumed by the thought that losing her backpack would be the last straw. Her money, her spare clothes, including her dress, heels and coin-chain-belt were all in there. However, it had a surprisingly bolstering effect.

She felt a sudden rage, fuelled by her grief and despair, and it began to bubble and churn within her guts. And it gave her energy and drive. She rolled onto her back then sat up, checked herself over. The kicks had been nothing, there wasn’t even a bruise, a bit of a scuff on her bare abdominals, a little welt on her forehead from the edge of a shoe. They didn’t even hurt any more.

She still had her Leather Gloves with the Restore Materia locked in its slot, and also her hipflask which was at the most a third full and the little hip-pouch which contained nothing but her little notebook of recipes, ingredients and ideas. The Pre-emptive Materia and what little food she had left had all been in the backpack.

The teenager, still mentally assailed and yet bubbling with a white-hot rage, forced herself to her feet. A strange new calmness came over her, capping and controlling the under-the-surface rage, despite the terror of being robbed at knifepoint. She saw the scrapes and marks of foot prints leading back to the main path and she followed them but they disappeared in the dusty road amongst scores of other tracks and foot prints.

And then, for the first time, Tifa looked around and realised she didn’t recognise her surroundings at all. She had no idea where she was, how she had got there, or how to get back. Not that she had anywhere to get back to - she was a complete stranger here. She didn’t even have somewhere to sleep. She did the only thing she could do, which was to follow the trail.

Like every road, path or trail Tifa had seen and walked along so far in the slums of Midgar, this one was lined with great piles of trash, tossed detritus. Abandoned, forgotten, discarded.

This particular path led through the usual dusty gloom towards garish lights and distant, tinny, echoing music somewhere up ahead. And after a timeless passage of numb walking. Tifa came across an overhead sign, a crescent of rusted metal, bolted to two ground-secured poles with a professionally painted yet age-faded signage that read ‘The Wall Market’ in both the Eastern and Western languages. And beneath it also clarified ‘Sector Six’.

As Tifa passed under the sign stepping into this Wall Market place, she realised that she was uncomfortably reminded of the sign above the entrance to her own village, which had a similar though less garish and less rusted appearance. She violently shook that thought from her mind and continued on as the lights and the loud badly echoing music built to a crescendo. And she turned a corner and found herself in what was essentially an open-air shopping centre. Though it was also a decidedly adult flavoured one.

She continued along the path, passing under another sign, this one in illuminated coloured glass that read ‘South’ in sickly yellow on garish green. Strangely, most of the signage Tifa could see, was written in the Western continent’s pictogram language, though there were small Eastern translations added beneath.

The first place Tifa looked in at, on her immediate left, was a small café. There was a loud bustling din coming from the place and peeking inside from the street revealed it to be full up, bustling with people. And with the people came the noise, multiple overlapping conversations, a loud television tuned into the official Shinra News Channel. Also, in amongst the rest of the bustling noise, and filling out the spaces between the audible human sounds, were the hiss and churn of steam and smoke, of cooking appliances working away nonstop in the background. She could see the cook and his assistant bustling around behind the long bar-like counter top. And also, two young and scantily clad waitresses and an equally scantily clad waiter, moving around between the booths along the opposite wall. Tifa moved on, feeling tired, hungry and lost and, really for the first time since losing her father, afraid.

There were little market stalls alongside real shops, stores situated within well-built and, for the most part, well maintained buildings – unlike the majority she had come across throughout the slums so far. The main path split ahead of her into three. One narrower trail led off at a ninety angle to her right, narrowing and dimming into what looked to be a decidedly sleezy alleyway. The other two paths continued ahead, splitting in front of a small, cylindrical item shop. However, both paths appeared to continue North parallel with each other, separated by a line of shops and stalls, the item shop being the first in the line.

Tifa kept on the main thoroughfare, her eyes wandering across the stalls and the shop-window displays and she baulked at the prices. They were much steeper than anything she had come across before. Even in the ocean ferry’s giftshop.

Strangely, it made her stolen Gil somehow less on an issue, because if this Wall Market was typical of Midgar’s prices, she wouldn’t have been able to afford much anyway. Some of the open-air market stalls she had already come across in Sectors Three and Four hadn’t seemed to have been too bad, but then she had been selling to them, not buying from them, so she hadn’t paid much attention to the prices of their goods.

There was no money, no viable plan, and she felt like there was no hope.

She could have lived out a reasonable if not lonely life back in Zangan’s cabin. And maybe he would have come back one day. However, there would be no way of getting back there now. Even if she could get back out of Midgar and live off the land again, make her way back over the mountains to Junon, there would be no way she could afford to buy a ticket on the ocean ferry to get herself back to her own continent.

She was essentially stuck here. Nowhere to go. And it certainly wasn’t safe on the streets, but she had no money for a hotel. She didn’t know anyone except Piran and he certainly couldn’t be trusted. Besides, could she even find her way back to his hotel from here? If he was even there still. And she had no illusions that obtaining his help would cost her dearly, at the very least it would mean her having to sleep with him, no doubt on more than one occasion. So, there was no one here she could call a friend, no one she could trust. No one who could help her. She only had her own talents and they were her looks and her martial skills.

There was no way she would be able to use Zangan’s teachings in street fights or just as a way of making money. She simply couldn’t betray Zangan’s dedication to the purity of the martial arts. Unlike Piran, she had absorbed that same dedication, she had been brought up with a moral backbone and she couldn’t betray Zangan like that, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. She owed it to herself, and to him. Even if she never saw him again for the rest of her life. He had still left her with an amazing gift that she wasn’t about to squander.

Maybe if she was helping others, acting as a paid mercenary, helping people who were unable to help themselves. There would certainly be honour in that. However, mercenaries were big, angry-looking, muscle-bound men with guns or great swords; not pretty, slender built and tiny teenage girls.

She had no doubt of her skills but she also knew that no one would ever take her seriously as a mercenary, at least until they saw her in action. And realistically, it would be too hard and too time-consuming to organise. And in the time that it would take to establish her reputation, build up a client base and locate some kind of centre of operations, where people could come and find her and ask for her help, she would have starved a dozen times over. It simply wasn’t a feasible option.

However, she still needed money, fast. Today. And she couldn’t for the life of her think of a way to get some. The only things left for her to sell were her Leather Gloves and her Restore Materia. And for the same reasons as not being willing to sell her combat skills, she couldn’t live with the idea of parting with the only physical connection to Zangan that she owned. His gifts to her, that had sustained and aided her on every step of her journey from leaving the cabin. No. Again, she would rather starve than part with them.

Trying to fight down her barely controlled despair and hopelessness, Tifa tried hard to think with a cold logic, to step outside of herself and try to think of a way, a method, something she could do to get some money. Something. Anything.

There was the one obvious answer but she loathed to even entertain it. It would enable her to make money quickly, today, no doubt right now. However, she felt like going down that route would destroy her somehow, it wound taint her, damage her inside. Possibly forever. It would leave her with a sense of self-loathing and failure if nothing else. And yet all around her there they stood between every shop, at every corner. Down every alley. The girls.

Young prostitutes. Those working girls were the core of any adult oriented district. The groups loitering around the Wall Market were almost all young, wearing either very skimpy clothes that showed a lot of flesh and didn’t leave anything to the imagination or they were wearing very tight clothes that didn’t leave anything to the imagination.

Tifa felt dirty just looking around the market, and as she did so she began to notice just how much sex was going on, right there, out in the open. It seemed to be accepted, just another transaction, like buying a Potion or a meal in a café.

To her immediate left, in the shadowy doorway of a closed-down store, a girl wearing clothes that were actually very similar to Tifa’s, was crouching down and energetically working her shadowed face back and forth in the unzipped crotch of some older guy with grey hair and a long moustache. On her right, down an alley opposite the closed-down shop, there were no less than three prostitutes plying their trade to as many men. One of the men was ancient and was receiving attention via the large breasts of a stocky girl who looked no older than Tifa. She was working her hefty orbs around the en-cushioned erection of the old man. While beyond them, almost silhouetted, were two others performing standing up sexual favours with the other two men, one pressed up between spread thighs, the other with a leg up on a man’s shoulder, while the men energetically drove up into them, over and over with their hips.

A quick count alluded to over two dozen youngish women working in alleys, on corners and everywhere in between, and eight or ten actual sexual transactions taking place in the moment within Tifa’s direct line-of-sight.

Tifa could honestly admit that she looked better than all of them. She observed the blow-job girl being handed a wad of cash, wiping her lips on the back of her hand as she flicked through the notes. And one of the standing-up sex girls emerging from the alley and stuffing a handful of cash into a belt pouch. And it got Tifa thinking that maybe she could just do it once. Maybe just once wouldn’t kill her. It would certainly get her out of the hole she was in, just one quick transaction, just to give her something in her pocket, something, a buffer. A room for the night, a chance to get a good night’s sleep in a safe place. A room with a door she could lock, where she could refresh herself. Give herself time to think, to consider her options. Maybe with some rest and sleep she could see a way out, something she couldn’t see right now in the state she was in. She just needed that buffer from all this iniquity. However, to get that buffer she would need to make the money. It could be quick and easy as anything, pick out a kind, gentle looking guy, make an offer. Do the deed quickly, get the money and it would be done with.

However, would she be able to live with herself afterwards? She was bound to feel dirty, and cheap. Was it a slippery slope that she couldn’t really expect to climb back out of? She had been popular and sought-after back home. Had been loved by Zangan. Even her father had once said she was going to end up a ‘damned heartbreaker’ when she was older. However, her father was dead. Zangan could be anywhere in the world. He certainly wasn’t here. And there was no one else coming to rescue her. Certainly not Cloud. He wouldn’t even know she was in Midgar, and there had been no sight or sound of him since he had left Nibelheim.

Pride and a sense of superiority couldn’t fill her belly or keep her safe. She needed money. She was desperate and, certainly in the here and now, her attractiveness and her body would hold her in good stead. It was the one thing she felt she could rely on in this place. Besides, her martial skills which would protect her from rape and abuse and any psycho punters she came across. Which was probably more than the rest of these girls could say.

Was she really going to do this? Maybe she could leave it up to fate? She could wander around Wall Market, see who approached her, see how she felt about it. If someone fit the bill made a move, someone gentle and kind looking with cash to spend, preferably someone attractive that she’d be happy to date if she had just met them in a café or on the street. Yeah, she could try that. No commitment, no decision made. She had the power to choose to go for it or not. Just a little innocent wander around the Wall Market and see what happened, let the fates decide. If the perfect man revealed himself, then maybe she could go for it. Or not.

She was accosted every couple of minutes, half of them assumed she was a prostitute and the other half just tried in on anyway. Two thirds of their eyes didn’t make it any further than her large jutting breasts. However, that was okay. It gave her confidence at least that making money here would be a sure thing for her.

Then some big guy turned up, emerging from the shadows of a cul-de-sac, at the head of which was some kind of erotic-medicines store. The man, maybe twice Tifa’s age and dressed in a dark green fitted suit that clung to his pronounced musculature beneath an almost black shirt. He was pale skinned and had a bald head, apart from a top knot that was oiled and kept in a gleaming smooth pony tail. He also wore light-amplifying glasses that were dark on the outside, as though to protect his eyesight from the sun’s glare, though obviously down in the slums there was never any direct sunlight anyway. He introduced himself as Rusen, one of the Don’s Lieutenants, as he abruptly took Tifa by the upper arm. He made the observation that she was new here and then, keeping a gentle but obviously controlling grip on her upper arm, he guided her back along the Western path and then turned her North again.

“There’s no soliciting here, kid, until you’ve been interviewed and vetted by the Don himself. It’s his number three rule.” Rusen said.

He was escorting her, whether she wanted to be or not, past another few market stalls, and towards a large weapon shop.

Tifa tried to assure him that she was just looking around the place, but he merely shushed her. Something about his superior age momentarily afforded him an authority that Tifa felt herself naturally accepting. For the time being.

“Fortunately for you, kid, the Don has a gap in his busy schedule and has agreed to complete your interview here and now, at his hall. So that you can get on and ply your trade freely.”

Tifa didn’t respond this time, she just walked along at the quick pace the man was dictating and ran martial skills techniques through her head, ones that she could effectively use to release herself from his grasp and then separate his head from his body. She could think of six methods in the first few seconds and a further three more advanced techniques, as she put more careful consideration into her circumstances. The man Rusen droned on, apparently enamoured by his own voice.

“…And I have to say, from the looks of you, you could make a damned fortune. In fact, I’d speak to the Don about it, if I were you. If you ask him to let him take you under his wing, I’m sure he can line you up with any number of five-figure sum clients, guaranteed! Minus his cut of course. That’s a hell of a lot of Gil, kid.”

In the distance at the end of the Northern path, and walled off from the rest of the area, was a large, Wutai style two-storey building. It was well lit, well maintained and looked both immaculate and expensive. Whoever lived there was obviously rich and more than likely powerful.

Just beyond the weapon shop, on their right, was another dark passageway but just before it, there was a singular small market stall that, for some reason, caught Tifa’s eye.

It seemed to be a bit of a brick-a-brack store, selling a random assortment of goods. However, a lot of it was fashion items. Jewellery mostly but also belts. And there were a small number of pairs of shoes on a little display rack on the ground in front of the main stall. And then behind it was a rack for clothes, mostly dresses, attractive looking garments made from soft, shimmering and shiny fabrics.

She saw the purple minidress, but in the low light and deep shadow, it didn’t stand out. However, catching the glowing yellow lamplight from the entrance to the Corneo Hall or mansion, or whatever it was supposed to be, she did spot her coin-chain-belt, coiled on a clear glass display-stand on the left-hand corner of the little stall.

She turned suddenly, slipping free of Rusen’s loose grip on her upper arm, and ran over to the stall. Her eyes took in the belt first along with the crescent moon earrings right below it, and then the dress, which she now recognised as her own, and finally the matching four-inch heels, down on the floor rack.

She snatched up the shoes, the belt and the earrings in anger, glaring at the stall holder. He appeared to be probably three times Tifa’s age with a far too slender physique that was badly concealed under his half unbuttoned grey shirt and too-tight trousers. His dark-complexioned face was thin and long, though jowly with beady eyes and a ridiculous looking dyed green over-the-top quiff.

“These are mine!” Tifa spat, her rage barely contained. “So is that dress!”

She pointed with her right hand at the rack behind the man.

“What are you talking about?!” The stall holder drawled, bored or at least making out he was.
“They were stolen from me! Ripped right of my back!”

Apparently enjoying the accidental lusty image of Tifa having a dress torn from her body, the stall holder flashed her a lascivious grin and started undressing her with his eyes. It did nothing for the girls’ temper.

“Give me that dress back, now!” She snarled.
“Hey, Rusen.” The stall holder called out, ignoring Tifa’s outburst. “What do we pay you protection money for? Sort your little whore out. Or, lend her to me for a few hours. I’d really enjoy breaking her in.”

“Alright alright, keep your quiff on!” Rusen sighed.

He caught up to Tifa and reached out for again, intending to pull her away by the hair this time.

“C’mon kid, don’t wanna keep the Don waiting.”

Tifa snarled as her temper frayed to the very edge and she suddenly whipped around on her left heel, bringing her right foot up high and caught Rusen hard at the base of the skull. He let out a wheezing grunt, a sudden exhalation of air and dropped to the ground hard, smashing his face on the edge of the stall as he went down.

The stall itself gave a great leap in reaction to the impact, and scattered its contents all over the place. The stall holder yelled at Tifa, stumbling backwards, at the same time he reached under his jacket and pulled out a stocky long-barrelled revolver.

Even as the revolver was emerging from its concealed holster, Tifa leaped onto the top of the stall, simultaneously sweeping her upper body to one side out of the trajectory of the gun. Dropping her retrieved belongings, she grabbed his gun-arm in her left hand at the wrist, twisted it until it locked, all in one fluid split-second movement. And then she brought a powerful hammer-fist strike down against his locked elbow, with her other hand. His elbow shattered completely, and the residual energy shocked through his arm like a violent ripple, simultaneously breaking humerus, radius and ulna. He screamed in agony and terror and then went abruptly quiet, the gun dropping from his savaged grip as he fell back to the ground, having fainted from the shock and intense pain of Tifa’s lightning-fast strike. The gun must have struck something hard as it hit the ground because it went off with a loud concussive pop. The projectile fortunately zinged off a piece of metal that was part of the junk surrounding the large weapon shop South of her. At least it hadn’t struck any innocent bystanders.

Ignoring the revolver, the teenager angrily grabbed up her dress from the rack, and then snatched a paper bag from the floor and stuffed the reclaimed items inside.

She noticed the man’s unlocked metal strong-box. The lid was partly open and there was the faint glimmer of coins and more than likely promissory-notes within. It was certainly tempting and he had proved himself to be a thief, or at least a receiver of stolen goods. However, Tifa wasn’t a thief and she wouldn’t start now.

She had a few bits and pieces to sell now and, with a little good fortune, it should be enough for a night or two in a cheap hotel and some food.

She heard shouting from the south part of the Market and the echoing of boots on the ground and decided she was probably better off away from the scene of the crime. She hurried Northward, keeping to the shadows. There was a large pipe cutting through a dividing wall up ahead on her right, and Tifa realised that the dividing wall was the actual huge dividing wall that Shinra had erected to separate each of the Sectors.

And there was also another boundary wall, intersecting Shinra’s and forming an acute arrowhead ahead of her where the two walls butted heads. The second wall was the boundary wall for the large Wutai style hall that was supposedly the lair of this Don Corneo character, so her Northward passage would come to an abrupt halt at any moment.

Within the gloom of that concrete triangle, Tifa could make out a small shanty of homeless people, right where those two walls met. Just like other less well-off parts of the slums, small shelters had been erected from scraps of wood, sheet metal and plastic tarpaulins. There could be as many as a dozen families all shoved into that small space. Tifa avoided it and instead followed the grey concrete of the Wutai boundary-wall toward the West. It ended in the front entrance to the hall’s grounds, which, again, was an ornate Wutai styled gatehouse, tile roofed, with gables and red painted wooden supporting pillars.

There was also a free-standing wooden noticeboard to one side of the gatehouse, and even that featured a tiny tiled roof. Tifa’s eyes swept across the score of old and not quite as old flyers pinned into the flat panel of treated pine of the noticeboard. Her eyes immediately stopped and focussed on one particular notice:

"Wanted: Young attractive female fitting a certain body type desired for full time waitressing duties with prospects of advancement.
'bb and ll' preferred, though any attractive female will receive an interview. Males, and females over thirty-five need not apply.
See Proprietor and Owner: The Seventh Heaven Bar, Sector Seven Slums. Midgar."

The flyer was adorned with a sexually provocative silhouette of a long-haired woman with a jutting bosom and ludicrously long legs, who seemed to have been drawn in the middle of a pole-dance performance.

Even though she baulked at just how seedy and overtly sexual the advertisement presented itself, Tifa saw a potential opportunity all the same. It represented a potential foot in the door, and she immediately recognised that for herself, it would be a step up from the outright prostitution she had unfortunately been considering, even if it turned out to be a topless bar or something, it would still be a start…

Tifa snatched the flyer from the noticeboard and stuffed it into her paper bag. Then she hurried on past the gatehouse, following a Westward direction along the Wutai building’s boundary wall.
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Final Fantasy 7. Tifa Lockhart: Journey to Midgar.