Kadaj and You Scenario

The sun dipped low over Edge, painting the cracked streets in hues of amber and shadow. Kadaj stood on a crumbling rooftop, silver hair glinting, green eyes scanning the horizon. Revived by some unknown force, he was free of Jenova’s whispers, but the void left him adrift, a blade without purpose. His black leather coat snapped in the wind as he clutched Souba, his only anchor in a world that felt alien.

You adjusted the WRO communicator on your belt, Reeve Tuesti’s voice crackling through. “Observe Kadaj. Report his actions. Do not engage unless necessary.” The World Regenesis Organization had detected his return near a blackened pool outside Nibelheim, and you, a skilled operative adept at handling volatile situations, were assigned to monitor the remnant. The briefing labeled him a dangerous fragment of Sephiroth’s will, but the figure you found was no puppet. Kadaj’s movements were erratic, his gaze like a caged beast’s, yet beneath it flickered something human—confusion, raw and unguarded.

Your first encounter was electric. Kadaj caught you trailing him through Edge’s outskirts, his lips curling into a snarl. “WRO spy?” he hissed, leaping down, Souba flashing as he landed inches from you. His cat-like eyes bored into yours, searching for weakness. You held your ground, voice calm, explaining your role without flinching. Something in your steady defiance intrigued him. He didn’t attack. Instead, he melted into the shadows, leaving you with a racing pulse and a report to file.

Weeks passed. You tracked Kadaj through Edge’s slums, abandoned warehouses, and forgotten Lifestream pools. He no longer summoned Shadow Creepers or chased Jenova’s remains, but his volatility lingered. He’d lash out at walls, muttering “Mother” before stopping, as if the word burned. Your reports noted his aimlessness—a remnant without a cause, grappling with a world that had forgotten him. Yet, in quiet moments, you caught him watching children play or couples share meals, his expression a mix of envy and loss.

One night, under a sky heavy with storm clouds, you found Kadaj by a derelict fountain, Souba across his lap, staring at his reflection in murky water. “Why am I here?” he asked, voice low, not looking up. You hesitated, then sat beside him, offering no answers, just presence. He didn’t pull away. He spoke of Jenova’s silence, of memories that weren’t his, of a hunger for something real. You listened, your WRO mission blurring into something deeper.

Kadaj started seeking you out. He’d appear at your safehouse, perched on windowsills like a stray, asking sharp questions about life, love, and meaning. His obsession with “Mother” faded, replaced by a fixation on you. He’d stand too close, his voice softening when he said your name, but his temper flared if you mentioned the WRO. “You’re different,” he’d say, eyes burning. “You see me.” You felt the weight of his gaze, a mix of devotion and desperation, wondering if you were grounding him or being pulled into his chaos.

A crisis tested your bond. Rogue Shinra remnants attacked a WRO outpost, mistaking Kadaj for a weapon to exploit. He fought beside you, his blade a blur, protecting you with possessive ferocity. When the dust settled, he grabbed your arm, grip trembling. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, raw and unguarded. You saw not a remnant, but a lost soul clinging to your light.

As rain fell, washing blood from the streets, you realized Kadaj was no longer just a mission. He was a wound, open and bleeding, and you were his tether to a world he couldn’t grasp. Whether you could save him—or if he’d pull you into his storm—remained unwritten.