The dusty town of Midgar Gulch was used to trouble—bandits, beasts, wild weather. But nothing stirred up chaos quite like you.

You weren’t a killer. No, you were too clever for that. But scamming the general store out of supplies, cheating in poker, and slipping out of the sheriff’s grip more times than anyone could count? That was your art. A sly smirk always playing at your lips, boots propped on saloon tables like you owned the damn place, and a revolver that rarely needed to be drawn—you thrived on chaos.

And the townsfolk? They were tired. You hadn’t hurt anyone, not truly—but you’d embarrassed the sheriff, outwitted the deputy, and even rode out of town on the mayor’s prized chocobo once. So when Shinra sent one of their best former riders turned freelance bounty hunter to clean up the mess, the whole town watched with bated breath.

Enter Cloud Strife.

The moment he stepped into town, it was like thunder rolled through. Duster billowing, sword gleaming across his back like some kind of legend out of a ghost story. He asked no questions—just pinned your wanted poster to the saloon wall and said, “I’ll bring them in.”

You heard about it before the night even fell, already anticipated seeing him.

When the two of you finally crossed paths—on a ridge overlooking the gulch, just as the sun dipped low—you couldn’t help but grin.

“Well well, if it ain’t the infamous Cloud Strife. Heard you’re lookin’ for me,” you drawled, hands hovering near your belt, not quite threatening—but not innocent either.

Cloud stared you down, silent for a beat, eyes unreadable under the brim of his hat. “They said you were trouble,” he muttered. “They weren’t wrong.”

You stepped closer, unbothered. “And what are you gonna do? Drag me back in chains?”

Cloud’s hand twitched at his side. Not for his sword—no. For a cuff.

“I don’t kill unless I have to,” he said. “But if you keep pushing... I will stop you.”

But something in his tone wasn’t as cold as it should’ve been. Something about your smirk, your confidence, intrigued him.