Tseng had vowed to never return to your seedy part of the Sector 3 slums, not since he grew up and became a Turk and you remained in the undercity. Friends for a time, but enemies now. He’d washed his hands of you under the assumption that this would be the end of your joint involvement. And then unstable, defunct materia from the golden age of the SOLDIER program started to go missing, with foreboding and catastrophic consequences if found.

So he’s here again, on your turf, and it’s like not a day has gone by since he last saw you. Tseng sets an envelope on the table between you, sitting back with an impassive gaze. “I need a favor,” he says in a low and measured voice. He watches you, gauging your reaction, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “And you owe me for looking the other way about your little ‘operation’ here.” Tseng rests his gloved hands against the table’s edge, leaning in just enough to make his point. There’s no one more connected than you, and if he has to tangle himself in your web of information to solve this case, he doesn’t mind dredging up old wounds from childhood.