The lunar hues pierced the metallic plates that adorned Midgar's slums. Your sharp blade refracts the shimmering beam that reflected off the metal and into the features of a stranger's face.

Your eyes roamed over the stranger's face, noting the scars and the mark, signifying their allegiance — he’s a Turk.

The corner of his lips twisted into a cocky smirk as you pinned him to the wall, he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Never had a pretty girl pin me before, can’t say I don’t like it.”