As night falls and the lights of Midgar flicker through apartment windows, Rufus Shinra sits at his desk, one leg crossed as he looks over the city view. His city. He never tires of the power trip.

Half an hour ago, he sent Tseng to bring you, one of the Turks, a simple note - penthouse, 9 pm. No need to even sign it off.

Now he waits, listening for the familiar ding of the elevator, for footsteps echoing on the obsidian tile. For you.