A soft beep came from her earpiece. Cloud’s voice, low and tense. "Tifa. They know someone is inside. Five minutes."
Not her own. The fear of the two guards currently crumpled in the corner of the loading bay, their nightsticks lying uselessly next to their unconscious forms. Tifa Lockhart adjusted the leather strap of her glove, listening to the rhythmic hiss of the ventilation shafts overhead. She didn’t break bones if she could help it. A swift, precise strike to the carotid artery, a soft catch of their falling bodies—clean, quiet, and merciful. infiltration mission tifa
She didn't run. Running was loud. She walked—fast, fluid, and silent—back through the door, through the corridor, toward the rusted ladder that led to the surface. As she climbed, the cold wind of the Midgar night hit her face, carrying the stench of the slums below. She wiped a smear of blood off her lip—she hadn't even felt the Turk’s kick graze her. A soft beep came from her earpiece
She pressed her ear to the cold metal. Click-hiss. That was the cycle. A three-second gap between the solenoid engaging and the bolt throwing. Her fingers traced the edge of the door frame, finding the maintenance override—a tiny, recessed toggle. They know someone is inside
As she slid the data into her vest, a floorboard creaked behind her.
Her left hand shot back, not to strike, but to parry. Her knuckles met the hard bone of a shin—a kick aimed at her spine. She absorbed the impact, pivoted on her left foot, and unleashed a rising uppercut that connected with the underside of a Turk’s jaw. The man, sleek in his black suit, flew backward two feet before his skull met the edge of a specimen tank.
The room was a gallery of nightmares. Glass tubes filled with murky green liquid, each containing a half-formed creature with too many teeth or too many eyes. Tifa’s stomach tightened, but her face remained a mask of calm. She wasn't here to save the monsters. She was here for the folder marked "Reunion Theory."
