Chapter Text
You slump over your couch, drained from a day’s worth of insipid, unfulfilling office work, not caring that you are still dressed in your stuffy office attire (which consists of a frumpy blazer, a tight skirt you can barely move in, and a pair of stupidly uncomfortable heels that feel like they're at least six inches high). For an occupation that mostly consists of sitting behind a desk and typing all day while staring lifelessly at a bright monitor, it sure is exhausting!
You remain in your position for a while, contemplating your life decisions while your body recharges for a bit. Why did you even take on such an uninteresting job? You already graduated college—with a summa cum laude degree, no less! And yet, you're here, stuck doing lowly, menial work with a meager salary that's barely past the minimum wage. Thank God your recently deceased grandmother left you with a shitload of inheritance money to keep you afloat for at least a couple of months, maybe even a year. However, you know that it's only a matter of time before you’ll eventually consume all of it, meaning you’ll have to find a better job soon—and fast.
After a few minutes of lying face-first on the couch, you roll over and sit up, removing your heels and your blazer so your body can breathe.
“Maaaaan! This adulthood shit truly isn’t what it’s worked up to be,” you grumble, recalling all of the times little you had naively said she wanted to be a grown-up so she could “say and do whatever she pleased.”
If only you knew that adulthood would come with bills and debts that needed paying, chores that needed doing, and groceries that needed buying—with your own money, of course. Ugh.
But hey, at least you have Crisis Core: Reunion now! your inner thoughts cheer. You smile, remembering that you had ordered a copy of the recently released remaster of one of your favorite Final Fantasy VII spin-offs and that it just arrived in the mail two days ago. With your spirits lifted, you excitedly rush to your bedroom to retrieve the brand-new game.
Ever since you played the original game of the seventh installment of the iconic franchise, you've been nothing short of obsessed. But then again, who can blame you? It has an engaging storyline, well-written characters, and challenging yet satisfying gameplay—what's there to not like?
After rummaging your shelves for the game—and changing out of your work clothes in the process—you place it on the coffee table and begin dialing (your favorite pizza chain). Yes, you're going to have a game night to formally commence your week-long paid time off that you've worked so hard to accumulate.
When the pizza chain finally answers, you quickly chatter away your order, eager to begin playing the game. Once you are finished, you boot up your PlayStation 5 and pop in the disc. Butterflies of anticipation flutter in your stomach as you wait for the opening sequence to play.
You clap once you see the Shinra Building come into view, followed by SQUARE ENIX Presents. The opening sequence, combined with the immaculately composed music theme, never fails to rouse feelings of childlike excitement within you, so you've made it a point to never skip it.
About thirty minutes into the game, you hear audible rapping on your apartment door. You beam, confident that it's the pizza man who has come to deliver your order. Pausing the game, you hurriedly grab your wallet, run to the door, and throw it open.
“Pizza delivery,” the deliveryman trills, holding out your order with a small smile. “Hope I didn’t take too long.”
Taking the box from him, you chuckle and wave your hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s fine. You were right on time, actually!” You set the pizza on a nearby surface, then riffle through your wallet for the money. “Here you go,” you say, handing it to him.
“Thanks,” he says, stuffing the money into his pouch. “Although . . .”—he glances at you, a curious look on his face—"that’s a rather huge pizza you’ve ordered. I’m surprised you didn’t order a single-person one.” He holds his hands up before you can reply. “No offense, though.”
His remark doesn’t bother you, thankfully. “None taken,” you laugh. “I’m currently having a game night, you see. To celebrate my week-long vacation.”
That gets his attention. “Really? What game?”
“Crisis Core: Reunion,” you answer proudly.
“Ohhhhh! I’ve been meaning to get it since last week!” he crows, eyes sparkling gleefully. He seems to be just as much of a fan as you are. “Well then, I hope you enjoy your pizza and your game night!” He waves at you, then leaves.
“Thanks!” you call after him, waving back.
Unfortunately for you, Fate seems to have other plans.
Outside, a thunderstorm has struck, illuminating your city in bright flashes of light, promptly followed by a series of deafening rumbling in the sky. Rain begins pouring heavily, soaking the buildings, the streets, and the people that are outside.
You are in the middle of watching the iconic cutscene of Angeal, Genesis, and Sephiroth sparring with each other atop the Junon Cannon when another flash of lightning comes. At that exact moment, the electricity is cut off, instantly bathing the whole room in darkness. To your dismay, it went out right when Sephiroth is about to attack Genesis from above. You groan.
“Oh, come on!” you yell to no one in particular. “It was just getting to the good part!”
Disliking the idea of being shrouded in darkness, you reach out and begin searching the coffee table for your phone, only for your hand to knock over your iced tea. You hear a spilling sound, followed closely by the loud noise of glass clanging on the table. And then you feel a sensation of wetness on your sock-clad feet.
Great. Just great.
Ignoring the wet sensation, you continue to look for your phone, eventually finding it near the edge of the table. You switch its flashlight on and shine it on the incident area so you can assess the damage.
Except, nothing could’ve prepared you for the terrifying sight you are about to see.
“SHIT! MY PLAYSTATION!” you shriek, eyes widening in horror.
There sits your gaming console, fully soaked in iced tea. From the looks of it, it seems to have taken the majority of the glass’s contents. In a flash, your fingers are flying all over your phone, frantically looking up quick fixes for your PlayStation.
After a few minutes of running and fumbling about in your dim apartment, you're now in the middle of airing out your console. However, it doesn't mean that you're out of the woods yet: You will have to wait for it to completely dry. You can only hope for the best that that is all it needs—you are not enthusiastic about the idea of having to fork out extra cash for repairs.
What was I thinking, putting it next to the console? you chide yourself, disappointed at your stupidity. Well, there goes your game night!
Not in the mood to stay up any longer, you begin tidying up your living area, cleaning up the spill and vacuuming the fallen crumbs and morsels. You put away the leftover pizza, saving it for the day when you can finally resume playing the game. You hope that it will be sooner than later.
Finally settling in your bed, you stare up at the ceiling for a while, contemplating your plans for tomorrow. You have commissioned artworks that needed finishing ASAP (yes, you have a side hustle on top of your main job), so you're going to stay home—as usual—and do them tomorrow.
As the minutes tick by, you feel your eyes getting heavier and heavier until you can no longer keep them open. Not long after, you are out like a light.
You stir, disturbed by a strange ticklish sensation on your cheek. Still groggy with sleep, you rub your eyes with a groan.
“Hmm, good morning to me . . . ,” you yawn, sitting up and bringing your arms up for a stretch. You are about to get up to do your morning routine when—to your surprise—your head ends up colliding with something robust.
“Oww! Fuck!” you hiss, rubbing your forehead—it hurt! The pain you're currently feeling is akin to a head-on collision with a vehicle: strong and impactful. Overcome with anger, you're about to spout profanities at the one responsible when your eyes land on their form.
You feel the words die in your throat as you recognize the figure before you: a man of magnificent stature, dressed in black and white, who bore long, sheened hair the color of mercury and a hypnotic, serpentine gaze.
No, you deny, jaw slack with shock. It can’t be. . . .
Standing in your room is none other than Sephiroth. The Man in the Black Cape. The World’s Enemy.
The One-Winged Angel.
You scream.