Thundering claps of heavy rain and echoing footsteps rattled the thin layers of metal holding up the rooftops. Beaming from below, the neon lights barely reached the surface of the weathered buildings, giving way for the distant glow of the midnight stars. 

Vaan jerked his head back for a moment, catching his breath, along with his racing heart. Three, no, four men much larger than him were two rooftops behind, trailing his tracks. Their gleaming, merciless smirks staring back at him. 

As the rain kept crashing at his eyes, Vaan briskly shuffled his golden curly hair out of his sight, which had matted to his forehead from the downfall. He looked down hesitantly, the bright orange essence emitting from inside his leather jacket still glowing bright, confirming he hadn't dropped the core. 

"Running will only delay your beating," One of the men yelled from afar. Unfazed by the rain, the men inched closer with every step, plenty of stamina filling their chase. 

Vaan turned his head once again, his scrawny body slipping on the puddles forming along the edges of the rooftops. A silent cough escaped his throat, filled with a staggering wetness, and a pinch of dirty rain. He scrambled back up to his knees, then to his feet, squeaking his ripped brown boots against the puddles below. His fist squeezed tightly against his jacket pocket as he sprinted forth, panting.

It was hard for him to predict how many rooftops were left, and how many he could jump on, but rooftops were not infinite, nor was his ability to run forever. The core in his pocket leaked a trail of orange light, so in turn, no matter where he turned, he would be followed with ease. 

Taking rapid steps and synchronizing them with his breathing, Vaan used that rhythm to prepare himself for yet another jump. Luckily, it would bring him to a lower level, and as he reached the edge, he could see it spanned about 15 feet in length. 

Crap. He thought to himself, glancing back once more before a slippery jump across. The four men were on his tail, closer this time, as the rain did nothing to hinder their pressing desire for the core. 

With his final breath tightening his body, Vaan leaped off the edge into the night sky, embracing the split-second of freedom he felt before sinking back down. That single moment of feeling weightless was enough for him to keep going, to keep pushing until his body refused. However, as large pools of rainwater interrupted his landing, the planned roll he had aimed for became a sudden shock to his knees and a short, painful slide on the cold rooftop floor. 

Vaan let out a frenzy of short, silent screams as the nerves in his ankle fired all at once. Each breath he took had suddenly grown heavy, as if a weight had been placed atop his lungs. His desperate attempts to stand fell short as a numbing pain sprouted around his left foot, unable to bear the weight of his frame. So, his body collapsed back down, face splashing against the puddles of dirty water. 

The core bounced out of his pocket, rolling onto the tiles and click-clacking away from him; lighting the corners of the rooftop. Vaan's heart raced even faster as he started to crawl, because deep inside, he knew it was over. All those months of planning, memorizing, and strategizing to obtain a single core were now being washed away by the rain. That core, now nearly an arms-length away, was the only thing his hope clenched onto. It was his key for survival, so the only thing he could do was crawl, pushing past the aches in his limbs and muscles. 

As he reached closer and closer, spitting rainwater out from his nose, a bellowing pain thumped atop his hand, stopping his motion. 

Vaan let out a hopeless cry, and as he looked up, a large rubbery boot twisted his wrist into the ground. 

"Lookie here," A large, bald man laughed as he forced his weight onto Vaan's wrist. He wore a ripped shirt—which was now stuck to his skin—along with loose overalls and a smug look. His right eye, replaced by a bionic implant, scanned the boy up and down. "The rat's got nowhere else to run." 

Vaan's hope had long faded from his reach, and in that moment, the pressing pain around his limbs numbed his thoughts of escape. He had stopped struggling, letting the man kick him over onto his back. Bright stars reflected back at him through the night showers, along with three irritated frowns looking down on him. 

The bald man picked up the core, clutching it between his thumb and index finger. "Finally," He hissed. "Now to deal with this trash." He kicked Vaan again. "If we leave you alive, who knows where you might run off to? Rats tend to cause problems if left untreated."

One of the other men walked over, wearing a large, buttoned cotton coat down to his knees, along with a greasy set of long, thick hair. His face sat thin, seeming starved at first glance. "Would you like me to dispose of him sir?" He asked the bald man, "I have no doubts this kid is alone, but if he were to report us to the guard…"

"Well?" The bald man spat between his teeth, kicking Vaan again, no longer hearing the boy's wheezing. "You hear that? We can't have you running off to the guard now can we? However," he glared back at the core. "With this, we might not have to worry about those damned uniformed pests."

Vaan, on the verge of fainting, managed to look up through his blood-soaked lids. Glaring through the blurriness, the three men's laughter taunted him, as if eating at his strength. Slowly, his muscles relaxed, welcoming the darkness. That is, until a sudden thought popped into his fading mind. Why are there three of them? I swear I saw four chasing me. Did one of them fall? No, that can't be it…

The bald man dropped the core into a zipper pocket on his torso, calling out to one of his subordinates in the process, "Oi Jinn, throw the kid off the ledge." 

He waited patiently for Vaan to be dragged off, but as seconds ticked by without an answer, his grin faded. "Jinn! I don't want to repeat my—"

As he turned around, along with the other two men, the one named Jinn was nowhere to be seen. They scanned the rooftop frantically, yet no sign of their fourth comrade had been present. "Where the hell did he go?" He yelled at the other two. "Did he fall? You two were behind me."

The long-haired man scratched his head, "I swear he'd been right next to me a second ago. We were jumpin' across together—"

"Then where is he?"

As they continued to argue, Vaan heard a loud, unnerving thud strike the ground behind him. The men heard it too, dropping the rooftop into a moment of silence, which was only disturbed by the sounds of pouring rain. Vaan lacked the strength to turn around, but from the look of pure horror on the men's faces, he knew it couldn't have been good. 

"J-Jinn.." The long-haired man stuttered in shock, afraid to take a step toward what seemed like a headless corpse splattered across the rooftop. The man looked up, searching for where the body had fallen from. As he gazed upon the stars, a splash of crimson blood exploded through his neck, revealing the edges of a small, glistening dagger. It only lasted a second; the last second of air entering his lungs; the final feeling of blood warming the soul; the final glance of white dots on a black, empty surface. 

Shifting his head ever-so-slightly, Vaan managed to witness the long-haired man—pierced with a silver knife through his neck—fall gently, as blood pooled onto the rooftop. 

"The guard found us!" The other man yelled in distraught. His blocky jaw dropped in fear, panicked breaths gasping for answers. His composure shattered at the sight of the blood, forcing him to retreat.

"Shut the fuck up," The bald man yanked him back, observing with his metallic eye. Through the darkness of the night, his eye had the ability to detect minor heat signals through a certain range. "Keep close," He ordered, pulling out a small pocket knife, and thrusting out the silver one which had been lodged into his allies' neck. "The guard doesn't go above ground level. This is something else." He kept scanning, able to make out a humanoid silhouette of red in the far distance of the rooftop. "Jackpot." A smile arose on his face once more. "You can't hide from me you little—" 

His momentary excitement fell short as the silhouette made a swift motion of a broad sweep, and a split-second later, a similar silver knife whizzed through the rain, straight into his eye implant. "Ahhgghh!" he screamed, the tip of the knife stopping just before his brain. "You fucking prick. Hiding like a coward."

Both the men backed away from Vaan and the two dead bodies, taking a defensive stance, yet shivering in fear. As the rain continued its downpour, washing the blood off the rooftop, a hooded figure—resembling the stature of a well-versatile man—wearing all black, appeared from the edge of the rooftop. 

The figure wore a sturdy cloak made of a thick wool, woven with other elastic fibers for easy movement. The cloak's hood gripped tight to the figure's head, casting shadows upon the hidden face within. The figure seemed empty handed, as if the two knives were its only source of weaponry, of which the bald man caught onto quickly. 

"Amesly," The bald man roared, pushing the squared-jaw man in front of himself, "Go kill that bastard, he's unarmed now."

Amesly, who was gripping a bent metal beam of some sort, cautiously moved forward. After noticing the figure lacking any form of weapon, the eagerness in his steps hastened with confidence, quickly morphing into a fearsome sprint. 

The figure stopped in a small puddle, his posture sturdy, his body unarmed, and his eyes paying no attention to the charging man. Vaan, who was losing consciousness fast, had been the figure's main source of focus. 

Locking down the cloaked man in his sight, Amesly prepared a full swing of the metal beam straight for his opponent's head. Just as he took one step too close, the hooded-man dashed forward with an elegant sweep off the puddle, catching Amesly off balance. 

After the figure evaded the oncoming attack, Amesly slipped from the mounds of blood and rain below him. Tumbling forth, his thick neck was caught in the gloved hands of the hooded man. 

A silent crack echoed through the rain, followed by the splashing of a metal beam click-clacking along the floor of the rooftop. Amesly's body fell limp, sending a cold chill down the bald-man's spine. 

"Who the hell are you," He barked, "Do you have any idea what you're doing?" 

The cloaked figure kept silent, approaching with slow, careful steps. The heavy sounds of the downpour muffled the figure's footsteps, as if he were a shadow gliding across the ground. 

The bald man, however, had turned his fear into a bellowing rage. Yanking the other knife out of his metallic eye and replacing his pocket knife with it, he began fanning the knives as if he were an expert duelist. The rings snugged around his fingers seemed to slide to his fingernails, their intricate design allowing for precise movements. "To have such arrogance to face me head on without a weapon," He yelled, swallowing pride as the lightweight knives shifted across his palm. "I've come third place in the Highrise Auction. Twice." He spat away the rain drizzling down his chin. "Do you seriously believe you'd get away with this alive? You haven't a clue of what grounds you've stepped on."

The figure paused, replying in a cold, monotone voice. "Whose grounds I step on are of no importance to me. This is a pointless squall, between someone who is weak, and corrupted by pride, and another, who would like to avoid watching a child die."

Those words stilled the air for a moment. Even the rain seemed to freeze for a few seconds as the bald man processed what was just said. Not once in his life has he ever experienced such carelessness spoken down on him, as if he was a screw holding up a punching bag. 

"What did you ju—"

"I'm not going to repeat myself," The figure interrupted him. "You heard what I said. People like you are why mere children are scared to go outside. You're driven by an undying lust for these cores as if your lifeforce depends on it, unafraid to kill just to satisfy your disgusting greed. So I give you two options. Either you fight, or you jump. It does not matter. You die in the end regardless."

The bald man, who remained motionless, sensed a foreign feeling entering his chest. A feeling he had only felt once before. A feeling he hated the most of all: pure fear, consuming his soul. The spite and stark tone of the figure's voice clenched his lungs together, paralyzing his thoughts. All he could do was grip the knives in his hands firmly, and let his footsteps guide him toward the cloaked man in front of him. "You're going to regret every single word that came spewing out of that wretched tongue of yours." 

The cloaked figure kept still, unresponsive. He observed, keeping a watchful eye on Vaan, who was eerily still. 

The bald man closed the distance between himself and the figure rather quickly, lunging forth with his right hand and immediately following with a broad sweep from his left. The hooded man gently stepped aside, shuffling against the puddle below him, then flicking his elbow into the bald man's wrist. The quick sensation of the hit sent one of the knives flying in midair, while simultaneously, a soft jab landed on the bald man's chin, disorienting him. 

With his remaining knife, the bald man swung again, missing again, and again, and again. It's as if his duel was against his shadow, but instead of his own movements being mimicked, the shadow was always a step ahead, knowing exactly where and how he would move. 

The bald man spat out a fistful of blood, throwing the knife aside and cracking his thick fingers. "Little prick," he said, wiping sweat and rain off his glistening forehead. "You rats are always so damn slippery. Always running, quick on their little feet, but no matter how long you slip beneath me, in the end, they always fall." He ripped off his shirt, revealing large, chiseled muscles seeded around his body. A few scars were drawn along his chest and back, along with fresh scratches being washed off by the rain. The silver rings around his fingers moved freely with his hand, tightening along with his grip. 

"I have to apologize," The hooded man spoke again. "The boy you were chasing is severely injured, and I cannot allow him to die before my eyes. Therefore, I will have to cut our duel rather short." 

"Huh?" The bald man growled, half confused, half enraged. Clinking his knuckles together and leaping forcefully, he aimed his] fist straight at the center of the shadened cloak in his way. As his fist traveled through countless raindrops, a sudden breeze greeted his destination, for the hooded man strafed sideways and parried the punch with the back of his gloved hand. Before the bald man had time to throw another, a quick burst of stiffness shot into his neck, then his ribcage, then his ears. 

The hooded man maneuvered fast, using the darkness of the night to his advantage, landing quick, efficient blows to crucial nerve points as his weapon. The bald man, now fazed and stumbling in his steps, refused to comprehend what was happening. Pain sprouted all around his body, and as he kept swinging his fists in the open air, hoping to land a hit, not a single blow connected. 

The hooded man swept around him, jerking his head back with a whiplash to the ground. The bald man's head smashed into the tile roof, leaving his neck broken, and parts of his skull shattered from within. 

Vaan, barely managing to keep his lids ajar, studied the hooded man as he knelt down beside him and whispered in his ear. "Go to sleep. It's best you do so if you want to wake up again."

Deprived of energy and strength, Vaan faded into darkness, his cold, wet clothes easing the path to an uncomfortable slumber.