Dying. It was like dying.

That was the only reasonable way to put it; each breath was one step closer to darkness. But hadn't he been dying for years now? One breath more... If that would have actually permit him eternal rest then he would have started breathing more often, instead of simply suffocating himself. After all, that's what it was, blissful and wonderful suffocation. When he fought his demons there was only pain, but when he gave into them... It was always easier to just give in. Somewhat pleasant, even. He didn't care and that's what made it all the more appealing; he could let the demons win. Perhaps when this was over, after he was done with this Strife business and those endless promises, that's what he would do.

And then there would be nothing.

Vincent flinched. Endless nothing... His dreams had shown him that. It wasn't as pleasant as he always thought it to be.

Before the promises there was only Cid. As much as he cared for that gruff, stubborn ex-pilot, Vincent found little reason for much of anything. There was only that retribution to gain, that overpowering revenge that he had somehow convinced himself he would find. There would be regret, he knew that. There would be emptiness. There would be that feeling of failure and of self-pity. At least, there had been. For the most part, Vincent had conquered those human plights years ago. Yet there were still the demons, there was still the professor. He may have toyed with the idea of letting his demons win, but Hojo... That man was another reason to keep going, if only for vengeance. It seemed almost shallow existing just for that.

And then suddenly there was a promise. It was such a cruel and absurd joke; it took one woman to destroy him, but it took another to bring him back. And to think that once he prided himself on always keeping his promises...

Why did she have to ruin his perfect plan? He would have found Hojo; he would have destroyed him, even if it meant his own life along with the professor's. The demons would conquer and win and then... Then there would be nothing. Tifa had made him rethink everything, all of those meticulous and destructive plans of his. Vincent often wondered why she had done that - she was drowning, so why did she reach out to save him? It had only made him reach back in the end. She was so...bright. Sometimes it hurt to just look at her. Sometimes she made him feel...

What was that word again?

He felt so...certain.

Strange, those little things.

He couldn't let himself be apathetic towards death, not anymore. If only for Tifa, if only for Cid... If only for Hojo. The professor couldn't win. And Vincent had people to protect once again. Was that the reason? Barret had lost everything and yet he still kept living. It was because of Marlene and his little Avalanche family, it was for that nearly impossible dream of his that perhaps there was still a chance to save the world. If Vincent could find something like that...

Maybe he already had.

Vincent watched the new night.

He wanted to breathe again.

It took a few hours for Vincent to find what he deemed to be the perfect entrance to Midgar's sewer systems. It couldn't be too close to ShinRa - obviously if there was a route to the inside of the building there would be guards stationed there. Vincent simply guessed that most of the manpower would be focused on the upper part, rather than down below. And even if that wasn't the case, fighting in the much darker sewer, where the neon lights of the City of Ghosts could not reach, was a clear advantage for Vincent. There wouldn't be much room for however many guards were down there to maneuver - it was a double-edged sword, of course, since that fate was theirs as well.

Once Vincent found his entrance, one well placed metal claw enough force to rip off the manhole cover, he slipped down below. As he had previously stated, much to the objection of Barret, he would go first into the dark's unfamiliar depths and then report back to them. It seemed a good enough idea, since Vincent saw as well in the dark as he did in the light.

Within a few moments, Vincent's head appeared at the empty hole, along with a new gust of steam. "It's clear, for now." With another look around the city, Vincent went back below.

"That's good enough for me." Cid smiled broadly, plucked the slender stick out from between his lips and threw it to the ground; the curling smoke from his cigarette merged with the steam from below the city. He didn't say, but he half-wanted the plan to fail just so they could use the helicopter again. "I hope Shera's okay..."

Barret watched Cid almost warily, one thick eyebrow slightly arched at the ex-pilot.

"That's what I named my helicopter," he simply said.

Tifa smiled. He was already in love with the damn thing. "Cid..."

The ex-pilot waved his free hand in front of his face, a clear sign that he didn't wish to get into that particular subject at the moment, and with his other hand diligently shouldering his spear Cid followed Vincent into the sewer. His incoherent grumbles came shortly afterwards; obviously Cid had just discovered that he couldn't see in the darkness as well as Vincent could.

A grin creased Barret's dark face, then his lips pursed tightly in order to stifle a laugh. "He named his helicopter?"

"Isn't that what guys do? Name their stuff?" She teased.

"Yeah, some..." Barret moved uneasily besides Tifa, the weight in the air shifting to something more heavy. He finally was alone with her and now able to talk more freely, without worrying about someone overhearing.

He looked at the girl who he had promised to protect for the rest of his natural life. Even though the promise had never been verbalized, they were both aware of it. Girl... No, she was a woman now. The big man sighed, watching Tifa with those dark, worrying eyes of his. He scratched the back of his head timidly, assuming that Tifa would automatically protest what he was about to ask. But he was going to ask anyway. "Tifa?"

Tifa heard the twinge of uncertainty in his voice. Her smile quickly left her face. "What's wrong?"

"'Bout what we're doin'..." Barret's unsure eyes hardened once more, clearly taking back his father role, and he stepped closer to her, his doubt so obvious that Tifa never needed to hear his question; she already knew what he was going to ask. "Are you sure 'bout this? I mean, hell, if it were my friend I'd want 'im back, too. But how far are you willin' to go for someone who'll just leave again?"

Her eyes avoided his. She knew he would bring this dreadful subject up again when her bounty hunters had departed their company for just a moment, and even with knowing the impending question for this whole time Tifa had no solid answer for him. She stiffened slightly as she turned away from him and crouched down near the manhole. Tifa swung herself over and into the opening, holding the metal rungs forcefully, as if she was afraid that the slick surface and her unsure hands were a lethal combination. Before she actually descended, however, she peered up at Barret with eyes no longer misleading in anger - there was that uncertainly again, that nagging and persistent thought that perhaps Barret was right. Why was she doing this? She never had the answer. Tifa lowered herself one step at a time and the cold, inky fingers of the sewer quickly embraced her.

Barret stood at the edge of the opening, looking down at that thick and opaque shadow, seeing only its hopeless face watching him back; it was the face of nothing and it spoke only of pain and misery. It concealed everything well.

Sometimes he really hated the darkness.

The tunnels seemed to go on forever in one solid, straight line. Of course that wasn't the case; they wrapped and curved in certain places, much too obscure for the human eyes, which would accidentally mistake those nearly pitch-black walls for the nothingness of space. It was as if there truly was nothing, only the cold dark around them as they floated in the midst of everything. Tifa was faintly reminded of that dream she had once - just days ago, wasn't it? Something about the darkness and her finding Cloud...and her falling. She seemed to be falling well enough lately. She would get back up again, of course, refusing to let anything hold her down. Midgar had toughened her up, but it was as if Cloud Strife had made her vulnerable once more - if only in a way she could not fight against. The last thing she would ever be again was defenseless.

Vulnerability had played wicked games with her in the past.

Vincent had stopped the group a few times, leaving them in the darkness, only to return again with a definite route. They traveled on like that for quite some time, until the pale glow of florescent lights came like the heavenly shine at the end of a tunnel. The slender, stick-like bulbs continued to light their way and revealed that the damp walls were not black nothingness at all, only slippery and discolored bricks. In fact, it allowed them to see much more of their surroundings as well; they were moving along a narrow footpath, twenty inches across, with a drop besides it of about two feet; from then on it was greenish looking water and whatever else was swimming around in it. Every so often they would cross an alcove, its mental rungs leading up to more mysterious and unknown places.

"How much more, Vincent?" There was the sharp sound of Barret's gun-arm as it collided with the sewer's wall, followed by grumbling and shuffling. The leader of Avalanche moved beneath another florescent light, his rich and dark skin now veiled with a greenish-white tinge.

"I have no idea," came the indifferent reply.

Cid snorted.

Barret breathed out slowly. He'd gotten used to Vincent's apathetic sounding answers by now, but he couldn't help the small grin that touched those lips of his whenever the bounty hunter replied in that cold, indifferent voice of his. "Sure as hell must've takin' you some time to do that so damned well."

There came no reply from the shadowy figure in front of him. Every so often the pale glow from the next light would illuminate their bounty hunter, but once it left Vincent disappeared into the shadows until the next florescent light came along.

"We'll know where we are soon enough, Barret." Tifa placed a steady hand on her friend's muscular arm. "Until then, we might as well keep quiet. We don't want any ShinRa soldiers to know we're here."

The slump in Barret's shoulders told of his reluctant agreement.

Vincent cast a quick glance back to Tifa. Smart girl. She looked swiftly over at him, before returning her attention to Barret and Cid behind them. His three companions seemed battered and tired, even though Vincent was certain that none of them would voice this fact. A little longer... At least until we find a suitable place to rest. He shifted his feet on the damp walkway. Two people can barely stand side by side on this damnable thing. They'll have to wait a bit more. However, Vincent slowed his pace. No one behind him noticed, and if they did they most certainly did not protest.

They went on for half a mile more before Vincent abruptly stopped.

Barret slammed into him from behind. "Shit! Vincent!" The big man's left hand reached for the sleek wall, his fingers unsuccessfully grabbing for a solid hold. He managed to shift his body weight to his left, keeping himself from falling into the murky, green water. Once Barret realized how loud he had yelled, his left hand slapped against his mouth and didn't leave until his echoing voice vanished from the sewer.

Cid coughed, if only to rub it in. "You wanna announce our presence a bit louder next time?"

Barret turned around and glared at the ex-pilot, and even in the dull, florescent light Cid could see his scowl well enough.

"Why did we stop?" Tifa's hushed voice found Vincent's ears surprisingly well.

"We're resting here," Vincent said quietly, and then before anyone could protest, "we might as well save our energy for what's ahead." The others couldn't see what Vincent found a few feet ahead, even in the dim light; the sewer opened up more and created a round room, where the walkway tripled in width. In the rear of the room was more of the sewer's tunnels and it was back to the narrow twenty inches of walkway from there. Once they wandered into the room, Vincent surveyed it silently, then simply said, "Make sure you're ready."

Vincent sat against the wall, a little ways into the room, besides more steam and pipes. It was the most shadow-covered place (not that he needed to look very far for the cover of darkness down in the sewer) and he seemed to attach to the dark walls and blend in. Stubbornly, Tifa sat down besides him. He could try to cover himself as well as he could, but his looming eyes, floating in-between the shadows like ghosts, always revealed where he was. And Tifa knew by now that he didn't mind her company - if anything, she seemed welcomed.

"I'm not angry with you, for what you said before." Tifa brought up both her knees and wrapped her arms around them, anchoring herself in the spot next to Vincent.

Ruby and gold eyes moved her way. "I didn't say that you were."

"You were thinking it, Valentine. And don't say that you weren't."

He smiled, though she never saw it in the shadows that masked his face; she could only hear the smile in his voice and the slight bit of amusement, which was aimed at the fact that she was becoming good at what he took so much pride in: reading people. "In that case... Yes, I assumed that you were. After all, you seemed so insistent upon believing..." Vincent shook his head and remembering where that conversation had led them the last time, only whispered, "Never mind."

The shadows on her face hid a slight smile and soft, brown eyes. "I'm allowed to believe whatever I want to."

"You certainly are. But keep in mind that it works both ways, Tifa. You can't push your beliefs onto other people."

"I wasn't trying to, Vincent." The smile left her face and her lips became an almost perfect straight line. She pushed more strands of hair away. "I just wanted you to understand, that's all."

"I understand, Tifa."

She looked at him skeptically. Tifa was fairly certain that he only understood as much as he wanted to. "Maybe you did, once." She sighed, knowing that she would probably receive no answer save for his usual silence. "Vincent? Did you believe? Before what happened to you, I mean." She wasn't sure what had actually happened to him, just bits and pieces from what he once revealed, and the rest was left up to simple assumption.

Vincent thought for a moment, then closed his eyes silently. "As much as the next person, I suppose. I was never really a man of religious conviction." There was a slight pause, then a shift next to her. "Experience can turn the most faithful man against his god." He saw Tifa's mouth open to contradict him and he added softly, "yes, and it can work the other way, as well."

"Didn't your job ever bother you?" A hand came from the darkness to brush stray hairs away from her face once again. "I know how the Turks work and how little they take in mind the grief of others." It was as if she was saying how difficult it was to believe what he once had been - but difficult or not, she could not challenge the truth. "They cause so much pain, so much death..."

What was she trying to do? Vincent lowered his head and his hair and the shadows blended together as one. Perhaps she was trying to invoke some sort of guilt from him, some emotion to prove that he was indeed human.

She heard him breathe out softly, then the rustle of his cloak as he wrapped it around himself tightly. Even Tifa could sense his uneasiness on that particular topic and for a time she feared that he would keep his silence. But then his voice came quietly, as if only to part the stagnate air of the sewer's tunnels.

"It bothers you, in the beginning, I like to think..." He cast one eye toward her, the other lost in his thick, dark hair, each of his words now clipped and sharp. "But the sympathy and the regret leave you quickly, and the more you kill the less you care - they start to all look the same in the end. You would be surprised how easy it is to kill an innocent, how easy it is to twist your beliefs and think the worst of the most humble." He pointed his forefinger like a gun and pressed it gently to her forehead. "Boom..." The word was whispered softly and Tifa wasn't certain if it had actually passed his lips or if her imagination in the darkness was taking control. "...Just another body." Vincent leaned back and the top part of his face was fully concealed in the shadows. "But every once in a while, you get a smack from reality, a reminder that not everything is so black and white."

A pause, then a quiet, mirthless chuckle.

"Even the best of us mess up, put our faith in something so utterly ridiculous." He smiled bitterly. "Lucrecia... My little smack from reality."

Vincent turned to Tifa, once again an eye brought forth from the depths and the darkness; the eye was softer than before and his voice more calm, more in control. "You can't blame everyone for the fault of one, Tifa. It's so easy to hate, to let yourself be consumed by it. Most people who spend their whole life seeking revenge..." Another smile on wise lips. "In the end, they're as much the monster as the one who wronged them." Vincent looked away from her solemnly. "Don't let your hate win your soul, Tifa Lockheart."

Tifa felt him stir besides her, the brush of an arm as it moved to perch on an arched knee and the shift in the weight of the air. Was he speaking of himself? Was he speaking about her? Sometimes, Tifa could only assume. "And what about your demons? What about your revenge?"

"I created my own demons, Tifa."

"I heard you had help."

"Cloud Strife."

Tifa's mouth hung open and she stared at the darkness on his face and that one eye that was surely mocking her in its place among shadows. "What?" The word barely escaped her throat.

"We're on this mission for him." He move and the shadows left him. His hand and his claw gripped her shoulders firmly. "Don't forget why we're here, or this will be all for nothing." Vincent's eyes softened and searched her slightly troubled face. "I hope he realizes what a great friend he has." There was no change in his somber looking face, no break or crease from a smile. It was like those words were nothing more than a simple observation - no comfort lied behind them.

Her eyes darted away from his. You're trying to change the subject, Valentine. She tried to smile, if only to make him feel like the whole world wasn't against him at that moment. "I hope you realize that I... We're your friends, too, Vincent."

Vincent's hand and his claw left her shoulders and he turned back to the shadows. They wrapped around him then, the all too familiar lover's embrace, and the dark's icy fingers pressed against his skin. It was both comforting and frightening. And he accepted it all too willingly.

"Perhaps," he whispered.

They started walking after their fifteen-minute break and soon the dull florescent bulbs died away to a pale, bluish light, which filtered in from the other manhole covers above them. Vincent looked up and a slight smile touched his lips. The City of Ghosts could touch the darkness of purgatory after all. He bowed his head when that pale light reached out to caress his dark hair. Their fingers tried to grab hold of him and pull him upward, while the cold hands of darkness forced him down once more. Whenever he walked beneath those pale fingers, he could feel himself nearly rip in two. The light always beckoned, but the dark's demands were always greater.

Vincent stopped beneath the light of another manhole cover and his eyes silently scanned the two new paths before him. He craned his head upward again, letting the light cover his face, and he stayed that way until the others caught up to him. Before him the path grew wider and the greenish water besides him became nothing more than a thin inlet, far off to the right. There were two options for them, neither of which looked truly hopeful. Both ways were veiled in a sickly glow and neither promised a clear path to Cloud Strife. Lost inside of his mind, Vincent barely registered the warm hand against his shoulder.

"You all right, Vin?"

A wave of stale cigarettes and cologne consumed him all at once, as if Cid had thrown his arms around him. Vincent didn't know whether to cough or to smile. "I'm fine," came the indifferent response and he started walking almost immediately, moving closer to one of the two tunnels.

Cid kept up with his friend's fast pace. "Shit, Vin. You don't know where we are, do you?"

"What?" Barret nearly collided with the two ahead of him.

Vincent turned around to Cid's broad grin - clearly the ex-pilot was offering no solution to their problem. He casually watched Cid, half of his face covered in shadows, the other bathed in silver light. A grim smile pulled at his lips. "Is it that obvious?"

"Aw, hell. Tell me he's jokin'!" Barret covered his face with his left hand, just as Tifa stepped beside him.

"There's two things Valentine doesn't do. He doesn't dance and he doesn't joke, not in sewers, anyway." Cid automatically reached for his packet of cigarettes, paused and thought better of it, then shoved his right hand into his pocket. He chewed on his bottom lip.

Vincent quirked a brow. "Quitting, Cid?"

Cid only shrugged. "Ain't wise to smoke down here."

Tifa looked upward, watching the pale rays of light that drifted in from the slits in the manhole cover. Every so often the silver glow would flicker and fade, as if it had only been a feeble, dying source of light and nothing more. Perhaps it would go out altogether, leaving them with only the eerie green glow of their new world. Tifa quickly looked away and back to Vincent. "Why don't we take a look from the manhole? We can see where we are." Tifa outstretched her hand in the pale glow and curled her fingers, trying in vain to grab hold of the cold light. She would have even volunteered to look, if only to get a glimpse of something other than here.

Vincent turned around, his hair following after him in one solid whirl. "No. It's too risky."

"Too risky? Walkin' 'round in the dark is a better choice?" Barret felt his anger rise within him, and the overbearing and bleak darkness around him only fed it. "I thought you knew how to get 'round under here!"

"I never said I did." The bounty hunter was unmoved and his voice just as calm; that usual deadly calm of his that had gotten him out of many unwanted situations in the past. To him, this was just another of those setbacks. It was easy enough to solve.

Barret sighed, obviously surrendering. Vincent's levelheaded calm had unconsciously eased him - still not enough to put total faith in their bounty hunter, but enough for Barret to keep his anger at bay for the meantime. "Damnit." He mumbled more and pressed his back flat against the sewer's wall. "Give us a miracle, Valentine."

His words never found Vincent's ears, however, since their bounty hunter was too busy solving their dilemma. Vincent strained to hear beyond the tunnel he had stepped before - it was a random choice, simply because it was nearer to him. There was nothing, however, only the sound of dripping water, echoing off the walls and fading into the darkness. Another drip followed, then another, followed by squeals and squeaks from unseen rodents. His sobering frown and furrowed eyebrows couldn't be seen as the darkness wrapped back around his face, and he stepped before the second tunnel, off to the right. When he walked in a few steps the green glow dispelled the darkness and the smell of disinfectant touched his nose. Vincent stopped walking, the echoing of his boots the only noise that came afterwards.

He silently cursed those metal tips.

Vincent paused only briefly to cast a quick look back to his group of three, then continued to skulk along the wall of the tunnel. His right hand slid cautiously along the wet bricks, his left staying dutifully by his side, never anywhere near touching the wall for fear of making any unnecessary noises. He could hear the soft patter of boots trying to stay quiet behind him; obviously they were not as adept at keeping perfect silence as he was. But it mattered very little to Vincent, who was just as certain that they were most likely lost and that no ShinRa guards and no Turks would be waiting at the opposite end. Vincent felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle.

If he was so certain, then why this feeling of unease? This feeling of apprehension?

Vincent rounded a bend in the tunnel and found the end of the pathway. It wasn't another wall, or more mazes of tunnels to work their way around; what stared back at him was a metal door, the small light on the keypad beneath the handle a blaze of steady red. Vincent quirked a brow. A door in a sewer. Some part of his mind found that curiously bleak.

Obviously, Barret picked up on that as well. "Hell, and I thought this damn place couldn't get any freakier." There was a slight grunt somewhere behind Vincent, then the clicking of a gun-arm being raised. "Move an' I'll open it."

Vincent, however, didn't move away, he only inched closer. One quick step to the side and their bounty hunter had his ear pressed against the metal door, his right hand flat against its smooth surface. The door was similar to the ones inside ShinRa - the ones above the sixty-first floor - and its lock was nearly identical. Though, Vincent assumed that it was more advanced. It's only some sort of storage room for ShinRa's secrets, his mind told him. You're looking for Mr. Strife, not confidential tubs of toxic waste. And he would have convinced himself of just that, if not for the noises he heard on the opposite end of the door. Vincent backed away from it, as if to make sure those noises weren't coming from somewhere behind him.

Endless beeping. He was certain.

He hated technology.

"What's wrong?" Tifa's voice broke through the beeps.

"I think he just found our way in." A sniff, then a cough. Cid.

"What? You gotta be kiddin' me..." Barret.

At least he thought it was Barret. Those last words sounded too far away to be right behind him. Vincent ignored the distant and muffled voices in the back of his mind that told him to turn around and leave, that they didn't have time for exploring. They were talking all at once, reminding him of things that he didn't wish to remember. And the more those voices panicked, the more he realized what needed to be done. Vincent stepped away from the door.

"Open it, Barret."

A smile spread across the big man's face. "'Bout damn time, bounty hunter." With a curled fist, Barret slammed something into the top of his gun-arm, waited until everyone was a good distance away, then let loose a round of nonstop bullets. Most of the bullets ricocheted and embedded themselves into the tunnel's thick walls, but a few found their place around the lock. Once Barret had emptied his entire round, he slammed his right arm into the thick, metal door a few times. He cursed softly. "Doesn't look like it's gonna be budgin' any time soon." Barret held his gun-arm upward, small ringlets of smoke curling off its end. He turned around to Vincent, who had silently stepped besides him, and watched as his wraithlike eyes observed the door's lock.

Scrutinized it, was more like it.

"Ya find somethin'?"

Vincent remained silent and bent down to level himself with the door's handle and the small keypad besides it. With a metal finger, he tapped around the lock, which was relatively unharmed by Barret's gun blasts.

I don't like this... It's too familiar.

Vincent tried a random four-digit code. The little red light flashed for a moment, then returned to its original steady glow.

The red light stayed the same. Or did it blink? It was like a small eye watching him intently, waiting for him to mess up, then winking at him waywardly when he did.

The little red light blinked as it processed the numbers, then a steady beep came, followed by a green light's glow. The airlock hissed opened.

Barret's jaw unhinged for a moment, before he closed it tightly and turned a wary eye on Vincent. "How the hell did you know that?"

The edge of Vincent's lips twitched, as if to answer Barret's question - rather, accusation - but his mouth never opened and his face remained grim. I thought the password would be different after all these years. Vincent pushed the heavy door open, enough for him to slip through and to the other side. Who's recycling old ShinRa codes? For a moment, there was only darkness, deep and penetrating nothingness accompanied by the song of electronic beeping. Vincent took another step inside and the room lit up in a blaze of florescent lights. He hated those ugly, feeble looking things. How did he ever put up with them when he was a Turk? All those meetings under that sickly glow... One step more and a pale, green light in the back was suddenly visible.

That's when he heard someone's voice.

That's when he realized that he was no longer alone in the room.

Tifa gasped behind him and whispered hoarsely one name, the very name that Vincent wished he had never heard, the one he wished he could curse to the very ends of the Abyss;

"Cloud!"

Vincent felt the dark surround him again, as if that name had brought forth an endless suffering of a different kind.