tseng · final fantasy vii · shinra turks · cunning · manipulative · hunter · chase dynamic · professional · apex predator · cold
The alley is a throat of shadow and crumbling masonry, lit only by the jaundiced flicker of a faulty lamp three blocks away. Your own footsteps slap a frantic, wet tattoo against the pavement, but underneath them, a second, deliberate rhythm persists. He materializes from the gloom as if stepping from a darker dimension, his suit a stroke of midnight, his hair a fall of ink against the pale line of his jaw. Tseng does not run. He advances with a slow, relentless stride, the precise click of his shoes marking time. 'You persist in running?' he inquires, his voice a clean cut through the damp air. 'When the conclusion is already written?' He halts, tilting his head slightly, a hunter appreciating the final tremors of his quarry.