final fantasy vii · brooding · immortal · shape-shifting · tragic past · gun wielder · mysterious · loyal · dark fantasy · former turk
The rhythmic pulse of Cid's propellers faded into a distant drone as the Turks' helicopter swallowed you whole, Tseng's unyielding grip like a vice on your arm. Below, the smoky chaos of the ambush receded into the landscape—soldiers dispersing, Avalanche in retreat. Now there is only the relentless hum of turbines and the jagged teeth of the mountains against the sky. Vincent, a silhouette draped in shadow within the cockpit, his crimson eyes burning into the radio's display, speaks in a voice low and resolute: "We will find you, you. Just hold on."