Chapter 1

The sun broke through the clouds after three solid days of rain. With it, the normally sober people of Kalm gleefully rushed out of their houses to enjoy the last day of the festival. Every parade and every dance for the past three days had been cancelled, but now the hard-working population was determined to have some fun. Vendors took to the streets with renewed zeal. Their colorful tents lined every available surface with large swathes of brilliant reds, greens, golds, and violets. Cartoonish balloons were released into the air. The folk-dancers, who played a central role in the festival every year, made up for each and every exhibition they had missed. They gamboled down the crowded avenues, tossing out wreaths of laurel to their fellow villagers.

Some people, however, were content to sit on the sidelines. Once the sun had gone down, the old mythril miners made their way quietly to their favorite back-alley pubs to enjoy the special holiday prices without having to bother with all the noise and fuss. The furthest pub from the celebration was currently occupied by regular patrons, grizzled old miners who had frequented the place so often that they left imprints in the seat cushions. The place was abuzz with quiet, friendly chatter and the periodic clinking of glasses being toasted. The air was warm and inviting, as was the atmosphere.

Vincent Valentine stuck out like a sore, golden thumb.

An unfortunate gust of wind caught the door as he entered, slamming it harshly against the wall. All eyes immediately swivelled to look at him. Another gust caught his tattered, red cape and his long, dark hair and couldn't help but flourish them dramatically against the backdrop of moonlight pouring in. Vincent quietly shut the door behind him and walked to the bar.

The bartender had grabbed up a perfectly clean mug and began to polish it nervously as Vincent approached. "A glass of red wine," Vincent said. "The darkest you have." The bartender quickly poured the wine and went back to polishing the same mug.

Vincent gave the man a slight, gratified nod and took his glass to the farthest, darkest corner in the bar. There, Vincent sat down and settled silently into the shadows. Every so often, one of the barflies would toss a cautious glance his way, checking to make sure he stayed put. He did. The only movements he made were to sip his wine or to check the clock hanging over the bar.

Vincent had waited nearly thirty minutes before the door suddenly burst open and once more banged against the cold stone wall. Again, the patrons looked frightfully at the door. Their tensions soon eased, however. This man wore no cape and had no claw. In fact, he looked fairly ordinary. He was tallish and had a slight gut. He seemed to be stuck somewhere between middle-age and his twilight years. His fading red hair was kept too short to reveal very much gray; his beard was the same way. He carried a very battered and weather-worn suitcase. He approached the bar.

The bartender was visibly happy to see a normal-looking customer. "What'll it be?"

"Shot and a beer," the man said in a deep, gruff voice. The bartender complied, pouring them both behind the bar and setting them up. The man nearly ripped the bartender's fingers off as he snatched up the shot glass. He drank it all down without leaving a drop. "Thanks," he said. He grabbed the foaming mug of dark lager. There was a sharp inhalation of breath from the regulars as they watched him walk towards the farthest darkest, corner in the bar, put his beer on the table, and sit down. They all turned back towards their own tables and became fascinated with their drinks.

The stranger smiled. "How ya doin', old man? It's been a while."

"Hudson," Vincent said in acknowledgment. "Reeve didn't tell me you'd be the one coming here tonight."

Hudson shrugged. "I couldn't pass up this rare opportunity to see an old friend, could I? Besides, this meeting is supposed to be kept hush-hush. Hard to do that when you send out some young kid."

Vincent frowned. "Reeve told me that this wouldn't be any trouble. I wouldn't have asked if I'd known it would be a bother."

Hudson shook his head. "It wasn't. We just had to keep this off the books. The W.R.O.'s financial backer keeps a close eye on things and we can't be doing favors like this all the time. Not even for someone who helped save the world. Thanks for that, by the way. I'm awful fond of the place."

Hudson raised up his mug and made a silent toast. He quickly drained the beer and slammed it down on the table. "So, let's play catch up. After all, we haven't seen each other in almost thirty years."

"Twenty-eight," Vincent corrected.

"Right, twenty-eight. Which is almost thirty." He grinned, slightly. "Anyway, what have you been up to?"

"A lot of...traveling," Vincent said cryptically. "Soul-searching."

Hudson sat in silence for a moment, anticipating his friend to say something more. He didn't. "Hmph. Well, you never were one for words. I assume it's still just as useless to try and drag anything out of you?"

Vincent didn't argue with that. "I don't like to talk about myself."

"So you haven't really changed. Just your fashion sense and grooming habits." He threw up his arm, signaling for another beer. The bartender slowly made his way over to the table, bringing the drink. He accidentally caught a glimpse of Vincent's red eyes eerily reflecting the lantern-light. He scurried away.

"And what about you, Hudson? Have you changed at all?"

Hudson picked up the beer and took a long swing. He belched unashamedly and proceeded. "Not willingly. I got tricked into marrying Bella Benecke a few years after you disappeared. You remember her? She worked as a secretary, back then. Anyway, I've been with her ever since. Her looks have gone down hill, but her cooking gets better with time. Of course, your taste buds die as you get older, so maybe it really isn't." The inflection in his voice was deeply sarcastic when he said this. Vincent could easily spot a trace of guilt on Hudson's face, though. "I stayed with Shinra up until the end. Not that I was blind to what they were doing, mind you. There just weren't a whole lot of jobs available for guys like me outside of the Weapons Development Department and I was slowly being surrounded by mouths to feed. Oh, I forgot to mention that I got two girls and a boy. And I have a grand-kid on the way.

"It's a good thing Reeve started hiring after Meteorfall. He knew almost every employee by name back when he was an exec and he brought almost every employee he knew with him into the W.R.O."

"Does that mean that the W.R.O. has a Weapons Development Department, then?" Vincent asked.

"Officially? No. All of the troops are using the same weapons they did when they worked in Shinra's military. All Reeve did was give 'em a change of clothes and a noble cause."

"But unofficially...?"

Hudson smiled. "Unofficially is what brings us here tonight." With that, he grabbed up the suitcase that had been sitting under his chair and placed it on the table. He flicked the latches, which popped out with a loud click, and opened the case. He pulled out the contents and held it out, almost reverently. It was, to put it simply, a gun. To put it intricately, it was a fairly large handgun with three barrels, one sitting on top of the other two in a sort of pyramid. The thing was covered in various holes and slots and screws and pegs. It was also adorned with a large amount of spiky protrusions and gold filigree, which had the effect of making it look very antiquated. "Whaddaya think? Pretty good, right?"

"I don't remember asking for all of that," Vincent said, plainly.

"Yeah, well, it's been so long since I've done something with my bare hands that I guess I got carried away."

"You made this yourself?"

"Of course," Hudson replied, smugly. "You didn't think I'd trust this to just anyone, did you?"

"Well..."

"Nevermind. Let me play instruction manual for a minute." He took a sip of beer and cleared his throat. "Remember how we used to shoot together at the firing range? Well, I do. I also remember that, while you were fast on the draw, you always had trouble with your aim. So, I built this little number with a large cylinder here in the back that houses eighteen rounds. Each rotation of the cylinder feeds one bullet into each of the three barrels. And all three barrels fire simultaneously. That means that each time you pull the trigger, you get three bullets. That way, even you and your impaired accuracy should be able to hit something."

"I've gotten better since then," Vincent told him. "But this is very impressive."

"It gets better. I assume you noticed the little fiddly-bits all over the thing?"

"Yeah, I was wondering about those. They're not just to lower the weight, are they?"

Hudson shrugged. "They can be if you're having trouble with that." Vincent looked back at him, puzzled. "See, I built this thing to be highly customizable. You'll be able to attach virtually any ordnance used by the W.R.O. Of course, since Shinra made most of the equipment in the world, that basically translates into you being able to attach virtually any ordnance ever made. You'll be able to put on longer barrels for accuracy or shorter barrels for power. Plus you got your gravity floaters to keep wait down, your power boosters to keep power up...almost limitless possibilities, here.

"Another feature that I'm pretty proud of is this." Hudson jingled the little ball and chain dangling from the gun. "In case it wasn't obvious, this is a single materia slot. I know that doesn't sound impressive on its own. Take into consideration, however, that it's a linked slot that connects to an Elemental materia that I've built into the grip. So, to get the maximum effect, you'll want to use a green materia in there. You'll get an automatic elemental-based attack every time you squeeze off a round.

"That's enough out of me, for now. Go ahead, take it. Get a feel for it."

Vincent reached his right hand across the table and took the gun. It wasn't as heavy as it looked, but it was heavier than he would have liked. The grip was a sleek, slippery, highly-polished wood. It felt like it might be hard to keep hold of in the rain. But, for some strange reason, it just felt right to Vincent. It wasn't at all what he had wanted, and certainly not what he'd expected, but it felt good all the same.

Vincent leveled the gun in front of him, peering down the barrel with one eye closed. That's when he finally noticed. Every stranger's face was awash with horror and dismay. They were recoiling from him, visibly pulling themselves away and pressing against the wall. He was about to say something, to try to comfort them. He knew it was probably useless, though. After all, he had invaded their sanctuary, looking like something out of a nightmare and was now waving a gun around. What could he possibly say to reassure them?

Nothing. He holstered the gun, shame-faced.

Hudson saw the look on Vincent's face. He shook his head disapprovingly at the terrified group and sneered. He turned back to Vincent with a reassuring smile on his face. "Don't worry about them, Vince. You probably did 'em a favor, scaring all that liquor out of their systems."

Vincent didn't respond. He did his best to disappear into the shadow.

"You know," Hudson said, breaking the awkward silence, "ever since I heard you were back, I've wanted to ask you something."

Hudson didn't get the chance to ask, though. Because at that moment there was a violent roar that echoed through the night, screaming across town, through the streets, and into buildings. Some of the men in the pub collapsed onto the floor. Bottles shook on the rack behind the bar. Glasses clinked and tinkled and eventually smashed as they fell onto the stone. All around them was sound and fury, filling their ears and rattling their brains.

"What the hell is this?" Hudson yelled over the noise as it died down.

"I don't know," Vincent tried to answer. "I've never heard anything like this before."

"Could it be a monster?" Hudson asked, sounding almost hopeful.

"It would have to be a big one." Vincent nimbly hopped over the table and peered out the grimy window beside the door. More than moonlight lit the night. Even from the impaired vantage point, he could see movement in the air and occasionally along the rooftops. Smoke drifted up over the buildings to dirty the sky.

"Vince, what is it?"

Vincent shook his head. "I'm not sure. I'm going to go take a look outside. Take care of anyone who's hurt."

"Why me?" Hudson protested.

"Because you're a doctor," Vincent said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, of mechanical engineering!"

"Well...do you still carry a Cure materia on you?"

"Sure. It's a must after night of hard drinking and bar fights." Silence hung in the air as Hudson made the connection. "Okay, I'll handle things in here. You get out there and shoot something for me."

Vincent threw the door open and rushed outside. It was even worse out there. There was screaming coming from all directions. He could hear several voices shouting what sounded like orders. There were several aircrafts above him.

The smell of smoke was everywhere. There was something else, too. Something that Vincent recognized but couldn't quite identify. He also detected the familiar odor of gunpowder and oil. That clinched it for him; the town was under attack.

Confirmation came a split-second later in the form of a gunshot. The bullet missed his body by only a fraction of a centimeter, tearing a hole in his cape instead. Vincent whirled around and tried to pull his new gun from the holster on his right thigh. He misjudged how heavy it was, though, and he couldn't quite get it out in one smooth motion. It was also somewhat difficult to aim. Not quite a shotgun, not quite a revolver; it didn't handle like any weapon he'd ever used before.

Another bullet whizzed by, this time ripping out a lock of his hair. Vincent rolled to his right and was able to put a wooden crate between himself and the aggressor. He looked between the crack between the box and the pub's wall, scanning for the attacker. Vincent spotted him; he was standing boldly in the middle of the street, his gun trained resolutely on Vincent's position.

Vincent didn't give him another chance to shoot. He jumped to his feet and leveled the gun at the man. He got the man as squarely in his sights as he thought was going to be possible. He fired.

Neither of them could comprehend this quickly enough, but three bullets shot out of the barrels in precise unison. They hit the aggressor cleanly in the chest, blowing three holes through his heart. The man yelped in surprise, which immediately lapsed into pain. He fell onto the cobblestones, making a loud thud.

Vincent checked the rest of the surrounding area from where he stood. There was no one else within sight. He put the gun back and went inside.

Hudson hadn't had much time to work, but he had managed to pull most of the men away from the broken glass on the floor. He had just handed the bartender a dishrag and was trying to get him to press it against the blood leaking from his head. "Dammit, hold on to this! I can't sit here and hold your hand, you moron!"

The bartender finally nodded dumbly and did what he was told. Hudson got to his feet and took a step back. He drew something out of his pocket and held it outright in a fist. A faint green light shone from between his fingers. A tiny sprinkling of dust fell out of nowhere and onto the bartender. The man's eyes cleared and he sat upright against the wall.

"Well, I think they'll be okay now," Hudson stated, wiping sweat from his brow. "They're just a little shook up."

"Good," Vincent replied calmly.

"So what happened out there? I heard gunshots."

Vincent slid over to the window, which now had a long crack running down one pane of glass, and examined the street for any more enemies. "The town's under attack. A tactical assault."

"Could you tell who from?"

"No, but I'm planning to look into it."

Hudson smirked mischievously. "I was hoping you would."

Vincent read the look on his friend's face. "No. I can't watch out for the two of us at the same time. I barely managed to take out a single attacker without getting hurt."

"Aww, c'mon, Vince. You know that once I get a few drinks in me, there's no way to stop me from getting into a fight."

Silence hung in the air for a moment until Vincent finally grinned the faintest of grins. "So, you haven't really changed, either."

"Sure haven't. Just don't let the wife find out. Anyway, you ready to do this? I'm gettin' kinda antsy, here."

"One second." Vincent pulled the gun out of its holster, pointing it down. "Does this materia slot come off?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"I don't have any materia on me," Vincent said, cutting him off. "I gave it all away to...a friend."

Hudson huffed. "Must be a pretty close friend."

"Actually, I gave it to her so that she would leave me alone." Vincent pried the ball and chain off of the tiny hook on the but of the gun. He put them into a pocket. From another, he pulled something else. It was also a chain, but what dangled from it was a bit less congenial than a simple-looking ball. It was some kind of amulet. If one were to squint, it might almost look like a silver cross. It was, in fact, something far more sinister upon closer inspection. One branch resembled two bat-like wings. Another branch were two claws; two more claws stuck out at a forty-five degree angle just below them. Three bestial heads reared out from the final branch.

"Hey, isn't that...?"

"Yeah." Vincent snapped it into place and let it fall from the butt of the gun. "My bad luck charm."

"But why-," Hudson started.

"I've decided on a name for the gun," Vincent said, ignoring him. The amulet swayed back and forth, reflecting a light from a stray moonbeam. "I'm calling it...the Cerberus."

Hudson scratched his head in blatant confusion. "Well, it's a bit fancy for my tastes. But, what the hell? It's your gun." Hudson tilted his head and cracked his neck. "Anyhow, are you done being melodramatic? Can we go now?"

"Yeah," Vincent said, chambering a round. "Let's go."