Infiltration wasn't about being invisible. It was about belonging.
Tifa shook out her hand. The knuckles were raw. She glanced at the Turk’s prone form. Sorry. She meant it. Most of them were just former soldiers trying to pay a pension.
She found it on a steel desk next to a half-eaten plate of sushi. The executive had stepped out for a bathroom break, leaving his lunch and his treason out in the open. Arrogance. It was Shinra's greatest weakness. infiltration mission tifa
Not her own. The fear of the two guards currently crumpled in the corner of the loading bay, their nightsticks lying uselessly next to their unconscious forms. Tifa Lockhart adjusted the leather strap of her glove, listening to the rhythmic hiss of the ventilation shafts overhead. She didn’t break bones if she could help it. A swift, precise strike to the carotid artery, a soft catch of their falling bodies—clean, quiet, and merciful.
A soft beep came from her earpiece. Cloud’s voice, low and tense. "Tifa. They know someone is inside. Five minutes." Infiltration wasn't about being invisible
The air in the Shinra warehouse tasted of ozone, stale coffee, and fear.
She pressed her ear to the cold metal. Click-hiss. That was the cycle. A three-second gap between the solenoid engaging and the bolt throwing. Her fingers traced the edge of the door frame, finding the maintenance override—a tiny, recessed toggle. The knuckles were raw
She slipped inside.