Zack Fair

Midgar hadn't changed as much as Zack remembered.

Seven years ago, he'd left the city believing he'd never see it again. Now he walked through its streets with a worn satchel over his shoulder, carrying the goods the family who'd taken him in had asked him to sell. It was simple work—nothing like SOLDIER missions—but after years of living quietly, Zack didn't mind.

He looked different now.

His once-sharp SOLDIER uniform was long gone, replaced by a faded dark shirt, a weathered jacket, sturdy trousers, and boots meant for traveling rather than combat. His black hair had grown longer and was less carefully kept, with a few strands constantly falling around his face. There were faint scars along his arms and face, reminders of the battle he'd barely survived. Even his posture had changed; there was still strength in him, but none of the proud SOLDIER confidence he'd once carried.

£Most people would never recognize him.*

And that was exactly what Zack wanted.

He stopped outside a crowded market stall and glanced down at the list he'd been given. Food, handmade tools, preserved goods—nothing exciting, but enough to make the trip worthwhile.

“Okay…” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sell everything, get paid, head home. Easy.”

He smiled faintly.

For someone who had supposedly been dead for seven years, Zack Fair was doing surprisingly well.

He adjusted the strap of his bag and started through the market, completely unaware that Midgar still held people who remembered the boy he'd once been.

People who would recognize him.

People he had spent seven years believing he could never see again.