Two Months After the Wall Market Tournament.
News of Johnny "The Black Wolf" and his victory at the Colosseum had spread like wildfire through Sector 7. The rumors of a man wielding a massive iron slab as a sword kept the local thugs in check. Petty criminals no longer dared to extort the shops on the main street, terrified that the "Black Swordsman" might come collecting.
However, the peace was fragile.
Late in the afternoon, Johnny sat on the roof of his father's workshop, fresh from a monster-hunting gig. He was carefully honing the edge of the Dragon Slayer with a specialized whetstone while Puck napped soundly on his lap.
From this vantage point, Johnny could see the smokestacks of the Shinra factories belching their usual black exhaust. But today, there was a different kind of smoke.
In the distance, near the border of Sector 7 and Sector 8—the logistics warehouse district—a thick plume of grey smoke was billowing into the sky. It wasn't industrial waste. It was the smoke of an explosion.
Shinra emergency sirens began to wail in the distance.
"Fire?" Johnny thought, his brow furrowing.
Suddenly, the silver PHS communicator he had recently bought buzzed in his pocket. It was a broadcast alert from the neighborhood watch network.
"Explosion at the District 4 Food Warehouse. Armed group sighted. They are opening fire on anyone who approaches. Civilians are trapped inside."
"Damn Avalanche," Johnny growled.
His eyes narrowed. The food warehouse. That was where the Slum residents collected their rations of leftover supplies. If that place was destroyed, food prices would skyrocket, and people like his mother would suffer.
"Puck, wake up," Johnny ordered, standing and sliding the massive sword into the leather loop on his back. "I smell gunpowder."
Johnny leaped from the roof, landing with a heavy thud that cracked the pavement. He took off running toward the explosion, sprinting through the narrow alleyways at full speed.
As he neared the location, the air grew hot and thick with the chemical stench of burning supplies.
In front of a large warehouse emblazoned with the Shinra logo, flames were roaring violently. But it wasn't the fire that made Johnny's blood boil.
A squad of men in tactical military uniforms—dark brown and moss green, distinct from Shinra's blue—had formed a perimeter. They wore full-face gas masks painted with a red "A" on the armbands.
A civilian, an old fruit vendor Johnny recognized, was on his knees begging in front of one of the soldiers.
"Please! My wife is still inside the warehouse! She just wanted to get some flour!"
The masked soldier kicked the old man in the chest, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
"This is a necessary sacrifice!" the soldier shouted, his voice distorted by the mask. "This warehouse belongs to Shinra! Anyone taking from here is a Shinra sympathizer! Let them burn along with the corporate sins!"
Johnny stopped running. His sprint slowed to a heavy, lethal walk.
"Sacrifice?"
The word triggered a violent memory in the mind of the man who was once Guts. He remembered the Eclipse. He remembered Griffith sacrificing his friends for a dream. And now, these fanatics were sacrificing the poor for the "Planet."
Sickening. Johnny was absolutely sick of people who thought they were Gods.
Johnny drew the Dragon Slayer. The sound of heavy iron grinding against leather rang out clearly amidst the chaos.
"Oi," Johnny called out. His voice was low, cutting through the roar of the fire.
The Avalanche soldiers turned. There were five of them guarding the front gate. They stared at the towering teenager wielding a sword that defied logic.
"Who are you? Civilians are forbid—"
"You say you're saving the Planet?" Johnny interrupted, pointing the tip of his colossal sword at the burning warehouse. "By burning mothers who just want to cook dinner?"
"We are severing Shinra's logistics chain!" the squad leader barked, aiming his assault rifle at Johnny. "A small death for the greater good! Get lost, brat!"
"Greater good..." Johnny grinned, a terrifying expression that didn't reach his eyes. A dark aura began to emanate from his body.
Berserk State: Active.
"The only 'good' I see today will be your corpses."
"SHOOT HIM!" the leader screamed.
Three soldiers opened fire with their machine guns. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Johnny didn't dodge. He slammed his right foot forward, pivoted his torso, and brought the Dragon Slayer—broad as a door—in front of him like a shield.
TING! TING! CLANG!
The bullets sparked uselessly as they slammed into three inches of Mithril-infused steel.
Johnny advanced. Step by step. Like a walking fortress.
When their clips ran dry and they fumbled to reload, Johnny lowered the sword and dashed.
He closed the ten-meter gap in a heartbeat.
"Brutal Thrust."
Johnny spun, but he didn't cut. He used the flat side of the sword like a gigantic baseball bat.
THWACK!
The first soldier was launched into the air, his tactical helmet shattering upon impact with a concrete wall, cracking the masonry behind him.
The second soldier tried to stab Johnny with a bayonet. Johnny caught the gun barrel with his bare left hand and squeezed, crushing the steel barrel until it bent.
"You call this a weapon?"
Johnny slammed his own forehead into the soldier's masked face.
CRACK.
The second soldier collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The remaining three backed away in terror. They were trained fanatics, but they had never seen violence this brutal. This wasn't military technique. This was the rampage of a beast.
"Grenade formation!" the leader panicked.
One of them pulled the pin on a hand grenade and hurled it at Johnny.
Johnny watched the grenade arc through the air. Time seemed to slow down.
If he dodged, the grenade would explode behind him—right where the old fruit vendor was still lying on the ground.
Johnny made a split-second decision.
Instead of running, Johnny swung his massive sword toward the grenade.
With god-like precision born of decades of warfare, the flat side of his sword struck the grenade in mid-air—batting it exactly like a tennis ball—sending it flying straight back to the thrower.
"Eat this," Johnny muttered.
BOOM!
The grenade detonated in the middle of the enemy formation. Smoke and dust swallowed everything.
When the dust settled, none of the five Avalanche soldiers were standing. They lay on the ground groaning in agony, their expensive uniforms scorched and shredded.
Johnny stood amidst them, his breathing steady. The Berserk State faded. He turned to the trembling old man behind him.
"Go, Old Man. Call the neighborhood fire brigade. I'll handle this trash," Johnny said.
However, before Johnny could tie up the terrorists, the sound of slow, sarcastic clapping echoed from the top of the perimeter wall.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Johnny looked up.
Sitting casually on the wall were a man in a blue suit with a red ponytail, and a large, bald man wearing sunglasses.
Reno and Rude.
"Good work, Freelancer," Reno said with a smirk. "You saved me some ammo."
Rude simply nodded, adjusting his sunglasses.
Johnny snorted. "I didn't do it for Shinra. They burned my turf."
Reno hopped down lightly, landing near the unconscious body of the Avalanche leader. He kicked the body casually.
"Avalanche..." Reno hissed, his tone turning serious. "The 'Raven' faction. They're getting bolder lately. Burning food storages? Fuhito's strategies are getting dirtier."
Reno looked at Johnny.
"Listen, Johnny. Our enemy is the same this time. This group... they aren't environmental activists. They want to trigger a civil war in Midgar. Shinra wants to exterminate them, and you want to protect your home."
Reno extended his electro-mag rod toward Johnny—not to attack, but as an offer.
"Shall we team up for a bit? Just for tonight. They have a base near the old train tunnels. If we don't destroy it right now..."
Reno paused for dramatic effect.
"...tomorrow, the Executives have ordered us to bomb the Sector 7 Pillar. Our intel says there are civilians down here secretly aiding them."
Johnny's eyes widened. The Pillar. The massive support holding the Plate above Sector 7. If that pillar collapsed, the entire sector—his parents' house, the shops, everything—would be flattened.
This was a serious threat.
Johnny sheathed his massive sword. He looked at Reno and Rude with cold, determined eyes.
"I'm in," Johnny said flatly. "I'm doing this for my parents."
Reno snapped his fingers. "Reasons don't matter, results do. Meet us at the Sector 7 Cargo Train Tunnel Entrance in 15 minutes. Don't be late, Rookie."
Reno and Rude leaped away, disappearing into the shadows of the buildings.