Infiltration Mission Tifa ((top)) Today

Cloud was the distraction tonight. He was brilliant at that—a silent, spiky-haired ghost haunting the upper reactor catwalks, drawing the security bots and the heavy patrols toward the east wing with a few well-placed blips on their motion sensors. Meanwhile, she had taken the "plumbing" route. The sewers. The basement corridors. The places Shinra’s white-collar executives forgot existed.

"Already done," she whispered back.

Infiltration wasn't about being invisible. It was about belonging. infiltration mission tifa

She didn't run. Running was loud. She walked—fast, fluid, and silent—back through the door, through the corridor, toward the rusted ladder that led to the surface. As she climbed, the cold wind of the Midgar night hit her face, carrying the stench of the slums below. She wiped a smear of blood off her lip—she hadn't even felt the Turk’s kick graze her.

The air in the Shinra warehouse tasted of ozone, stale coffee, and fear. Cloud was the distraction tonight

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.

With a grunt that was more effort than sound, she drove her heel into the jamb just below the lock. It wasn't brute force; it was physics. The momentary flex of the frame tricked the sensor into thinking the door was misaligned. The bolt stuttered. The light flicked green. The sewers

He slid down the glass, unconscious.