"So when're you moving up to the plate?"
       Biggs rolled his eyes and sighed, his head sinking into his hands. On top of the bar, his glass stood still, half-empty and marred by black fingerprints. "You always ask me that lately. You and Jessie."
       "Sorry," Wedge replied, and he meant it, too. "Thing is, most people I know would move up there in an instant if their sister had a fat job with the Shinra."
       "She only got promoted to apprentice engineer. Before that, she was just an intern. You make it sound like they made her the frickin' President or some shit."
       "Hey, I don't know how this stuff works, okay?"
       Biggs scowled at Wedge, then took the glass in his soiled hands and drained it in one go. He slammed the glass back on the table.
       "I ain't fit to be living on the Upper Plate, Wedge. People like me, people who actually do shit with their hands every day… we don't belong up there."
       "Oh come on, you don't mean that, do ya? They've gotta have mechanics up on the plate at least as good as you!"
       Biggs shrugged. "Maybe. They probably have experience dealing with real cars and trucks, though. Most of what we've got to work with down here is just scrap."
       "Can't argue with that," Wedge sighed. "But… even though you have the chance, you still wouldn't go?"
       Biggs smiled. "Nah. Got too many friends here."
       "Hmph," Wedge replied, but he was smiling as well. He finished wiping dry the last of the glasses, which he then set in its place on the crowded shelf behind him. It was Thursday, the slowest day of the week for him and his bar, Seventh Heaven, and he liked to have the place clean and prepared before the Friday crowds. Biggs Kaufman was his best friend from since they were teenagers; naturally, he was also a regular customer. As Wedge turned around to face the bar again, said friend was now sitting with his back turned to it, elbows resting on the worn wooden countertop.
       "What about you, Wedge? Any aspirations to move on up in the world and do your bartending topside?"
       "Nah. I'm not really motivated. Besides, the bar scene's probably different up there. Full of snooty rich people and Shinra managers. Not exactly my type of crowd."
       "Yeah, I hear ya. I don't know how Jessie can stand it, to be honest with you. All those people with their nice clothes and cars and apartments, all full of themselves."
       "Eating caviar and drinking tea with their pinkies in the air."
       Biggs burst out into a wicked fit of snickering. "Yeah. Fuckin' cocksuckin' snobs! 'Cept my sister, of course. If I'm really lucky, she won't turn into one of 'em."
       A small, yet wary smile crossed Wedge's face. He could always tell when his friend crossed "the threshold", and knew what would come next.
       "So," Biggs started, slapping a few gil on the table, "can you hit me up with another one? No ice this time, though."
       Wedge shook his head; he knew that if he caved in to Biggs' request, the latter wouldn't stop until he passed out. "I think you've had enough for one night. Go home, walk it off."
       "I'm not drunk!"
       "Hmph!"
       Biggs glared at Wedge for a moment before sighing and sliding off of the bar stool. "All right, you win. I'll go home."
       "You do that. And don't make any stops along the way!"
       "I can't afford any place other than Seventh Heaven. You know that."
       Wedge smiled, relieved. It was an expected reply, but one he was always glad to hear.
       "So I guess you better close up now," Biggs called from across the room as he reached the saloon-style doors, "'cause we both know that you never get any business on Thursday nights!"

       After Biggs had left, Wedge walked from behind the bar and collapsed in a chair, his weary knees giving in to the force of gravity. It was true that Thursday evenings weren't exactly busy, but it was not until a few months after he first opened the bar that he realized just how abysmally slow they actually were. He guessed it was because Thursday came before Friday, the last day of the work week, and therefore, was not a popular day for going out drinking. Most weeks, the sizeable number of Friday customers made up for a slow Thursday, but there were others where it just wasn't worth it to sit around by himself the whole night. This particular night was one of those. After spending roughly an hour in the empty bar, Wedge decided he'd pack it in and go home; after all, a night by himself spent staring at the television would be better than one spent staring at the clock.
       He got up from his chair and started toward the bar to begin counting the day's receipts, when he heard an unfamiliar voice call from the entrance.
       "Excuse me, are you still open?"
       Wedge turned his head toward the entrance, where he saw the owner of the voice: a tall, suited Wutaiese man whose long black hair was drawn back into a ponytail. Next to him was a well-dressed woman, her short, curly blonde hair framing a serious face, matching that of her equally serious companion. Wedge was too frozen with shock to know what to do next, but somehow, he managed a reply.
       "Y-yeah. We're still open."
       The woman smiled and walked toward the bar, while the tall man followed, but not without throwing a quick glance behind him. They removed their long coats and set them on stools, then took adjacent seats of their own. Wedge continued his walk to his spot behind the bar, considerably slower this time, as he examined these strange new customers up and down. The woman wore a plain, but nice, blouse and skirt, accented with simple gold earrings and dark red shoes. The man wore a brown suit with no tie; just as unremarkable a manner of dress as his companion's, but also just as neat and well-kempt. They were obviously top-platers; what were they doing here in the Sector Seven slums? Wedge had a bad feeling about this.
       Finally at his spot, Wedge placed his palms on the bar, flexed his fingers, and took a deep breath before facing these newcomers with his regular smile. "So, what can I get you folks tonight?"
       The tall man glanced at the woman, who replied, "A cosmopolitan, if you'd be so kind."
       "And for you, sir?"
       "Your best whiskey, on the rocks, please."
       "R-right."
       Wedge turned away from them and started preparing their drinks, pulling down a dusty bottle of whiskey from the back of the liquor shelves and taking a quick glance at his bartender's guide to double-check the ingredients necessary for a cosmopolitan, since it had been ages since he'd had to make one. Behind him, the two customers conversed with each other, but in such low tones that he couldn't tell what either one of them was saying. He finished making their drinks and turned back around, setting their orders down on thin cardboard coasters.
       "Hmm, that was fast," the woman said with a thin smile, which, for some reason, caused Wedge to blush. "It's rare that you find such an expeditious bartender."
       The tall man harrumphed. "Don't go praising the service before you try the product."
       Wedge glared at the man for a moment, then waited patiently as the two customers sampled the drinks.
       "Hmm, not bad," said the woman, after taking a sip from hers. "To be honest, I wasn't expecting much, but this… this isn't bad at all."
       Meanwhile, the tall man swished some whiskey around in his mouth, holding his glass up to the light. He swallowed what was in his mouth, then asked, "What kind of whiskey is this? I don't believe I've had this before."
       Wedge stuttered, "Uh… i-it's called Golden Chocobo, sir. My grandfather used to make it-- he ran a distillery many years ago. It hasn't been made in over thirty years, so it's not very well known these days."
       The tall man raised an eyebrow. "So this is thirty-year old whiskey?"
       "Might be even older than that. The date's a bit faded on the label, so I'm not sure exactly how old it is, sir."
       "Mmm," the man replied, nodding. "Well, it's excellent."
       Feeling his cheeks grow warm again, Wedge couldn't help but reply, "So it's nothing like what you can get on the Upper Plate, then?"
       Once again, the tall man glared at him; in the meantime, the woman leaned her elbows on the bar. She was smiling again, but in a way that was colder than before. "It's pretty obvious we're top-platers, isn't it?" she asked.
       Wedge felt the color drain from his face. There was something about the way the two of them looked at him that moment that made him uneasy, as if they could slice his head off with just another tiny squint of an eyelid. He decided that he had to be as honest with them as possible. "W-well, yes ma'am. I mean, nobody dresses like that down here. Even Don Corneo doesn't dress that nice."
       "I told you we should've put more effort into this," the tall man muttered.
       "Oh, don't worry about it. Nobody's going to come looking for us. Besides, it not like our friend here can run off and tell anyone of any importance that we're here."
       "Huh?" Wedge asked. "What do you mean? You aren't doing something wrong by being here, are you?"
       "In the eyes of the world and our employers, no, not necessarily," the woman replied. "In the eyes of certain individual people… well, that remains to be seen."
       "Let's leave it at that," the man added with an air of finality.
       "If you say so, sir," Wedge replied.
       Then out of nowhere, the woman changed the subject. "Do you mind if I ask your name, bartender?"
       "N-not at all. It's Wedge."
       "You own this place too, I take it?"
       "Yeah."
       She extended her hand to him. Nervously, he took it, and was met with a quick, vigorous shake. "Nice to meet you, Wedge. My name is Sophia, and this is my friend Katashi. You don't mind if we drop by again sometime, do you?"
       Before Wedge could answer, Katashi put in, "So you like this place that much, eh?"
       "What, and you don't? One must admit, it's got character. And it's quiet, too-- we're the only ones here."
       "Doesn't mean that's what this place is like on a regular basis."
       "It is on Thursdays," Wedge said quietly. Both customers turned to look at him.
       "It's always like this on Thursdays?" Sophia asked.
       Wedge nodded.
       "Hmm," she replied, smiling and idly holding on to her glass. "Sounds good to me."

       As Sophia had implied, that Thursday evening wasn't the last that Wedge saw of the pair, and they quickly became regulars on the slowest night of the week. More often than not, they were the only customers on those Thursday evenings, and after awhile, all they had to say was "the usual" and Wedge would promptly serve them a cosmo and a Golden Chocobo brand whiskey on the rocks. Over the course of many weeks, he learned a little about them-- for instance, that they had good paying jobs at Shinra-- but every once in awhile he would wonder who, or what, they were hiding from. One time, he even found himself wondering if "Sophia" and "Katashi" were their real names. He never did ask them about such matters, for he found these two top-platers rather intimidating, even after he got used to having them around. Nor did he discuss their visits with anyone else. In fact, it was not until a Sunday afternoon some three months after Sophia and Katashi's first visit to Seventh Heaven that he mentioned them to Biggs, and even then, only by accident.
       They were in Wall Market at the time, looking at some tools in the local machinery and weapons shop that Biggs wanted to get.
       "Damn, those mythrill wrenches sure are nice. That guy over there-- the one working on the tank-- he says he's been using ones just like 'em for years and they've never given him any problems."
       "Why don't you get 'em, then? Business for you has been good lately, right?"
       "Yeah, but for some reason, I'm always broke."
       Wedge, of course, knew exactly why this was. If Biggs wasn't blowing his cash on booze at Seventh Heaven or elsewhere, it was on lavish meals, hookers from Honeybee, or heaven knows what else. Biggs was good at a lot of things, but saving money wasn't one of them.
       "Man, don't know what I'm gonna do…" Biggs continued, gripping the chain-link fence that separated him and Wedge from the merchandise.
       "Your birthday's in a few weeks, isn't it?"
       "Yeah, so? What, are you gonna buy them for me as a present?"
       Wedge shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
       "Man, didn't know you had that kind of gil! Has business been good for you too?"
       "Yeah. Good thing Katashi likes my Grandpa's whiskey so much!"
       Biggs gave Wedge an odd look. "What? Someone's been buying your Grandpa's stuff? But isn't it something like fifty years old and really expensive?"
       Wedge felt put on the spot at that moment. He wasn't sure if he should tell Biggs about his Upper Plate-dwelling, Shinra-employed Thursday regulars, but he knew that there was no way he could escape Biggs once the latter's curiosity was piqued. Wedge told his friend they should get something to eat, and led him out into the street.
       "The guy buying my Grandpa's whiskey's a top-plater," he quietly explained once they'd left the shop. "He and his girlfriend-- I'm guessing she's his girlfriend-- come by the place every Thursday at around the same time. They're a little bit strange, but they seem like decent enough people."
       "And they have serious money, by the sounds of it."
       "Yeah, I guess so. They have good jobs, from what they've told me, but I don't know much about them otherwise."
       "Well, sounds like you've got two real keepers, there. Hope they continue sticking around Seventh Heaven," Biggs said with a smirk.
       Wedge gave his friend a sidelong glance. "Hey, don't get any funny ideas, now. I'm only gonna buy these wrenches for you 'cause it's your birthday."
       Biggs laughed. "Yeah, I know. Don't worry about me, I get by well enough on my own."
       Just as they were about to reach the diner, a teenage girl in a long dress rushed past them, hurriedly saying "Pardon me!" as she did so. Biggs and Wedge both turned in the direction the girl had come from to see a tall man in a dark blue suit running toward them. Almost immediately, Wedge noticed that the man looked familiar; in fact, aside from small black dot on his forehead, he was the spitting image of Katashi.
       "Let me through!" the man demanded as he came before the two friends. "I must get to her."
       Biggs glared at the imposing man, a gesture which caused Wedge to shudder. "She's just a slum girl," the former replied. "What could someone like you want with her?"
       "I'm on official business here," said the man, brushing back his long, loose hair with one hand. "What I want with her is none of your concern."
       "Listen," Biggs smirked, while Wedge tried to drag him away, to no avail. "So she stood you up, okay? You made the mistake of paying her before she could 'perform', and she took off. Live and learn, buddy."
       The stranger's eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?" he hissed.
       "Well, it's pretty obvious to me. The only reason suits like you come from the Upper Plate is to get a little slum girl pussy. You all don't give a shit about the slums otherwi--"
       Biggs didn't get a chance to finish his statement, as the stranger had slapped him across the cheek, hard. The man walked between the two friends and turned to the smarting Biggs.
       "You'd do well not to cross a Turk in the future, you filthy piece of vermin. Consider it a warning."
       With that, the man took off running in the direction the girl had gone. Biggs, still reeling from the force of the blow, carefully pressed his hand against his reddened cheek.
       "So that was one of the Turks, eh?"
       "Huh?" Wedge asked. "What's a 'Turk'?"
       "Jess tells me that the Shinra has a small team of agents called the Turks. They report directly to Shinra's top people and do all kinds of special jobs for them."
       "She tell you anything else?"
       "Nah. Why'd you ask?"
       "No reason." However, Wedge's mind was working at full speed, trying to come up with the best way he could possibly ask his Thursday regulars about this incident.

       Sophia showed up alone the following Thursday, which caused Wedge to pause for a moment in his wiping down the back counter. As she explained after walking up to the bar and ordering her usual, Katashi had some important business to take care of and would be coming by later. Wedge nodded and began to prepare her drink, his mind wandering back to Sunday afternoon. It was then that he decided he would ask Sophia about it directly; though he still found her somewhat intimidating, she was at least a little bit more approachable than Katashi.
       "Hey, Sophia?" Wedge started as he set the cosmo down in front of her. "If it's okay, I want to ask you about something I saw on Sunday."
       Sophia aimed her typical inquisitive stare at Wedge. "What was it that you saw?"
       "W-well, me and a friend were in Wall Market, just hanging out, you know? Anyway, we ran into this guy in a dark suit who was chasing this girl. The guy looked almost exactly like Katashi, and he said he was a Turk. My friend told me the Turks are a special agency that works for Shinra."
       "And how would your friend know this?"
       "His sister works for Shinra's Weapons Development division."
       "I see…"
       "That couldn't have been Katashi I ran into on Sunday, right? It seemed like he didn't recognize me, but I know you two are hiding from something…"
       Wedge trailed off, for an expression had formed on Sophia's face that he hadn't seen before. He wasn't sure how to read it, but he could tell that she was thinking about something, maybe wrestling with how she should answer the same way he did for the past few days with how he should frame his questions.
       "Do you mind if I smoke?" she suddenly asked.
       Wedge shook his head and promptly brought her an ashtray.
       "Thanks," she said, lighting up. "Katashi hates my smoking, even though I don't do it very often, but I really need a cigarette right now."
       He had never seen her this wound up before, and it was starting to make him nervous. "Why? Is there something wrong?"
       "The person you ran into… he's Katashi's son. He's the one we've been hiding from."
       Wedge stared at Sophia. This wasn't making any sense to him. "But why?"
       Sophia sighed. "Katashi and I have been seeing each other outside of work for about six months now, but his son doesn't know about this. He's afraid his son-- who's his through a previous marriage-- wouldn't approve of our relationship. There's also the matter of the three of us seeing each other at work, which we do quite often."
       "So are you and Katashi Turks, too?"
       By way of a reply, Sophia would only smile. Without warning, she reached across the bar and laid her hand on top of Wedge's; he found her touch firm, yet at the same time, he was not afraid that she would do anything to hurt him. "Just promise me one thing, Wedge. If you ever run into Katashi's son or anyone else from Shinra in the future, don't let them know of our visits to Seventh Heaven. We might tell him about them in the future, we might not, but for the time being, I'd like to keep this between the three of us. Is that all right?"
       Wedge nodded. "Yeah, of course it is. You guys are some of the best customers I've ever had. I can keep this a secret, no problem." Then, at that moment, he remembered what he had told Biggs. "Oh, but… I did tell my friend about you. Just that there's this guy Katashi and his girlfriend who work at Shinra and come by every Thursday to drink."
       "Just as long as he doesn't know anything more than that," Sophia replied, a firm edge to her voice.
       "Yes, ma'am!"
       She nodded and turned her attention to the clock as she sipped her drink.
       "Is Katashi supposed to be here soon?" Wedge asked.
       "If he's running late, he usually calls when he's on his way." Sophia sighed; "Maybe the trains from the Upper Plate are delayed again."
       Wedge nodded, and continued idling behind the bar. He looked at Sophia looking at the clock. Certainly, even after all these Thursday nights, she still radiated an aura of money, privilege, and everything else that went with them, but there was something else about her as well. Why she and Katashi began frequenting his tiny little dump of a bar was, after all this time, still a mystery to him.
       "You know," Wedge started, trying to make conversation as the minutes ticked away, "some months ago, I used to think of most Upper Plate people as snooty Shinra managers who didn't care about any of us here down below. I say 'most', 'cause there's always a few of us from the slums who luck out and move up to the plate, but a lot of the time, they end up becoming snooty themselves. You and Katashi aren't like that, though."
       "Hmm." Sophia extinguished her cigarette and asked for a glass of water. After Wedge served her one and she drank from it, she continued, "Your assumptions about top-platers aren't entirely off the mark. There are a lot of snobs living in the Upper Sectors. However, one should not write off all top-platers as being snobbish."
       Wedge nodded. "I know that now."
       "I'm glad you do."
       At that moment, the familiar squeak of the saloon doors' hinges broke the relative silence of the room, and both Wedge and Sophia turned their attentions to the entrance. Standing in the doorway was Katashi, both hands shoved into his trouser pockets. Calmly, and wearing his usual grim expression, he walked up to the bar, stopping before the stool adjacent to Sophia's. He sniffed the air.
       "You've been smoking again," he said with a slight air of disgust.
       Sophia sighed. "It seems our bartending friend here ran into your son this past weekend."
       "Really," Katashi replied, narrowing his eyes at Wedge. "How much did you tell him?"
       "Only what he needed to know, of course," Sophia replied with a thin smile. "You know I never let on more than what's necessary."
       "I see," Katashi replied with a frown, staring at Wedge for a moment, who felt relieved once the tall man's eyes were off of him again. "Well, I suppose you had to learn about him sooner or later."
       "Don't worry about anything, sir. I promised Sophia that your visits here would remain our secret. Now, can I get you your usual?"
       "No, not tonight. And if all goes well, none of us should have to worry about keeping secrets for much longer."
       Sophia and Wedge glanced at each other, questioning looks on the others' faces, before turning to Katashi. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
       "I'm talking about making you my wife," Katashi replied, drawing a small box from one of his pockets, and a gasp from Sophia's lips. He opened it to reveal a beautiful ring. "That is, if you'll have me."
       Her hands covering her still gasping mouth, Sophia breathlessly replied, "Yes. Yes, I will."
       Katashi broke out into a large smile, a gesture which momentarily startled Wedge, who witnessed this whole scene from behind the bar. He continued to watch as Katashi placed the ring on Sophia's finger, turning away only when the former gave him a sidelong glance as he moved in to kiss his new fiancée. After a moment, he heard Katashi let out a slight laugh.
       "So what do you have for wines, bartender?"
       "W-well, what kind of wine would you like?"
       "Whatever you think is best." Katashi turned to Sophia. "Is that all right with you?"
       "Yes, it's fine," she replied. "I trust Wedge's judgment."
       Wedge nodded and turned around to examine the bottles, catching his goofy, grinning reflection in one of them. He promptly cleared his throat and turned his attentions to the labels on the bottles, soon finding what he was looking for. Carefully, he removed the bottle from its place and presented it toward the couple.
       "This is a white wine that used to be made by a small company on the outskirts of Nibelheim. It's the same wine that my parents served at their wedding. Of course, this bottle wasn't from that wedding, but it is of the same vintage… I think."
       "That sounds lovely," Sophia said. "Three glasses, then."
       Wedge was confused. "Three?"
       She laughed. "You will drink with us tonight, won't you? Just this once?"
       "Sure," Wedge replied, his own smile easing back. "And don't worry about paying. It's on the house."

       That particular Thursday night had truly been a memorable one. Katashi and Sophia had remained at the bar a bit longer than usual, and they all chatted away the evening; at one point, Sophia even offered to invite Wedge to the wedding. Katashi wasn't so sure about that, but said he would at least consider giving Wedge the opportunity to bartend the event. Finally, the two newly-engaged customers decided to call it a night. As they readied themselves to leave, they mentioned that Katashi had to go out of town on business the following morning, but he should be back in Midgar by next Thursday. However, when that day came the following week, Wedge ended up waiting for hours for either Sophia or Katashi to show up, but neither one of them did.
       He was baffled by this, not to mention a little worried, but eventually he was able to get on with his work and his life as usual, until the next Thursday rolled around. That day, Biggs had been sent home, as usual, and as twilight descended upon the world outside, Wedge watched the clock and the saloon doors, wondering if his regulars would show up as if nothing strange had happened the previous week.
       It was while watching the clock that he heard the saloon doors squeak. Quickly he turned his head, but the sight that met him was not the one he expected.
       The person who had come through the doors was neither Sophia nor Katashi, but a lanky young man with a shock of red hair, two fresh-looking scars beneath his eyes, and a scowl on his lips. He wore the same type of suit that Wedge had seen on Katashi's son not too long ago, and he looked rather uncomfortable in it, as he kept tugging at his necktie. Before this newcomer came all the way up to the bar, Wedge called out to him, "Are you with the Turks?"
       The redhead stopped in his tracks and glared at Wedge. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Anyway, I came here 'cause I've got something for you."
       "Huh?"
       "Here," said the redhead, drawing a small parcel from the folds of his jacket. "Catch." He tossed the parcel to Wedge, who just barely caught it. Wedge looked up to thank the man, but he was already leaving, pushing through the doors on his way back onto the darkened streets of the Sector Seven slums.
       Alone in the bar once again, Wedge stared at the parcel; he had a hunch about who it was from, but was apprehensive about opening this unexpected package all the same. What could it possibly be? Finally, he took a deep breath and tore off the brown paper, finding that it was a journal of some sort, its pages yellowed with age. Carefully thumbing through the book, he could see that it contained a number of recipes for distilling different types of liquors, along with a few hand-drawn diagrams. One of the endpapers at the front was labeled with his grandfather's name and listed the address for his old distilling company.
       Upon noticing this, Wedge thumbed back through the book, thinking about how it was delivered to him. Then, he noticed a strange scent coming from the book; he drew it up to his nose and sniffed. Mingled in with the musty odor of yellowed paper was a faint trace of expensive perfume. To Wedge, it was a familiar, unmistakable scent-- one that he'd come to know quite well over these past few months of Thursdays.
       Although Wedge didn't know where Sophia could have possibly gotten this book from, he did had some idea why she had it sent to him: it was a farewell gift. From that point on, he never heard anything about either her or Katashi ever again.

       The following months and years proved to be interesting ones for Wedge. Around the same time as Katashi and Sophia's sudden departure from his life, riots were going on in Corel. Biggs, who had spent much of his childhood there, found himself permanently altered by this event, and quietly gave up most of his vices. Things changed again the day Biggs brought his new friend Barret to Seventh Heaven; a survivor of the Corel riots, Barret quickly became a fixture at the bar, his loud, angry anti-Shinra tirades occasionally scaring off customers.
       Not long after, Wedge hired an attractive young lady named Tifa to help drum up business, which did improve quite a bit after her arrival, especially upon her addition of a small food menu to Seventh Heaven's fare. The downside of this was that Tifa's dishes were so hearty, not to mention tasty, he put on more than a few extra pounds from eating them.
       Then, Barret's adopted daughter Marlene began hanging around the bar more often during the day, while Barret and Biggs cleared out the basement to set up the headquarters of their then-unnamed revolutionary group. Then there was the day Jessie was fired from Shinra. That day, she had come down to the slums and Seventh Heaven with small drops of moisture clinging to the corners of her eyes. Wedge, along with Biggs, Barret, and Tifa, sat around the bar that evening listening to Jessie's crazy-- and sometimes horrific-- stories about top-platers and Shinra itself.
       Then there was the time Tifa brought her old friend Cloud to Seventh Heaven and they all-- now working under the moniker AVALANCHE-- began to discuss their first real mission: the bombing of one of Midgar's Mako reactors.
       Though Wedge's memories of Sophia and Katashi remained with him, his opinion of Shinra as a whole changed greatly during the course of all these events. Fully committed to this new group, he now regarded the Shinra Company as a harmful entity that must be stopped at all costs.

       Wedge leaned forward against the bar and watched as Tifa removed her apron and locked up the front doors, ready to call it a night. It was Thursday evening again, which had been transformed from a fairly quiet night spent with just himself and his regulars from the Upper Plate, to one filled with lengthy planning sessions in the basement.
       "Wedge?" Tifa suddenly asked, breaking his train of thought. "When are you going to count the day's receipts? Barret's waiting for us downstairs."
       He nodded. "Tell him I'll be down in a little while."
       "All right," Tifa replied, and walked over to press the hidden switch by the pinball machine that activated the lift to the basement.
       Once she was gone, Wedge took out a bottle of Golden Chocobo whiskey, one of his last ones. It was half-empty, but had gone untouched for the past four years. Without saying a word, he placed some ice cubes in a glass and poured the whiskey over them. He then removed the tray from the cash register and placed it on the bar, along with a notebook and a pencil, then made his way to a stool on the opposite side of the bar, where he began working, but not without taking a sip from his drink first. In the stillness of the barroom, it was almost like it was, back then; a cosmopolitan and a certain pair of top-platers were all that was missing.