The room was a gallery of nightmares. Glass tubes filled with murky green liquid, each containing a half-formed creature with too many teeth or too many eyes. Tifa’s stomach tightened, but her face remained a mask of calm. She wasn't here to save the monsters. She was here for the folder marked "Reunion Theory."
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. infiltration mission tifa
"Already done," she whispered back.
Her left hand shot back, not to strike, but to parry. Her knuckles met the hard bone of a shin—a kick aimed at her spine. She absorbed the impact, pivoted on her left foot, and unleashed a rising uppercut that connected with the underside of a Turk’s jaw. The man, sleek in his black suit, flew backward two feet before his skull met the edge of a specimen tank. The room was a gallery of nightmares
He slid down the glass, unconscious.