Tifa is blackmailed to speak in front of Midrar on live TV in support of Shin-ra.
The square at the heart of Midgar was drenched in cold neon light. A massive tribune had been erected in the center, a towering stage under the oppressive gaze of Shinra banners fluttering from every corner. Spotlights stabbed through the murky air, drawing every eye toward the empty podium.
Backstage, Tifa Lockhart sat silently on a metal chair, a Shinra soldier fastening a small earpiece snugly against her ear. Her wrists trembled in her lap, her mouth dry. Moments earlier, Scarlet herself had spoken to her in a private, mocking tone: explaining the simple, brutal truth.
Her friends — Cloud, Barret, Aerith — were alive, but captive. Shackled deep within Shinra’s prisons. And Tifa's leash was wrapped around their throats.
If she disobeyed — if she hesitated, even for a second — they would suffer.
The weight of that threat crushed her spirit.
Tifa realized with a hollow, sinking dread that she had no choice at all.
Whatever orders came through the earpiece — no matter how cruel, no matter how vile — she would have to obey.
The stagehands shoved her forward, and Tifa climbed the steps like a puppet on invisible strings, every movement stiff and automatic.
She reached the podium. Cameras floated around her like vultures, broadcasting her image live to every screen across Midgar. Thousands of citizens stared up at her — many recognizing her immediately as the rebel from AVALANCHE.
She stood there, still as stone, her heart hammering in her chest.
In her ear, Scarlet’s voice slithered:
"Smile warmly."
Tifa forced her lips to move, curling them into a mechanical, dead-eyed smile.
"Begin, my little puppet."
The microphone clicked on with a hollow pop.
Tifa’s voice echoed across the plaza, sweet but hollow.
"Good evening, citizens of Midgar. I am Tifa Lockhart. I am here today... to confess the truth."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. Confusion. Suspicion.
Scarlet’s voice hissed again:
"Say it. Tell them AVALANCHE endangered innocent lives."
Tifa swallowed hard and repeated, her voice steady but stripped of all passion:
"AVALANCHE endangered countless lives for personal gain. We acted selfishly, not for the people."
"Bow your head humbly," Scarlet ordered.
Tifa bowed, stiff and mechanical. Her shame burned through her like acid.
"Thank Shinra for their mercy."
Tifa lifted her head and spoke, the words foreign and bitter in her mouth:
"I am grateful to President Shinra and his company... for showing mercy to those of us who were led astray."
Scarlet’s laughter crackled in her ear, low and cruel.
The cameras zoomed closer. The entire city watched — many with confusion, others with horror, and some with quiet, gleeful malice.
Scarlet’s voice, sickly sweet and merciless, slithered into her ear:
"Now, my little puppet. Lift your shirt. All the way over your head. Show them you're ours."
The words hit Tifa like a slap — a brutal, stunning command that sucked the breath from her lungs.
Her heart thundered wildly against her ribs. Her stomach twisted into a knot so tight she thought she might be sick. Her hands, resting limply at her sides, twitched uncontrollably.
No. Not this. Please... not this...
A wave of raw terror gripped her, stronger than anything she had felt even in battle. Her entire being screamed to refuse, to resist — but she was trapped, pinned beneath an unbearable reality.
If I disobey... they'll kill them. They'll kill Cloud. They'll kill Barret. They'll kill Aerith...
Her mind flashed with brutal images: Shinra guards dragging prisoners into alleys.
Gunfire in the night.
Bodies left cooling in the gutters.
She had seen what happened to those who defied Shinra’s public displays.
It was always swift. Always merciless.
Tears blurred her vision, sliding down her cheeks unnoticed.
Every instinct in her rebelled against the order. Humiliation burned through her like fire, and her legs shook so badly she almost collapsed on the spot.
But she couldn't choose herself.
She had to choose them.
Choking on a sob she couldn't release, Tifa forced her trembling hands to the hem of her white tank top.
Her heart ached as she stood frozen beneath the merciless lights, because this wasn’t just her body they were about to steal — it was a gift she had always imagined giving to someone she loved.
Tifa squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, blocking out the jeering lights and the suffocating sea of faces. In the fragile silence of her mind, she whispered to him — to Cloud — the words she could never speak aloud:
"I'm sorry, Cloud... I wanted to save this for you."
Her fingers gripped the fabric — stiff, clumsy — and lifted.
The material stretched over her chest — then, with one final tug, slipped free.
Her huge, full breasts sprang loose from the tight cloth, jostling slightly with the sudden release.
Her nipples immediately hardened from cold and and goosebumps covered her breasts.
In the searing floodlights, her bare skin almost glowed — every curve cruelly illuminated, every line of her body stripped of its dignity.
The crowd gasped as one.
A deep, rising murmur of shock, disbelief, and outrage rolled over the plaza like thunder.
Parents scrambled to cover the eyes of their children.
Some turned away; others stared, frozen in stunned silence.
Murmured protests rippled through the crowd, but no one dared to intervene.
Even the Shinra guards nearby — hardened men used to violence and cruelty — shifted uneasily.
A few exchanged glances, their faces pale with disbelief.
Tifa stood there, clutching her discarded shirt in one shaking hand, her body exposed to the brutal, merciless eyes of the world.
Her long dark hair fell in disheveled curtains around her bare shoulders, offering little cover.
Every fiber of her soul screamed in humiliation and despair.
She could feel the heat of every gaze like knives against her skin.
She wanted to vanish. To fall through the stage and disappear.
But she stayed.
For them.
For her friends, still alive, still depending on her.
Through tears, through humiliation deeper than any she had ever known, Tifa forced herself to stand — shoulders trembling, fists clenched at her sides.
***
The jail cell stank of rust and mildew. A broken light flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the grimy stone walls. Cloud sat hunched forward on the bench, fists clenched until his gloves strained at the seams. Across from him, Barret paced like a caged beast, his whole body vibrating with rage. Aerith sat curled against the far wall, trembling.
Footsteps echoed outside the door.
Two Shinra soldiers paused just beyond the threshold, their crass voices leaking through.
"—did you see that shit?" one said, laughing harshly. "Lockhart. Right there in front of the whole damn city. Ripped her shirt right off like a good little pet."
"Hell yeah, man," the other chuckled. "Biggest damn rack I ever seen on a fighter. Those tits practically spilled out all over the screen."
"Whole city saw it," the first added, snickering. "Midgar’s favorite terrorist, parading her huge tits for all to see. She looked like a deer in headlights. Bet half the execs are still replaying the footage."
"Yeah, man," another guard replied, laughing low. "And holy hell — those tits. Biggest set I ever seen on a fighter like her. Just jiggling under those lights. Like they were made to be shown off."
Barret froze mid-step, his shoulders trembling. Cloud’s head jerked up, his eyes narrowing to burning slits.
The guards continued, laughing nastily:
"Shoulda charged pay-per-view. 'Shinra Presents: Lockhart’s Live Show!' They woulda made a fortune. Hell, I’d have paid."
"Swear to god, they were damn perfect. Never thought I'd see the great Tifa Lockhart flashing her huge rack to every gutter rat in Midgar."
"Bet she knows now — you cross Shinra, we own you. Body and soul."
Their footsteps receded, their cruel laughter echoing down the hallway.
Inside the cell, silence fell like a heavy shroud.
Aerith pressed her hands over her mouth, a sob breaking through her composure. Barret roared in fury, slamming his fist into the stone wall hard enough to leave a crack.
"Those filthy sons of bitches..." he growled, his voice breaking.
Aerith's voice was tight, barely a whisper:
"Tifa... she only did it... because she thought it would save us."
Cloud stood up slowly, his face a mask of cold, controlled fury.
His hand twitched at his side, aching for his sword.
In his heart, a vow was etched in fire:
Shinra will pay for this.
They would break free. They would find Tifa.
And Midgar would drown in the price of what had been done.