FF7 Desert of Shame

The desert winds howled against the steel walls of the Gold Saucer’s underbelly, carrying with them the grit of a land that devoured the desperate. What had started as a brief visit to the amusement park ended in chaos—Dio’s judgment swift and merciless after a crime the party hadn’t committed. Without trial or explanation, Cloud, Tifa, and Barret were cast into the barren wasteland below, the so-called prison where only the strongest or the most cunning could endure. The neon lights of the Saucer felt like another world now, distant and untouchable, leaving only the weight of sand, heat, and survival.

Cloud scanned the horizon, sword slung across his back, while Barret muttered curses at the injustice of it all, his mechanical arm whirring with restrained fury. Tifa, ever the voice of reason, urged them to keep moving—reminding them that despair was exactly what this place fed on. The desert stretched endlessly around them, dotted with rusted shanties and shadowed figures watching from afar. Somewhere out there lay the answers, the way out, and perhaps allies—or enemies—they had yet to meet. But for now, the prison had swallowed them whole, and escape was only a distant hope.

The streets felt hollow, like a city long since abandoned and left for the vultures. Half-collapsed buildings leaned against each other, their windows nothing but jagged mouths. Fires burned in rusted barrels, casting orange glows over figures hunched in shadow. Scavengers watched them from alleys with narrowed eyes, whispers trailing after the party like wolves circling prey. Cloud kept a steady hand near his sword, but even he knew the tension in the air wasn’t something steel alone could cut through.

After winding through a cracked hallway that stank of smoke and old blood, the three pushed open a heavy door—only to step into a trap. A broad square stretched before them, and from every angle, bodies emerged from the dark. Fifty at least, rough men and women armed with pipes, knives, and scavenged rifles, their grins as sharp as their weapons. The circle tightened until there was no space to breathe. “Well, well, well,” one of them drawled, his voice a knife’s edge. “Look who wandered into our den.” For a moment, none of the party moved. They weren’t in control here—not in a place where sheer numbers ruled. Even Barret’s weapon arm seemed suddenly too small against the tide of enemies pressing in. They had walked straight into the belly of the desert’s predators, and the only certainty was that survival would come at a cost.

The bandits’ laughter echoed through the square, harsh and grating, as they closed in tighter around Cloud, Tifa, and Barret. Tifa’s plea hung in the air, a desperate plea for mercy that was met with only scorn and mockery. “Please, we don’t want any trouble,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “We just want to pass, we are looking for our friend.”

The bandits exchanged knowing glances, their grins widening as they circled the party like vultures. One of them noticed Tifa’s rack, his eyes widening as he took in her ample curves. “Hey boss, look at the rack on that girl,” he sneered, his voice laced with lust.