'You must understand,' Reeve is desperate, shouldn't be, breathing reports and proposals, five years of architecture, three of urban planning, fifteen in Shinra's shadow saving this city from reconstruction; 'Rufus, Midgar is – dying – '
Geostigma doesn't yet blind Rufus. The Shinra scion looks at Midgar through one eye, the other black as despair, yet a man doesn't need depth perception to see the future.
Reeve glances to the view, finds a new argument in the shape of a shattered tower. 'Rufus, Midgar is my chance.'
Rufus replies: 'Reeve. Midgar is mine.'
Reeve breathes easier. It's not a refusal, after all.