Chapter 4: Searching
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  /Not again,/ Scarecrow thought as he glanced over his shoulder.  This was
the third time in as many days that someone was coming after him.  It was
definitely getting tiring.
  The two men were moving slowly down the street, acting very casual.  But
it would take an untrained eye not to notice the knives they had their hands
on, and needless to say, Scarecrow's eyes were not untrained.
  There were more of them in every street in South Figaro, all of them
slowly closing in on him.  If he even tried to attack any of them, the
others would be on him in a second.  Scarecrow kept moving down the street.
  Two more, right in front of him.  He was trapped... or, at least, that's
what he wanted them to believe.
  Scarecrow ducked into a small shop on his right, knowing they would only
be seconds behind.  He quickly surveyed the room.
  It was a small shop, dealing in Relics.  There were stairs at the back of
the shop, but Scarecrow knew there would be more enemies waiting there.  No
other assets in the room.  Scarecrow frowned.
  "For the mess," he said, tossing a bag full of GPs to the shopkeeper, who
proceeded to look at him quizically.
  "What mess?"
  Scarecrow responded by drawing the Guardian and cleaving a hole through
the roof.  The men that were following him got there just in time to be hit
by a curtain of debris.  Scarecrow leaped through the hole, vanishing into
the night.

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  /Ahh, the Figaran outpost.  Just what I need./
  Scarecrow quietly slipped into the South Figaran guard outpost, barely
even noticing the guards as he sneaked past them.
  After a moment's hesitation, he entered the stables, where the black
chocobos were kept.  He stepped into the light of the room, and began to
inspect the birds.
  The guard on duty there blinked.  /How the...?/  "How did you get here?"
he demanded of the black-cloaked figure.  Scarecrow didn't say a word.
  "Who... who are you?  How did you get here?  And...and what do you want?"
the guard blurted.
  "What do I want?" Scarecrow asked, still not looking up from his
inspection.  "I want one of these birds... this one, I think."  He gestured
toward one of the smaller ones.
  The guard was perplexed.  /Someone barges in here, somehow getting past
all the guards... and he wants a chocobo?/  "What..." he began, before being
interrupted.
  "I am prepared to pay you... five thousand."
  "We don't sell..."
  "Six thousand, then," Scarecrow interrupted.
  "I'm sorry, sir, but I just can't sell you a..."
  "Would you prefer I just stole it?  I bet that would be fun to explain to
your superiors.  'Well, this guy in a black cloak just came in and took
one.'"  Scarecrow laughed.  "Unless you think you can stop me?"  There was a
dangerous edge in his voice, and the guard swallowed.
  "Uhh... well, I can't sell it for less than twenty, then."
  Scarecrow snorted.  "Twenty thousand?  For this runt?  How 'bout I make
you a final offer... seven thousand... and I leave you alive."
  The guard paused a moment, considering.  "Seven thousand it is.  Did you
want a bridle, or anything?"
  "No, I'll take care of that on my own."  Scarecrow counted on seven
thousand-pieces, and tossed them to the guard.  "Oh yes, and..." he produced
a package from the folds of his cloak and tossed it to the guard.  "Give
this to Edgar."
  With that, Scarecrow turned, vanishing into the night with his newly-owned
chocobo.  The guard looked at the package lying near his feet.  There was a
single word on it.  Scarecrow.