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It was the cold, more than the hunger, that got to him. He wasn't going hungry, of course, so that might have had something to do with it. It was much easier to steal food than steal warmth, after all. To steal warmth, that took some time, planning, and creativity. And maybe a little magic.

Pulling the cloak tight around himself, the boy cursed the sudden change in the weather. Where days before it had simply been rain, something he could easily understand, not just control but master, now the sky's voice was taking the form of cursed white snow. The boy would've liked to have had words with the sky, if it was willing to listen, but that was sort of the point. The sky was free.

So in lieu of telling the sky to knock it the Hell off, damn it, the boy could only huddle under his cloak, close his eyes when the winds got too cold, and get creative. He'd tried to stay on board the monorail, it was warm there, but a stolen ticket was a stolen ticket, and could only get him so far. Stealing money was near impossible, given that most money was digital, and very few people carried anything of value inside the Brink.

So that's where the creativity came in. And the magic.

[I know I went on about freedom. I just wish we didn't have to steal to make that happen.]

It's a temporary situation. Besides, it's not stealing. It's...no, you're right. It's stealing.

[You could get a job.]

With my skin color? In the Brink?

The boy guffawed out loud to punctuate his point, and pulled his cloak tighter as the whipping wind took advantage of his mirth to slip inside.

I thought you had access to everything inside my head. So you know what the Brink is, right? Half the people here think my race was responsible for the Thrall Campaign. The other half are just racist pieces of shit. No one lives in the Brink because they're just totally awesome people, man.

The Brink, as the boy didn't need to explain, was more or less the name of the continent that housed Bastion and their neighbors, the Acadians. Specifically, the Brink was a constantly fluctuating outline of no-mans-land at the center of the continent that neither Bastion nor Acadia wanted to claim as their own.

[I wonder why Thalls appeared more in the Brink than outside it.]

Back then, it wasn't called the Brink. It was just Bastion, and Acadia. After the Campaign, the Brink was in such a bad way that neither side wanted it anymore. The whole thing is stupid, though. Bastion and Acadia should've been working together, it's not like the Thralls were on one side or the other. But no, people suck. People can't get over skin color long enough to help each other avoid dying.

[I don't think all people suck.]

You're right. I don't suck. But, you know, exceptions.

[That isn't what I meant.]

The cold weather provided the boy a particular benefit. It was an excuse to be fully clothed, to cover not only his dark skin color, but also his Collar brand around his neck. He was just a young traveler, and there were plenty of them in the Brink. Acadia had a colder climate than Bastion, but even as he traveled west, the cold weather had seemingly followed him. He had imagined Bastion to be a near tropical city, warm and sunny. And since he knew Bastion was on the coast, he conjured images of city dwellers making their way to the beach for a lazy day under a blue sky.

It worked in his favor that this wasn't the case as he grew closer to Bastion, as warm weather clothes would give his race away, not to mention his status as an unregistered Collar. Acadia and Bastion both had their own ways of dealing with Collars, and on the Acadian side of the border, the method was closer to 'slavery'. Those who believed in the Faith, and if you were Acadian in Acadia, you believed, also believed that certain boys were born specifically as tributes to the Gods.

Having spent time with the creature living in his head, the boy could confirm that Indicia were not Gods. At least, not Gods in the traditional sense. If they were, for lack of a better term, divine, then divinity wasn't all it was cracked up to be. They weren't all powerful, omniscient, omnipresent, and despite all of their posturing, they relied on humans to achieve their goals. No humans, no way to influence the world.

On the Bastion side of the border, where the boy found himself now, even in the Brink, the method of dealing with Collars was different, but hardly much better. Forced registration, reporting every little detail of their lives to a central agency for documentation. The Registry liked to explain it in PR friendly ways, and to their credit, they were damn good at it. But the truth was that you didn't just have to report to the Registry where you worked and where you lived. You had to keep a detailed journal of your day to day life, willingly give them your closest guarded secrets. Tell them what you think, what you feel, what you do, every day. If you kept a secret for any reason, and it got found out, you could expect to be on the receiving end of a life-wrecking inspection. They would turn your life inside out, trying to find out what you were hiding and why.

Even if the secret was that you were embarrassed to tell them who you had a crush on.

The vicious double-standard was that the Registry itself couldn't keep enough secrets. It was Big Brother knows best, and so even if it didn't require being used as props in public 'rituals', it wasn't much better than the Acadian Faith.

Suffice it to say, the boy had little faith in anything as he stood in the cold outside the monorail station. A shiver shook his spine, and his nose and ears didn't feel like anything at all. He wasn't entirely sure they were still there.

But even in the cold, a smile spread on his lips underneath the cloak. His breath was keeping his chin and neck warm, that was nice. And the snow was falling from patchy clouds, and what shone through between those patchy clouds was magnificent. It was a view that was hard to come by in Acadia, or any other major cities where people crowded too much. A sky full of stars was winking at the boy through the clouds, and he knew that just like the sky, the stars were free as well.

That they would present themselves to him, on such a wretched night, was almost an honor. If there were truly Gods, that must be where they lived. On those beautiful stars, choosing only the most worthy to shine upon, and only those they chose could see the truth in their brilliance. The sky wasn't black, it was swirling shades of blue and purple, red and white and pink, dotted all over by white pins, holding the tapestry above the sky.

I thought we'd be able to stay on the monorail.

[I'm still learning, too. I guess it just doesn't work on everyone.]

The boy had been surprised when he hadn't been able to talk his way into staying on the train. Since his exodus from Acadia, since his bonding with his Indicia, he'd found that he had three particular abilities. One of which was an uncanny ability to talk some people into doing what he wanted. People just seemed to _like_him, which was a wonderful ability to have when you were an illegal alien in a racist unincorporated territory like the Brink. But thus far, he wasn't able to fully control it, and even those affected by it to a small degree didn't always get fully taken in. It was unreliable. And that made it dangerous.

A boot crunched in the snow, and the boy flashed a rude gesture back at the monorail station as he made his way towards the town proper. According to a small informational screen inside the monorail station, the town was called Cliffridge, and this made sense, considering the town itself was situated on the edge of a particularly high cliff overlooking a hilly woodland. It was a small town, to the boy's standards, a main street led up the cliff and to a town square just along the far edge. Buildings, houses and businesses, dotted the hill and cliff edge, which left the town with only one real direction of vulnerability.

There weren't many people out (who would be, in the middle of a snowstorm?), but the town wasn't deserted. Paths had been dug into the snow between many of the buildings, and the town center had been completely cleared. The boy wondered if perhaps there was a device that was melting the snow in the town square before it could build up. Acadia would have struggled with such a prospect, relying more on natural things like fire, and also magic, more than technology.

If I'm not going to freeze to death tonight, I need to find someplace warm to sleep.

[I'm warm. If we don't find anything, you can just stay close to me.]

I'll keep that in mind. But first, I've got to find the worst person in this town, and I've got to find some way to get them to give me a place to stay.

[Why the worst? There must be someone in town that would be willing to give a room to a lost boy.]

I'm not lost. I'm free. And that means I've got to find a place to stay on my terms. Besides, like I said, this is the Brink. People here suck worse than most people.

The worst person in town, logically, would probably be exceedingly drunk right now. So finding the pub became the boy's priority, and that wasn't difficult. He walked as casually as he could, given the frigid air, to the town square, and an ostentatious sign gave it away. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, and that would be easy, since no one could draw attention to themselves next to the intensity of the flashing neon sign outside the pub. Acadia didn't use signs like that, it was outside their sensibilities, the Faith wouldn't have allowed it, it was old technology anyway, the reasons went on.

The boy found himself enamored by the neon lights, old fashioned, no Lightglass but actual neon tubes. They glowed a rainbow on the ground, and he stood under those lights for a minute, just staring at them. Quite different from the celestial light of the stars, and yet, in their own way, divine. Humanity's never ending attempt to one up nature.

There was no bouncer standing outside the door, so maybe Cliffridge wasn't the worst town he'd been to since coming to the Brink. At those not-so-nice establishments, you only got in if the owner liked you, and the owner only ever liked you if you had money that he could liberate from you. Here, entrance was as simple as opening the door and walking in.

Freedom sure was grand.

Compared to the ridiculous sign outside, the inside of the pub was quaint. Small, dark, crowded, but simple. A bar on the far wall, booths and tables between the door and the bar. Standing room only, at this point. Good, then, because it kept everyone from turning to look at the boy as he entered. In the old movies that he'd seen, every time an out of towner walked into a bar, it went silent and everyone turned to see who it was. Here, the music played loud, a slow, blues sound, and the conversations were shouted louder. Wondering if the entire town was here, the boy made his way through the crowd and found a dark corner in the back, by the bathroom.

He leaned nonchalantly on the wall by the entrance to the bathrooms. A particular way to find a warm bed, or make some money, flashed through his head.

[I don't know if this is the right crowd for that.]

I'm not in the mood, anyway. No, we're here to try something with a little more finesse.

The boy kept his eye on the bartender, even as he scanned the rest of the room, searching for the right mark. The bartender, he noticed, was keeping an eye on him, too. There was no bouncer that he could see, but the bartender was likely good enough to bounce when needed. He was a beast of a man, nothing but muscles and more muscles, bald head, bushy mustache, with clever eyes that made the boy nervous.

In an attempt to keep that attention off of him, he decided to make his way to the bar. The bartender approached and looked at him, considered something, and then leaned forward onto the bar.

"Whiskey." The boy said simply, looking around the bar casually, as if there was nothing interesting to look at.

"You old enough to drink?" The bartender asked, not convinced, especially since the boy was almost completely covering his face with the cloak, even inside the considerably warmer bar.

The boy now turned to the bartender and locked eyes with the man. "After what I've been through, I need a drink." The cloak around his neck blocked anyone from seeing the green glow emanating from the boy's Collar brand.

The bartender nodded and went to get the boy what he'd asked for.

[You don't have any money. So either someone else will have to pay for your drink, or you'd better get some money.]

It'll be fine. I'm not leaving without making some money. And if I don't, I'll just use that Charm trick to get someone to pay.

[It doesn't always work. And don't forget, sometimes it makes people really mad.]

The boy shrugged and took the whiskey, tasted it, and nodded approvingly. The Acadian Faith gave their Acolytes (the Acadian word for Collar) plenty of ritual drinks through their youth, and not a few of them were alcoholic. But that wasn't drinking for pleasure, which the boy had taken a knack for since leaving Acadia.

Now sipping on his drink, enjoying the warmth inside now as well as outside, he let the cloak slip down around his shoulders for the time being. It would let anyone who wanted to look close see the green brand around his neck, but it was dark, and no one would look that close. With the bartender off his case, he'd be free to find a mark. And finding one didn't take long.

There was a man sitting at the far end of the bar from the boy, and he had obviously already had enough to drink. Even still, a man sitting next to him appeared to be buying him one more beer to top off the night. The guy didn't look nice, so the boy felt little remorse about choosing him as his target. As a stroke of luck, after buying the drunk man a drink, the other man stood and left, leaving an empty stool. The boy took his whiskey and made his way to the seat, plopped himself down, and turned directly to the drunk man.

"Your name, sir, what is it?" As he talked, he pulled the cloak up around his neck, covering the brand. It glowed once again, though none could see.

"What's it to you?" The man asked, taking a long pull of his new beer.

"I have a business proposition, and I like to know the name of the gentlemen I do business with." The boy explained, taking no offense from the drunk man's tone.

"A business propasishin?" The man slurred his way through saying.

"More of a wager, actually." The boy said with a slight tilt of his head.

"A wager? Whadda ya got that I want, boy?" The man asked, looking at him now, instead of into his beer.

"Money." The boy said, and then he downed the rest of his drink. He exhaled slowly as he placed the glass down. "I've got a game I like to play. It's fun. And if you win, I'll buy all your drinks that you've had tonight."

The man's ears perked up at money, but he thought it over and shook his head. "You think Imma idiot? You gotta be smover than that to con someone in the Brink, boy."

"Con?" The boy raised an eyebrow. "There's no reason to throw accusations around like that. I'm looking for entertainment. So I have a game I like to play. You stand to win, and either way, I have fun. It's not a con."

The man was drunk enough, the boy supposed, to have severely impaired judgement. Any sober person, living in the Brink, they'd be too smart to even engage him. But this guy, he was arrogant and very drunk. Perfect.

"What's the game?" The man asked incredulously. His tone implied he was simply humoring the boy.

The boy grinned, glad to have gotten so far so quickly. He'd trick the guy into buying his drink before too long. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out one of his few possessions. It was an old style timekeeping device. He held it up so the man could see it. "This is a watch. It's an old watch, so it isn't digital. See?"

The boy handed the watch to the man, who looked at it all over, intrigued now by what the boy was planning to pull. The watch was indeed an analog watch, with hands that ticked along steadfastly, moving along obediently with time. Most clocks in those days were digital, kept by a computer. The boy didn't know how this old watch worked, to be honest, but it did.

"So what do you want to do with this watch?" The man asked, looking between the timepiece and the boy.

"Simple. Notice the third hand on the watch? It keeps seconds. See how it moves once each second." The boy explained as if the man were an imbecile. But the man stared at the watch, and he saw that the boy was telling the truth.

"What of it?" The man asked.

"The game is to see how well you can keep time. The watch is just there to help us judge. As you can see, the watch is impartial. It keeps time, no tricks. So I'll make a wager to you. You put that watch in your safest pocket, somewhere where even the best pickpocket couldn't reach it. Then, with it concealed, you count out ten seconds. When you're satisfied, you take the watch out of your pocket. If it's been ten seconds, I'll buy all your drinks. If not, you just buy my one drink and we'll call it square." The boy explained breathlessly.

"All I gotta do is count ten seconds with this watch in my pocket?" With a raised eyebrow, the drunk man stared at the watch. The boy knew the man had to suspect there was a trick, but it was so simple, the man's impaired judgment should make him go for it.

"Alright, you're on. I don't know why you think this game is fun, kid, but whatever." The man took the watch and slipped it inside a pocket on the inside of his coat.

The boy observed, hiding his amusement, keeping his face steady with a calm smile as he noted the pocket where the man put the watch. He remained silent as the man counted ten seconds in his head, mouthing 'one, two, three, four, five...' silently with his lips. Either the man would pay for his drink, and he'd leave him alone, find a new mark, or the man wouldn't pay. And the boy would know then that he had chosen correctly.

The boy had found himself with new abilities since bonding with his Indicia, and his Charm wasn't the most powerful of those abilities by a long shot. His most difficult power, one that was a challenge to pull off, but well worth it, would be what he used to ensure his success. The boy could, for a single, sufficiently small object, control time. More specifically, he could control the time stream of a single object. It didn't work on living things, only on inorganic objects, and the catch was that it set the object back exactly 13 seconds in the past. Once 13 seconds had passed, the object would then return to its original state.

For instance, if one were to try to count ten seconds on the second hand of a watch. They would count to ten, and most likely, they would be relatively close. But if the boy shifted the watch back in time 13 seconds, they would now be 13 seconds wrong on their guess. At the end of the 13 seconds, the watch would suddenly, miraculously, read the accurate time once again, effectively skipping over the time during which it was shifted. Someone in that situation had no chance.

And this is exactly what the boy did. Concealing the glow from his neck brand, as the man reached for the watch, the boy concentrated his will on the watch, and a small sphere appeared over the watch momentarily, unseen in the man's pocket. By the time the man had the watch fully removed from his pocket, there was no evidence of tampering, aside from the fact that the man was, indeed, 13 seconds fast on his count.

"What the Hell? It's the same as when I started." The man exclaimed, glaring at the boy.

The boy grinned. "I guess you have had a bit more to drink than you thought. But a deal is a deal..." He trailed off, looking aside.

"Screw you, kid. Leave me alone. I'm not buying your drink. Yer lucky I don't beat your ass into the ground right now." The man said, slamming the watch on the bar.

The boy grabbed the watch and put it back in his pocket. "What do you mean you're not buying my drink?" He stood up and knocked the barstool over, for effect. "A deal is a deal, you drunk bastard!"

"Shove it, kid!" The man said, but the bartender was already on his way over.

"You agreed to buy my drink, old man!" The boy shouted, goading the man into making a scene.

"Knock it off!" The bartender instructed him, looming over him even from the other side of the bar.

"This guy said he'd buy my drink if I won a bet. I won, and he won't pay. What's the point of a man's word if it doesn't mean anything?" The boy turned on the bartender. "I guess that's just the kind of establishment this place is. Just like the rest of the Brink. Nothing means anything."

"Alright, get the Hell out of here." The bartender said, and he turned to the drunk man. "You, you're out too. You've had enough."

"I din't do nothin!" The man whined, gesturing to the boy. "I wuz jus minding my own bizness!"

"I don't care what happened between you two. Get out." The bartender pointed to the door. "You can pay me tomorrow for all the drinks you still owe on."

The drunk man stared at the bartender, and then he wheeled on the boy. Reaching out, he grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt and dragged him, with little effort, towards the front door. The other patrons made way for him as he went, and before long, he tossed the boy out into the snow.

"You little shit. Got me thrown out of the only bar in town. Where else am I supposed to get a drink in a Hellhole like this?" The man shouted, stomping towards the boy.

"Not my problem. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten us thrown out if you kept your damn word." The boy said, starting to stand up. He couldn't beat this guy in a fight, but he didn't need to. As he stood, his boot slipped in the melting snow, and he reached an arm out to keep himself steady. The arm caught on his cloak, and pulled it down to his shoulders.

Oops.

Outside, in the garish neon light, the boy's Collar brand was on full display. The man gawped at him. "I knew you cheated! You used magic, you Cad! If Idda known you wuz a Cad, I wouldn'ta taken your bet!" The man was referring to the boy's skin color.

"What difference does that make? You're the one who didn't keep your word." The boy didn't have time to stand fully before the man was upon him.

[This isn't good. You should run.]

What? Empty handed? No way. I can still turn this around.

The plan had been to avoid the man's attacks, quietly pick his pocket during the bustle, and then slip away to see what he'd gotten away with. Hopefully, he'd have found a house or hotel key, which would lead him to a room he could ransack for food, clothes, and blankets. At best, the man would pass out drunk somewhere, and he could spend the entire night in the man's bed. Instead, a simple slip had left him unable to defend himself as the man reached down and lifted him up by his collar again.

His Indicia cried out inside his head, drowning out the sound of his own yelp, as the man slugged him in the face. He flew, tumbled across the wet ground, and got scratched by more than one rock along the way. His cheek burned and he sniffed as he tried to get his bearings back. This guy was apt to beat him to death if he had the chance.

When the boy looked up, someone new had entered the equation. A tall, thin man stood between him and the drunkard. The neon light silhouetted the newcomer, but he was standing proud in the way of the drunk man, so that was a good thing, really. The boy hated being saved by someone else, but at least he would live to con another day.

"Outta the way, guy." The drunkard said, approaching the tall man.

"You might like to turn and walk away now. I'd rather if I didn't have to show you who the better man is, here." The newcomer spoke. He was holding something under his right arm, and his left arm was hanging down at his side.

"Why not? You woulda just be showin me that I'm the better one." The man said, determined to get back to the boy to continue his retribution.

The tall man sighed audibly and shook his head. When the drunk man threw a punch, the tall man's left hand moved swiftly, and caught the man's punch in the air. A peculiar thing happened, then, as the drunk man's shoulder was forced back, as if he himself had been punched. He stumbled back, and the tall man's hand returned to hanging by his side.

"The Hell?" The man asked, his left hand feeling his right shoulder, and he winced. His hand rubbed along his arm, trying to make the pain go away. Unfortunately, the man was drunk, and pain was dull, and not enough to stop him.

Lowering his head, he screamed aloud as he charged forward for a headbutt, a questionable tactic. Once again, the thin man's hand was up, and he caught the headbutt in his palm. The man stopped dead in his tracks, and then his head snapped back violently, and his body with it, as he went flying backwards. He landed in a heap on the ground, and he was writhing in pain.

"As I said. You would have liked it better if you had simply walked away." The thin man said, and he turned around to look at the boy.

Behind the silhouetted man, a creature appeared in a cloud of dust, presumably to check on the drunk man. Make sure he wasn't too seriously injured. The boy turned his focus away from the creature, this man's Indicia?, and back to the man himself.

"Who are you?" He asked, standing up. His head came to the tall man's chest, so he had to look up at the man's face.

"My name is Canaan. I saw you in a bit of trouble and thought I might step in to assist. One Collar, to another." Canaan spoke knowingly, and gestured to the boy's neck.

"I'm out." The boy said, and he started to back away.

This guy must be from the Registry. Looks like they finally tracked me down.

[He definitely doesn't look Acadian, so the Registry is probably right. But he doesn't seem like a bad guy.]

Until he wants me to register. I don't want to be their slave.

[He helped you. The least you could do is hear him out.]

Sorry, nope. Not gonna happen.

"Hold on." Canaan said, holding his hand out.

For some reason, he didn't know exactly why, the boy stopped and waited. Canaan lifted up what he had under his arm. It was a manilla folder, which he opened and scanned the contents of. There was enough light to read by, thanks to the neon sign.

"I'm not here to make you register, if that's what you're thinking." Canaan explained, still looking at the folder. "I just have an interest in getting to know you."

"Creepy. Anyway, I think I don't have an interest in getting to know you." The boy said, taking one more step away.

"I can give you what you're looking for." Canaan said, and the boy stopped again.

"What do you know about what I'm looking for?"

"You want to be free, right?" Canaan asked.

You haven't been reporting on me to anyone, have you?

[No, that's crazy.]

So then how does he know that about me?

"Yeah, and your registry can't give that to me. Sorry." The boy replied. "Who the Hell are you, and how do you know that?"

"That's not all I know." Canaan looked up from the folder. "Tonight, I'll give you a warm place to stay. Some food. Tomorrow, we can talk about the other things you want."

"And what do you get in return?" The boy asked, knowing a good con when he saw one.

"As I said, I have an interest in getting to know you." Canaan answered.

This wasn't getting them anywhere.

Guy sure likes to talk without saying anything.

[Not entirely different from you, really...]

A warm bed and food sounded nice, the boy had to admit. "How do I know you're not after anything weird? I'm quite attractive, for an Acadian, I'm told."

"You'll just have to take my word for it. What's your name?" Canaan asked, expertly changing subjects.

"You don't already know?" The boy was surprised, this Canaan seemed like he knew everything about him already.

"I do. I just want to be sure. I need to be sure that it's you. I know all about you. But what I want to know is who you are." Canaan apparently talked in ceaseless riddles.

The boy mulled it over. Take the bed, take the food, and split if anything got weird. That sounded like a good plan. He realized that through everything, he'd forgotten about how cold it was outside. It was starting to come back to him now. He shivered, and nodded. "Name's Riley."

"Just Riley?" Canaan asked, glancing down at the boy.

"Acadian Acolytes are all given unique names. No need for a last name. Especially for a puppet." Riley said, looking up.

"Well met, Riley. Trust me when I say, you're no puppet." Canaan held his hand out to the boy, and with a firm shake, a deal was made.

Riley gave a glance up at the sky, and hoped that the gods on those stars were still smiling on him. He didn't have much going for him, but he had that much. The thing was, he didn't realize at the time just how much he had to lose.

Several years later, save for a few days, Riley had been waiting for Isaac to wake up from his coma. After seeing Miria finally give in to Isaac's advances to go on a date, and more importantly, seeing her kiss him in his sleep, Riley decided he needed to get away and clear his head. He'd been in Bastion for a long time, and it had been awhile since he'd gone on vacation. Okay, he wasn't going on vacation, but the mission that Canaan had for him would at least get him out of town for a while. While he was gone, the hurt would go away, and he could see Isaac when he got back.

But Riley wasn't the only person on the train out of Bastion that day. And he wasn't the only person heading to Cliffridge with a secret purpose. And to explain who else was there, and why, it would be necessary to jump back a few days, yet again.

Jensen knocked insistently on Alyssa's door, but she wasn't coming to answer it. He would have just phased through, that would be no problem, but he didn't want to get shot if she was training a gun on the door.

"Alyssa! Open up! It's me, the guy you saved from InCorp." He pounded on the door again, and he heard scuttling around inside, but the door still didn't open.

"Prove it!" Alyssa called through the door.

Jensen shrugged and looked around. "How?"

"I...don't know." Alyssa said, and she opened the mail slot. Crouching down, she got a good look at Jensen's crotch before he bent down to look at her through the opening.

"I wasn't aware you became so familiar with my anatomy while I was here." He snarked through the slot.

The door opened, Jensen was pulled inside, and the door was locked at least five times again. Jensen stood hesitantly in Alyssa's entryway. "Uh, so I take it you think there's something strange going on, too."

"Something very strange. And its InCorp. They're at the heart of it." Alyssa was clearly still in the dark as to the Vassals' part in the situation.

"Yeah, I noticed that bit when they abducted me and held me captive." Jensen scuffed his shoe on the floor. "Nice place. InCorp, they, uh, they pay you enough to live here?"

"I rent." Alyssa explained, "What do you want?"

Jensen had just left the Vassals' HQ in Freeman's mansion, and Freeman had tasked him with a mission. There was a certain something he was supposed to steal, and it should have been easy for him, given his ability to walk through walls. But, as it happened, the train didn't leave for another few days, so he had some time to kill.

As Sev had pointed out, though Jensen insisted he put it together himself, Freeman was up to something, just as much as InCorp was. Jensen knew the Vassals' plan was to break into InCorp, but now he was starting to have doubts. Freeman had been complicit in his capture by InCorp, that much he was sure of. He wanted to know what it was they were going to be breaking in to. And the object he was supposed to steal? It was a weapon, Freeman had called it the Lance. Capital L.

Jensen needed to know why Freeman wanted that weapon before he could give it to him.

[We should just leave town and get out of this mess.]

Freeman might still be doing good. Besides, if we don't steal the weapon, someone else will. It'll be better for us if we know what he's up to. If we know what he wants to do, and it's bad, it'll be easier to stop him.

So Jensen did the only thing he could think to do. He couldn't trust any of the other Vassals, he had no friends at InCorp, and certainly wasn't about to seek help from the Registry. So there was really only one person he could trust.

Besides you, of course, Sev.

Alyssa.

She'd pulled him out of a figurative fire and kept him safe at her place until he could get away safely. Jensen didn't know if his escape was part of Freeman's plan or not, so he had to tread carefully here. Alyssa had pieces to the puzzle he didn't have, and he had pieces she lacked. It was time for someone to start putting it all together.

"That a new door?" Jensen asked as he walked towards the living room.

Alyssa took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead. "Start talking or get out, I don't have time for this crap."

"Okay, okay." Jensen calmed her down as he took a seat. He gestured for her to sit too, and when she did, he shared with her everything he knew.

Jensen explained how he had been working with Freeman on a plan to invade InCorp, that whatever they had there would help keep the Vassals free, and safe from the Registry's tyranny. Jensen had bought it hook, line, and sinker, and became Freeman's lieutenant. It turned out that Freeman had a man on the inside of InCorp, though Jensen didn't know who it was. That person would disable the building defenses, and allow the Vassals access. The first InCorp siege had been a test run, to build up their faith that the man on the inside could actually do what he said he could. No reason to put Vassal lives at risk without proof. They waited for an opportunity, and lured a Thrall to the building. That had been the first incursion.

From then, Jensen knew less and less. He didn't know why they needed to break into InCorp, he didn't know who the man on the inside was, or what their aim was, and he didn't know why Freeman had allowed him to be captured. The simplest explanation was that InCorp wanted a patsy to blame for the first incursion, and that Jensen was the best choice. It certainly didn't garner Freeman any of Jensen's love or respect, but he understood it, at least in concept.

Last, Jensen explained how he'd been tasked with stealing the Lance to help with the second incursion into InCorp.

He didn't expect Alyssa to stand up and punch him in his solar plexus.

"You were behind the incursion? People died. I nearly died." Alyssa said after she punched him. She took advantage of his inability to speak to continue. "So you want to know if I know what it is you might want to steal?"

Jensen nodded and whimpered.

"During the incursion, if you want to call it that, instead of, I don't know, a massacre," Alyssa spat venom as she spoke, "an illegal AI system activated and nearly killed everyone in the building. So first of all, your man on the inside didn't turn off all the defenses."

Jensen wheezed out an agreement, and let Alyssa continue.

"Second, how do you know the AI isn't what you're after? True artificial intelligence is prohibited, and InCorp has done a wonderful job covering it up since the attack. But whoever turned the defenses off, they obviously didn't know about the AI. Or else they would have turned it off, too, right?" Alyssa assumed that Jensen agreed, and so she didn't pause to wait for an answer. "InCorp has doubtless spent billions on this AI. So Freeman wants the AI. Simple."

"I need to know for sure, before I hand it over to him. I need to know what it is." Jensen spoke through tears when he could finally manage to talk.

Alyssa stared at him blankly. "You want to go see it, don't you?"

"It?" Jensen asked.

"There's something underneath InCorp. I don't know what it is. But if I had to bet money, I'd say that whatever is down there, it's what your man Freeman is after." Alyssa said.

"Why don't we go take a look and find out?" Jensen's mouth spread into a grin, because he knew exactly how crazy that sounded.

But in the end, getting in had been easy. Alyssa worked for InCorp, and she worked in security, so even though she walked tensely with a paranoid air that screamed 'I'm up to something!' no one gave it a second thought as she made her way through the building. The plans she had studied showed that whatever was under InCorp could be reached by going through the bottom of the ground floor elevator shaft.

When she found out that Jensen's power made that literally the easiest thing to do, she practically laughed. So they waited patiently by the necessary elevator, pretended to were there for a good reason, and when the elevator was empty, they boarded it together.

"Whatever you do," Jensen spoke gravely, with utmost importance, "do not open your eyes until we are all the way through. I'll let you know when."

"Why? What happens if I open my eyes?" Alyssa was genuinely curious, but Jensen didn't like to think about it, much less explain it.

"Just don't." He repeated as he held the door close button, but didn't select a floor.

"Okay." Alyssa agreed, though she sounded a bit put off.

"Give me your hand. Do not let go." Jensen further explained, and he gripped her hand tightly, as if he were afraid she might just fall away. "Ready?"

When Alyssa nodded, he pressed a button for a sufficiently high floor, and he concentrated as the elevator began to move up. He simply held them in place, so the elevator moved up through them, and they ended up falling a few feet to the bottom of the elevator shaft. Jensen held tight to Alyssa's hand as he observed the bottom of the shaft. It did appear to be a door that could open, so Alyssa was correct, there was something underneath them. He didn't know how far down it went, so there was a chance when he phased through it, they could fall to their deaths.

It was a risk that Jensen had explained carefully to Alyssa, but she was resolute to go with him. He didn't know if she knew exactly why she cared so much, why, like Sev suggested, neither of them just ran away and didn't look back. Probably the same reason, he figured. Both of them liked to stick their noses where they didn't belong.

Besides, it didn't get more exciting than this.

Jensen and Alyssa phased through the floor, and Jensen felt nauseated as they started to fall. Once he felt that they were completely through the door, he opened his eyes to take in the surroundings of their plummet. They were in an extension of the elevator shaft that went down farther than he had time to determine before he needed to find something to grab onto. The emergency ladder that lined the inside of the elevator shaft, thankfully, continued down into the sublevel, and Jensen instinctively reached out to grab it.

His shoulder and arm screamed at him as he held onto the metal bar and tightened his grip. Alyssa, eyes still closed, kept falling, and he held her tight with his free arm. He managed not to drop her, and he managed to say, "Oh crap," before she swung into the wall of the shaft below him. It was a solid hit, and it jarred Jensen's arm and shoulder more than he would have liked.

With a bit of coughing, Alyssa angrily growled, "Can I open my eyes now?"

"If you would. And you might want to grab on." Jensen instructed.

Alyssa opened her eyes and stared first thing down at the distance below them. Then she remembered Jensen's directions to grab on, and used her free hand to clamber onto the rungs of the emergency ladder. When they were both safely situated on the ladder, Alyssa started to climb down without hesitation. It was a long, quiet climb. Jensen figured out while they were on their way down that Alyssa was unhappy with him. He couldn't imagine any reasons why.

After a climb long enough to turn their arms and legs into jelly, Alyssa and Jensen reached the basement floor. Alyssa clapped her hands together and turned around, ready to finally learn what it was InCorp was keeping down here. Jensen wobbled a moment, forgot why they had come, and leaned on the wall for support. After a few deep breaths, he came back to himself and turned along with Alyssa.

"Damn it." She said, and it echoed through the chamber.

"Damn." Jensen agreed.

Before them was a massive vault door, circular in shape and locked tighter than Jensen's own home, which didn't even have a door. Jensen remembered just a moment later that he could walk through walls, and a vault shouldn't stop him any more than any other type of door.

The two approached the vault cautiously, and Alyssa put her hand out to touch the smooth metal. The chamber was lit by emergency lighting, so everything was dark and illuminated red. This far underground, she couldn't help but think of Hell.

"So, I'll just stroll inside, I assume there will be a switch to open the door, and I'll let you in." Jensen came up with his master plan with ease.

"I doubt there is a switch to open it. Why don't you just take me through with you?" Alyssa urged.

Jensen stared at her for a second, and took a breath, and then turned resolutely to the door. "What if there's just nothing but lava on the other side? You stay here until I make sure it's safe."

"Why in the Hell would there be lava in there?" Alyssa asked.

"I don't know. Just, you know, worst case scenario. Anyway, it takes more concentration and energy to take someone with me. It'll be faster if I go alone." Jensen shrugged.

"Okay. If you die, I'll write you a beautiful eulogy. Now go. I'll keep a look out until you open it for me. Hurry up." She punched him in the shoulder, and he knew another, harder punch was coming if he didn't go.

Alyssa watched Jensen disappear through the vault door, and then she had nothing she could do but wait. She tapped her foot on the floor impatiently, stared at the vault, looked at the time on her LINK, and regretted the fact that she didn't go with him.

She started to regret that fact even more when she sensed someone behind her. They reached over her shoulders and tried to pull something tight around her neck. She kicked backwards and put her hands between the garrote and her throat. Her kick didn't land on her assailant, but she did manage to keep the wire away from her neck. Unfortunately, it was digging into her fingers, instead. With enough pressure, she thought it might slice through her fingers completely.

Struggling against her assailant, she kicked and thrashed, but there wasn't much she could do. They were stronger than her, and they had gotten the drop on her. Unless Jensen popped back out of the wall soon, he'd probably come back to discover her corpse. She was desperate, flailing as much as she could.

"I can't get through. I just get stuck half-way on something." Jensen said as he walked out of the vault door, eyes still closed. He heard the sound of the scuffle, and opened his eyes. Upon seeing Alyssa being strangled, he acted at once. The assailant didn't have much time to react, but they did put Alyssa between themselves and Jensen.

Oh well. That wouldn't matter.

Jensen ran forward and held out his arm to clothesline the bastard. When his arm came into contact with Alyssa, he phased it through her, and that made for a solid hit against the assailant's face, who was caught completely unawares. The hit shouldn't have been able to connect, and since it caught the attacker off guard, Alyssa was able to slip down and away from his grasp. Her fingers were bloody, and there were small cuts on her throat where the wire had been digging in. At least she was alive.

Jensen kicked the attacker's knee out from behind, and they fell forward with a thud. He could've killed the guy, but that wouldn't have been fair. Using magic to beat a normal person, it was unnecessary and ungentlemanly. Another kick to the man's head knocked him out, and ensured they'd have time to escape.

"The vault's a no-go. I can't get in. I don't know why." Jensen explained.

Alyssa was practically hyperventilating. "I don't care. They know we're here. We need to go."

Jensen nodded in agreement and took Alyssa's hand. "I don't think we should go out the way we came in." The blood between their hands was slick and warm. Jensen took a closer look at Alyssa's neck to make sure she was alright. "But if I'm right, we've got another way out of here."

"What's that?" Alyssa asked, and she would later regret not pressing him for a more specific answer.

"Just don't open your eyes until I tell you. It's should be right around here." Jensen pulled Alyssa over to one of the metal walls opposite the vault door. He knocked on them a few times, chewed on his lip, and then threw caution to the wind. "I hope it is, anyway."

With that, he dragged Alyssa into the wall, and it was like they had never been there at all.

Their trip to InCorp hadn't revealed much. Jensen wasn't sure why he couldn't phase through the vault, but together they figured that was the reason why Freeman needed Jensen to steal the Lance in the first place. To break into the vault.

Jensen talked it over with Alyssa and Sev, and they decided the best plan was for Jensen to steal the weapon, and then they could decide what to do after. If Freeman needed the Lance, having it in their hands gave them a leg up. Jensen went about his business as usual, and they agreed not to contact each other if it wasn't necessary.

Alyssa was going to board herself up in her home, as she had been doing before, until Jensen came back. The train to Cliffridge didn't leave for another few days, which was a long time when you were convinced there were people looking to kill you. The encounter in the basement hadn't done much to reassure Alyssa that people _weren't_trying to kill her, anyway.

But in the intervening days, Alyssa got called into the InCorp office, and against her better judgment, she decided to report in. She reassured herself that InCorp didn't know that she knew anything, and Parker might be an ass, but he wasn't a murderer. She knew she would probably have to quit her job sooner rather than later, but part of her had hoped she could stay working for InCorp, if she could just prove to herself that the conspiracy wasn't real.

Now that she knew that the conspiracy was definitely real, she needed to at least talk to Parker about her resignation. So she met him at InCorp in the middle of the day, when it was crowded, so that no one could kill her secretly, if they wanted to.

Parker's office was at the back of the security room, but to Alyssa's relief, it had a lot of windows, making it easy for the other security staff to see in during the meeting. She walked in confidently and sat down at the chair across Parker's desk, and they sat silently together, neither wanting to play their hand first.

Eventually, Parker raised his LINK and entered a series of commands. On a Lightglass display behind him, a video began to play. It was dark, and hard to make out, but upon further inspection, it was unmistakable. It was a security camera, and it had taken footage of Alyssa and Jensen in the basement.

Alyssa tensed up, held the arm rests on her chair rightly, palms sweating.

"So you broke into a restricted area, Alyssa." Parker said, paused, and then continued. "You've taken a lot of days off lately. And we've granted them to you, because of the stress of the incursion. But why would you do this?" He asked, pointing to the monitor.

"During the incursion..." Alyssa started slowly, trying to decide what exactly to say. "You were so calm. So I knew there must be somewhere that you could go where you would be safe. I wanted to know where that was."

"Of course there are areas of this facility that you don't have access to, Alyssa. We're a big company. We do a lot of things." Parker spoke as if he was the good guy, and made Alyssa feel like she had done something wrong.

Sort of by definition, she had done something wrong. But she didn't want to feel that way.

"And you try to kill people when they sneak in?" Alyssa asked, accusatory, as the security footage continued to play.

"The security staff down there is trained to protect the facility at all costs. You weren't authorized to be down there, and they didn't know if you posed a threat to the facility." Parker explained.

"What facility? What is down there, Parker?" Alyssa pleaded.

"If you were supposed to know that, you would. Alyssa, I like you. I've always liked you. But with this evidence, I'm afraid I can't allow you to walk the halls of InCorp with security clearance anymore. Consider yourself lucky we aren't pressing charges." Parker shook his head as he talked.

Alyssa stared at him, studied him. There was no way, right now, for her to get him to talk. So she would have to bow out. Her plan with Jensen was still in place. He would retrieve the Lance, and they'd find out what was in that vault themselves. Standing up, she placed her badge on Parker's desk and walked to the door.

"It could be dangerous, having you hang around InCorp, in the future." Parker warned.

"Yeah, I guess. I can be pretty damn dangerous." Alyssa said coldly, and she left the office.

Riley read over the memo that Canaan have given him one more time. He was going to investigate a missing Collar in Cliffridge, one who had been registered but failed to report in for several weeks. He understood the irony, of course, that he was going to hunt down a missing Collar in Cliffridge, and it brought an amused smile to his face.

It would likely be an easy trip. Go to Cliffridge, locate and subdue a rogue Collar, and be home in no time. There was another possibility, but that wouldn't prove to be much more difficult to handle. Riley was one of the few people privy to a recent rash of disappearances in Bastion and the Brink. Canaan and Chase liked to keep a lid on it, to keep public concern to a minimum.

The fact was that they had no idea where these people were disappearing to. There one minute, gone the next. No trace of where they might have gone. Only a strange black residue in their place that would dissipate at the slightest breeze. It terrified Riley, something so inexplicable as the disappearances, but he believed that they would find out what was going on, and stop it, before it could grow into a larger problem.

That was another reason why Riley had accepted the assignment. Only a few people close to Canaan knew about the disappearances, so there were only a few people who could investigate. Canaan and Everett had already sent Everett's man Darius ahead, who would meet Riley there. Hell, Darius would probably finish the job before Riley even arrived.

When the monorail arrived at Cliffridge, Riley expected Darius to be waiting for him at the rail station. No such luck. Riley slung his bag over his shoulder and decided he would have to meet Darius in town. It wasn't a long walk to the town from the monorail station, if he remembered correctly, though it was starting to get cold out. He regretted not bringing heavier clothes.

[It's been awhile, huh?]

Sure has.

Riley remembered his last visit to Cliffridge, when he had met Canaan. It had changed his life. But as the monorail pulled away behind him, he found that it was quieter than he remembered. Another passenger had gotten off the train along with him, and he started walking towards the town proper without a second thought.

Riley followed suit, walking up the dirt path through the woods towards the city square. It was a slow realization, as it dawned on him that something was very wrong. As they passed the first houses, there was no one there. Just Riley and the other passenger. The man looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Where is everyone? Is it Church Day in Acadia?" The man asked, looking around, obviously confused.

"Even that's not as quiet as this." Riley spoke with apprehension. "It might be dangerous. I'm Riley. Stay close."

The man took a few steps closer to Riley. "Name's Jensen. And I'm not stranger to danger, Riley." Jensen stuck close to Riley as they walked, nonetheless.

The name was familiar to Riley, but he couldn't place it. He may have been able to figure it out if he thought about it enough, but Riley was distracted by the unusual situation. He let the thought go, planning to return to it at a better time.

They encountered just as few people on their way through the path leading to the town square. Part of Riley expected to find everyone huddled together inside the old bar, drinking their cares away. But there was no music playing that he could hear. No voices. Nothing.

"It might be safer if you head back to the monorail, Jensen." Riley instructed.

Jensen had a high-necked coat on, and Riley couldn't see his brand. He didn't know Jensen was a Vassal. It made sense for him to try to send him back to safety. But Jensen couldn't leave, not without the weapon he was there for. So neither was going to go until they found out what was going on.

"And leave you alone? Not a chance." Jensen winked at Riley as they walked.

"Suit yourself." Riley said, keeping his eyes forward as they approached town square.

Neither could explain what they found when they got there.

The town square was, more or less, exactly as Riley remembered it. The bar's neon sign was either off or broken, and just as with the rest of the town, no one was there. But there was something new, something that Riley was intrigued by but nervous about. Because by the looks of it, it couldn't have been anything good.

At the center of town square was an oily black cube, about the size of an old fashioned mailbox. Its tar-like flesh undulated and pulsed like only a Thrall could, and Riley immediately readied himself for a fight. But the cube shaped Thrall didn't move, it didn't make noise, it just sat there in the center of town. Riley and Jensen walked towards it cautiously, hoping to get a better look.

"What...?" Jensen asked, leaning down to observe it closer.

"The Hell?" Riley leaned likewise, but kept a slightly further distance.

"Is it a Thrall?" Jensen noted the faint cubic outline that the box had, a crimson barrier of light, the usual Thrall defense.

"I think so..." Riley whispered, as if he were afraid to wake the thing.

[I've never seen anything like it. And neither have you.]

Yes, I'm aware, thank you.

Rain appeared next to the pair, and Riley noticed that Jensen didn't seem startled by his sudden presence.

"What's it...doing?" Jensen looked over at Riley slowly.

"Relaxing?" Rain asked with a shrug.

Jensen then asked what was on all of their minds. "Should we kill it?"

"I think so..." Riley whispered, reaching for a knife. "Back up, if I have to fight it, I don't want you to get caught in between."

"Getting caught in between things is a specialty of mine, Riley." Jensen winked again.

Riley looked to the others for reassurance as he raised his knife up above the Thrall. His plan basically consisted of stabbing through its barrier and killing it before it had a chance to react. If it even could react. Whatever it was.

Before he could do that, he took his free hand and placed it palm down on the barrier. Closing his eyes, he concentrated and began to freeze the condensation in the air. Luckily for him, it was a humid day, and the water froze onto the barrier with relative ease. With that done, he struck down with the knife, stabbing into the icy barrier, hoping to shatter it.

And shatter it, he did. The barrier broke into a flurry of floating red shards of ice and light. The dagger carried on through, and dug into the flesh of the Thrall. As the tip of the blade hit the Thrall, it screeched, and before Riley, Jensen, or Rain could react, it grew. Explosively.

As it increased in size, it swallowed the three into its flesh. To be more specific, it grew through and around them, so they were enclosed within its walls. And when it grew large enough to grab all three of them, it shrank itself down again, returning to its original size.

The Thrall sat alone in the center of Cliffridge square. Riley and Jensen had vanished, along with the entire town's population. Cold wind moaned through the streets and over the cliff, and as the day passed into night, and the stars looked down on Cliffridge town, snow began to fall.