The dulling moonlit crescent held the same shape, the same distance. If somewhere, the stars still existed, they hid away, buried in the gloominess of the world.

  Ian tipped his head back with a bottle pressed to his lips. His throat bobbed by the wedge of two towering buildings, perfectly rectangular, structured. He slumped along the sleek streets, and a trickle ran down his chin. He roughly wiped it with his sleeve.

  He and Victor entered Rifts like a well-oiled machine that knew no pause.

  People liked that—machines that didn't tire. He was stapled to the foolish nicknames, wasn't he? Another day, just like the last, a Mutt to the goddamn Forsaken.

  Once, all he knew was the underground. A number to his name.

  Now, with each passing day, he embarked on the staircase of fame. A Guide rivaling the lower-leveled Espers—and those that disagreed soon changed their mind, framed in his gun's muzzle.

  Yet in the end, he was a puppet to the Base.

  He fiddled with the crumpled paper in his jacket, a sleek black that was recently retrieved by that Esper, and dizzily spread it flat. A heaviness burdened his limbs.

  The hum of distant cries of death haunted his every step.

  In the evening, he would be reminded that Victor didn't understand. Sometimes, he wondered if he was trying to—taking Ian's hands to his palm and asking what he was thinking.

  Sometimes, Ian thought the Esper was trying to learn him.

  But that would be a foolish consideration. He couldn't stand it, so once again, he fled to the streets. There was some comfort in being a stray to the world—nowhere to stay, but nowhere to miss.

  Seven names, crossed out on his list. At the top was the Supreme Commander, whose identity remained unknown.

  A pair of clean, white sneakers stepped before his lowered vision.

  "Excuse me... I really admire you."

  A young face, flushed with freckles and down-turned hazel eyes.

  Ian lifted his brows and fastened the metal muzzle around his mouth with a click. Victor had made it so he could remove it for 30 seconds per hour without Victor's energy.

  It was dehumanizing, but he'd long abandoned pride. He'd be a dog if a dog could dig up his goals.

  He tapped the back of his watch. "It's past curfew."

  The patrol officers were roaming, although that didn't stop some from darting around. The Alliance's activities continued to increase and gain notoriety, and the Center sought to stop it. What a wistful dream—stopping the seeds of rebellion that sowed of their accord?

  Ridiculous. He'd seen one of the members get yanked out of one of the many apartment blocks—some that looked pristine and perfect on the outside to house peeling walls—and dragged into the Center Tower.

  He hadn't seen the man again, but he could assume what had happened.

  The boy nodded. "Yeah, but sometimes you want to sneak out, right? Can't I sit and chat... just for a little?"

  "No." Ian didn't blink. "Run along, kid."

  "The curfew is mostly to decrease the activities of those miscreants! Anyway, it's the center too. There's no danger, and if anything happens, it'll come to the outside zones first, so I'm not scared."

  The apartments in the monitor had lockdown codes in case of a breach.

  And yet, it would be those on the outside who died first.

  The bottle tapped against the ground. He rested his arms against his knees, humming.

  This luxurious zone was crammed full of delusions that made a poor man feel rich. They didn't have to fear an invasion or infection, and crime rates were low.

  What a joke.

  "Leave," He lifted his dark gaze again, no traces of a smile behind its metal bindings. Instead, he swayed and tilted his head. He reached for his belt and spun the gun in his hand. "I have no interest in amusing you. If you know who I am, then you know my temper, don't you?"

  The teenager bristled, stepping back. "I don't mean anything bad! I just think you're really cool! I really want to be like you."

  Ian startled and laughed sharply. "Just like me. Guide?"

  "No... I'm an Esper. My abilities are low, but if I work hard—"

  "They'll ship you out, and you'll die." Ian sneered, buckling the gun. "Your flesh will peel into shreds, devoured by creatures with broken spines and a hundred eyes."

  "Wait—"

  "Sometimes, corpses swell with gas or liquids. They're buoyant—you'll use them as a float in the worst case. Interesting?"

  The teenager hiccupped and slapped their hand over their wobbling lips. Then, they darted away, footsteps tapping down the vacant streets.

  Before Ian could return to his musing, another weight replaced the last, squatting beside him. On his other side, a young boy flung himself into his arms, and Ian caught him. A bed of fluffy hair popped up, large eyes blinking at Ian.

  Ian exhaled helplessly as the boy's arms squeezed his waist. "Apollo. It's been some time."

  "Oh, and no greeting for me, cutie?" complained the figure beside him, leaning his face over in an attempt to draw attention.

  "I can put a bullet through you. Will that suffice?"

  "Much as I'm flattered by your interest in being inside me," smiled Ares, his golden hair braided over his shoulder. He toyed with a withered flower, twisting it between his fingers. "I think this is much too public. Come on, aren't you bored?"

  Imprisoned between Ares and Apollo, who'd clung to his hand, he couldn't snap back. Reluctantly, he was dragged down the streets, into a narrow alley three turns down.

  They stopped at the shopping center, a collection of stores that sold various goods along the walls. They had several levels, but were shorter than the apartment buildings, standing consciousness. At the bottom floor, a window was ajar, strung with neon pink lights.

  A stylish woman popped her head out. "Go on. What's the order?"

  "A drink," grinned Ares, leaning on the sill as a few coins clattered to the table. "Something sweet. You like collecting these, right?"

  "That's a shitty explanation," she scoffed, tossing her curly hair into a high ponytail.

  She hobbled back inside and metal clattered, machines whirring as water gushed. When she reappeared, she handed out three metal containers with a straw. "Run along now. You're bad for business."

  Ares smiled, leaning close as he handed the drinks to the others. A ring of smoke blew from her mouth, but he didn't blink. "C'mon, darling. Don't we have some history?"

  She sneered. "You're already a mess, but that muzzled pup? Trouble."

  Ian barely blinked and gazed at her steadily. Her red-rimmed eyes twitched, and she turned, blowing another ring of smoke before shooing them away.

  Ares popped the straw into his mouth. "Sorry, cutie, she's tense. The patrol has increased, and they aren't gentlemen to women, as you'd know."

  "Who is she?"

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Ares hummed. "Esper. Pretty, isn't she? She was one of the best, but she'd lost her leg and refused to continue. Not that they liked that. Want to hear a little story?"

  Ian narrowed his eyes, slipping the straw through the muzzle's gaps. A mellow sweetness slid down his throat. Relief veiled over his body, cooling any aching pains.

  He paused, staring at it. Then, he nodded. "Speak."

  Ares grinned, proudly opening his mouth.

  Once, there existed an Esper who had reached her peak, carrying a motherly nature under a cold facade. Bitter remarks were laced with care, and her firm touches brought healing.

  Though she'd disliked the Rifts, she entered one after the other.

  Hundreds were saved, but hundreds had died, too. She watched them breathe their last countless times, dying knowing that she could've prevented their deaths.

  "Her lover was injured," murmured Ares softly into the dreary night. "But she was yanked to heal a high-ranking Esper first, and when she returned—"

  "It was too late," finished Ian knowingly.

  Her lover's limbs had been shredded inside the jungle terrain, while the other Esper's injury had been less perilous, but his life was deemed more important.

  And was her lover's not? Not in the face of humanity.

  "The S-Rank monster rampaged as she hugged his body, grieving. It devoured her leg."

  From that day, the woman became a hollow husk, withering in a dusty home. They slammed on her door day after day, but she never answered. Eventually, soldiers smashed down the door and forced her into another Rift.

  There, her ability soared and rampaged, and she twitched brokenly among rubble. On the verge of transforming, prey to the Infection.

  "We saved her," smiled Ares, tapping his nails against the metal canister. "Zeus gave her life."

  After that, her ability evolved, and she gained a secondary skill. The ability to provide nourishment through food and drinks, allowing her to remain in the Center without entering Rifts.

  But now her evenings came sleepless, a curled, gaunt figure against the cold wall. When she closed her eyes, her lover's decomposing torso greeted her, mutilated limbs strewn in a carnage of pink and red.

  If she'd had that ability sooner, couldn't she have saved him?

  If she'd held the gavel, wouldn't her judgment have been different?

  "The dead lie in slumber, and do not return." Apollo stopped, lifting his chin distantly to the sparks of electricity, dancing far above. "Her regrets can only lie with them, haunting her waking."

  He weaved through the maze of mirrored buildings, a mimicry of the past.

  Then, they stopped at a dome built of broken planes of glass, striking among all else.

  On the circular metal door, his nimble fingers darted across the keypad as the numbers lit up, clicking. Gears creaked low inside before it spiraled open to reveal a hollow darkness.

  Ares bowed dramatically. "As a gentleman, I insist you go first."

  Ian held Apollo's hand and scoffed. "I don't trust you."

  "Fair enough," chuckled Ares, stepping inside.

  The second his shoe grazed the ground, violet lights zipped to life along a stone pathway and erupted outward to fill the concave space with purple hues. Delicate flowers unfurled, swaying within intertwined branches that arched over the pathway.

  Ares jumped back, spreading his arms. "Thoughts?"

  The wonder of the dome reflected in Ian's dark eyes as he drifted, like a ghost chasing willow wisps. How could this exist in the frigid zone, born of the misery of others?

  He followed the path as tender leaves brushed his shoulder. An environment carved in the heart of the Base, like a secret. He crouched by a bush, tracing his bent finger along a curved blue petal.

  He remembered Eloise.

  She would've twirled down this path, soaking all light into her brilliant smile. She would've delightedly clapped and shouted, "Isn't this lovely, Ian?"

  A phantom burned in his impression, the ghost of a woman among the glowing flowers.

  Apollo burrowed beside him, tugging his shirt. Ian glanced sideways and ruffled the boy's fluffy hair as the child nuzzled up happily.

  Ares leaned over them, hands in his pockets. "They're made to resemble forget-me-nots."

  Ian stilled. They were Eloise's favourites.

  "Anyway, our Allegiance made this. It's marked as a beacon of inspiration, whatever nonsense. The response was good—people here like beautiful things that let them forget about the outside."

  Ian scoffed. "Your influence runs so deep?"

  "Deeper than you'd think," smiled Ares, raking his gaze across the garden. "This is the Wonderland's Garden. Based on an old story that used to exist—"

  "Alice in Wonderland," murmured Ian.

  Ares raised an eyebrow. "You know it? Few remember those tales."

  Ian had read it under the waning white light of a small room, where he'd collected scraps of stories and stolen words for Eloise. Later, their stash was discovered and burned, but fire couldn't burn away memory. Not all of it.

  Ares hummed, singing a tune to himself. "You're perfect. Have you changed your mind about joining the Aegis Alliance? We'd treat you dearly."

  Ian's fingers stilled, and he drew away from the swaying flower. "You oppose the Base."

  A bitter laugh sounded, cruel and mocking. "They protect many while sacrificing equal amounts. You know that, Guide. I know what you've been doing. Here, your chance to live is twisted by those above, stapling a value to your rank or ability."

  Of course, Ian knew the misery the systems enforced. The twisted society humanity had carved from destruction—but hadn't it protected humankind?

  No matter how he despised it, he'd lived it for all the years of his life. The systems existed because they worked.

  It worked, but at what expense?

  His voice quietened to a low murmur. "And what do you want to do?"

  Ares' smile fled into solemnity, a scorching determination fueled by hatred. Hatred, the most destructive and terrible spark. "We'll raze this place to the ground."

  Ian snapped his head sideways.

  He'd heard of the Aegis Alliance and their rebellious acts. But he'd assumed they desired equality in the Base, seeking protection for the weak.

  Speaking of razing this society to the ground—that was a delusion.

  Ares read his thoughts, sighing. He plopped to the ground, stretching his long legs out, draped in white. "It's near impossible to change a system of corruption when the benefiters hold the reins. We want to find a utopia, to create a new world."

  "A utopia?" Ian shook his head, and Apollo squeezed his hand. This child, allied to the rebellion. What did it take for the child to make such a choice? "I'm looking to avenge my sister, not to play humanity's judge."

  "Somebody must judge the judger," seethed Ares, narrowing his eyes. "We all will eventually have to make a choice. If your sister and mother fell into a pool, who would you save?"

  Ian's eyes swept sideways dully. "I don't have a mother."

  "....." Ares raised his hands in surrender, coughing. "Alright. Sylvan, and your sister."

  Ian paused. How did Ares know of Sylvan's name, and why did the word lace with familiarity on his tongue? For now, he pushed the thought aside.

  "Sylvan."

  Ares blanked, choking. "Pause. What?"

  Ian turned back to the flower, fiddling with its stem. They were likely artificial. Just as everything existed under the static barrier. "My sister is dead. I won't rescue a corpse."

  If she'd been alive, he wouldn't have hesitated.

  But for the dead, hypotheses didn't exist. He could only save what was before him, no matter how he chased his sister's memory. He wouldn't drag irrelevant people into it if he had the choice.

  Ares rubbed his temples. "Stop twisting it, and think of two people of equivalent importance. Can you decide? But in the end, you must, or both will drown."

  Ian said nothing, and Ares fell onto his back, splaying out like a starfish.

  Of course, he understood. The emergence of the Rifts forced evolution—yet the Base clung to the past. This Center was evidence of it. Their hope of returning to those days, even if there might be no end. The existence of the Rifts could simply be their new reality.

  A part of Ian, too, clung to the past.

  All he dared to chase now was revenge.

  He crushed the thin metal can and chucked it onto Ares' stomach. Then, he slowly rose, raven hair drifting over the gloom of his dark gaze.

  Tomorrow, they would meet a duo who were friends of the deceased, the ones who reported his sister to the Esper's mother, bystanders who played a white wolf.

  Ares lifted his head, peering after him. "After you've enacted your vengeance, where will you go?" He plucked up the can, grunting as he pushed himself up.

  Ian squinted, his gaze blurry. That ringing continued in his ears, an endless echo, and the alcohol in his system became a dull burn, less effective by the day. A laugh spilled from him, bewildered.

  Both Ares and Apollo startled, and a sardonic smile tilted Ian's lip.

  "Where?" He repeated. "There's nowhere. There's no end to this hell."

  Ares tilted his head, his eyes softening. "Nah, there isn't. You teamed up with a devil to become one yourself. Now, even if hell's the only destination, haven't you chosen your path?"

  Against the rows of glowing flowers, his face hardened. "Staying with that bastard?"

  Ares shrugged. "Didn't say that, yet that's what you heard. Think about it, cutie. Dare to think beyond the walls, beyond your vengeance."

  The broken can was tossed in his hand, landing in his palm.

  Beyond his vengeance?

  Before, he'd barely managed to hope beyond the Facility.

  Then, noises erupted from outside in an entanglement of hisses and a strangled cry. Ares furrowed his brows, but Ian had already darted through the exit.

  Between the shadowed alley of two buildings, two large men cornered a young woman, perverse gazes raking up her body. They'd barely lifted their hand when suddenly, a figure appeared behind them. A slender, pronounced hand caught their wrist.

  One turned, meeting a pair of chilling black eyes. "What the hell do you—"

  Ian's fist slammed into their jaw mercilessly, and what followed could only be called brutality, a torrent of violence. Alcohol warmed his brain, and a buzz hummed in his ears.

  They were regular humans, easy to subdue, easier to ruin.

  Was that how Victor felt? It was all terribly exhilarating—and awfully dull.

  Scarlet splattered against his tanned cheek, and the woman whimpered, heels tapping hurriedly away. But Ian didn't stop. Couldn't.

  Until hands grabbed his wrist, and a forearm looped around his neck, dragging his thrashing body back.

  "Calm down! I'd like to say you're drunk, but—" Ares sighed as Ian calmed, irises reflecting the abyss of the evening. "Your eyes are too calm. We might be looking to build a haven for the weak, neither noble nor innocent, but you? You say you seek vengeance."

  Ian tossed away the man's arm. "I do."

  "Really? Or is it an excuse for the violence running in your bones? You're angry—you've been angry for how long? Against who? Is revenge really all you seek?"

  Apollo hurried over, pressed his short fingers to Ian's wrist, and blinked in Ares' direction. Ares sighed, exhaling.

  Ian had never been good or stable. Always unsatisfied, quick to react.

  But was revenge blindsiding him? He admitted it, gazing at the bloodied faces, that an agonizing heat surged up his veins. He wanted to grasp it, to let it scream. To burn everything—and would he find peace in the ashes of what remained?

  What was he becoming?

  "Ian," muttered Ares carefully as his blond hair unraveled in the chaos, rippling over his broad body. "I think you should reconsider your goals. Where are you going? Erebus—that Esper. He wants to drag you down into his violence, but is that what you want?"

  Ian couldn't answer.

  He was driftwood, floating aimlessly. Once, his purpose had been to protect Eloise; then, it was to avenge her. He'd never considered what it meant to choose his own path.

  But what did he want?

  And if Victor were his ruin, the catalyst for death turning into indifference, how long could they continue their path?