Kieran leaned in closely—watching this [i]Aura[/i] as she made her way through what seemed to be a somewhat stilted lesson in the game of darts. And if he was being honest, he found it a little hard to focus.

He had remembered that he hadn’t eaten today; something he did rather often during the course of a shift of work. There was so much to do; so much to accomplish, that food had become almost a luxury to him.

But no—not a luxury. That would imply he enjoyed it. Rather, Kieran spent most of his evenings approaching food like one would approach an animal in a hunt. Something to be dealt with quickly as to not prolong the event any longer than was necessary.

All of this came to mind to Kieran as blood rushed to his extremities and his face grew blush. He had drank too much, too quickly, and with too empty a stomach—and was remiss as to admit, at least to himself, that he was a bit of a lightweight. He would have blushed regardless of his sobriety, downed the rest of his glass of rum, and continued to watch.

Aura had a bit of a calm demeanor to her; something disquieting about her approach. She was obvious, of course. But perhaps intentionally. Kieran had grown so used to seeking out people that would have otherwise become a threat to him that he was confident Aura wasn’t trying to be particularly coy. And, now with the drink in him, Kieran thought to himself that perhaps not everything was a game. Perhaps this was just a game of darts. And for a moment, he tried to turn his fight-or-flight reflex off and just enjoy a game of darts.

Kieran watched closely and spoke as little as possible as Aura threw the darts ahead. [i]Fuck, she’s good,[/i] he couldn’t help but think, as he watched her effortlessly nail her targets. It was a good amount of precision, and Kieran was sure he would be fucking it up here shortly.

Aura placed the dart into his hand and set him towards the target. He was able to throw two that hit the board—each in places where Kieran was unsure whether or not they counted as earned points—and one which would strike the weakened timber that lined the walls of the tavern.

“Well, shit,” Kieran thought and spoke, essentially simultaneously. He listened to her make the clear observation that he wasn’t from subsection F, and thought for a moment the best way to approach. 

“I’m not usually around here, yeah,” he admitted, but dropped the matter entirely as she spoke about the AE enforcer. [i]Soren.[/i] He noted the name.

“I wouldn’t call him a friend,” he admitted. He thought again about how much to reveal, in what order, and to what depth.

As fate would have it, though, he wouldn’t need to worry long.

A man burst through the bustling crowd and pulled Aura close to him. They spoke in frightened whispers, and before he knew it, Aura wished him farewell and bolted from the scene as the curfew sirens blared.

Kieran felt less than enthused about the entire evening. He had been exhausted—caught off-guard by this Aura character, now sufficiently buzzed, and left over-analyzing the situation. Everything about today had been off-kilter; wrong from his typical day.

So he quickly moved back into the streets and made his way back to his home. It was only an hour and a half walk, and despite being stopped by AE members a few times, he was able to get past with the flick of his runner’s stamp and general aloofness. 

It was near-midnight by the time the thick smell of saltwater and sulfur once again filled his nostrils. He had returned to Port Apex; tired, weak, and ready for some sleep.

His home, or so he thought of it as, was little more than a few shipping containers he was able to pawn off from the port boys some time ago. However, over the years, he had made quite a few modifications to them.

He approached the edge of the port and slipped down the usual causeway that lead to a small isthmus on the edge of the port’s shores. Here, his four shipping containers; arranged in a two-by-two pattern, stood just five feet from the murky waters on two sides.

He unlatched the door and moved inside; locking it quickly behind him.

He thought to himself in the dark momentarily, considering what options the evening had really presented him with.

His first instinct was to drop Atlantic—pay it no mind and refuse any task that crossed its borders. He would lose work, sure, but until he could be sure the time would pass where his appearance drew heads, that could be a good option. 

His second thought was a bit more cruel than the first. He could approach this Soren that Aura had spoken of. Ask for more information. But perhaps that would result in yet another summary execution.

And further still did he think about the man he talked to in the tavern today. His instincts driving him to survive. How useless his life had been in the end. Collapsed like a sack of bricks in the street.

Apex was a cruel place. And Kieran could understand disliking it. Rebelling, even. But—

[i]No,[/i] he thought to himself. [i]Don’t go down that road.[/i]

Kieran headed to bed immediately and had no trouble sleeping this evening. But his last thought was on the man in the street. On Aura. And whether or not he would keep his commitment to stay out of Atlantic for the time being.

Something within him, subconscious or otherwise, knew he wouldn’t be gone for long.