Kieran listened as intently as he could, but like Aura, the drink in his hand was [i]bad[/i]. He could feel himself warming and loosening as she talked. Over the past two days, there hadn’t been a whole lot of time to eat, and he was certainly paying the price for it this evening. 

Well, either paying reparations or enjoying the silver lining. That much was yet to be seen.

The history of Unity and the history of Apex itself had been intertwined—as least as far as Kieran had known—but the extent to which that history had been mixed was shocking. The names Aura mentioned—Morgan, Jefferson, Hutchins—were all names he knew. Terms scratched into the walls of transit, murmured in bars, or even on street signs in certain places. To know Apex’s tight control over these settlers and just about everyone post-blight, however, wasn’t much of a surprise.

Kieran was an apolitical person—by nature and by survival instinct. Apex had served as a valuable employer for many years, but in many ways, his culpability within that system had been a true coping mechanism for the things he had born witness to. There were many stories yet untold—betrayals and massacres he had seen from his time with them that kept him up at night and would surely betray the nascent trust he and Aura were building. 

Here he was again—rattling off thoughts as he listened, always planning, always theorizing. But there was little left to theorize. 

Apex was cruel, malevolent, and oppressive. It was true. Everyone knew it from the top of their leadership down to Honeyman and to himself as well. But for so long, he viewed Apex much how he imagined an insect views a human. What was the point in hating something so powerful and beyond your control? It was best to focus on survival, and if the sky came falling down and the towering force decided to crush you, well, there was little you could do about it. No point in the worry, really.

But what fascinated Kieran most—as Aura finished her story—was the idea of the radio chatter. The voices on the outside. Were they too ruled by their own Apexes, or had they found a different means of survival? Or did they exist at all? 

Kieran often avoided such thoughts, but not for long. The distant mountains to the east loomed over Apex on a sunny day. They showed him his past. How his parents had gone. 

He pushed the thoughts aside as the discussion turned to the future, and Aura’s solution to what came next. 

[i]“I think if we get into the computer, figure out what Gregor really needed, we can stop whatever attack they’re planning next.”[/i]

She had a point. They could sort out Unity’s plan, and with that information, tip Apex off to put an end to the whole affair.

It would be another massacre. 

[i]Apex always wins[/i] rang through his mind as some perverted mantra. It had been something Honeyman told him when he still worked with Kieran. [i]”Apex always wins, K. Either you stand with them or you pray they aim straight the first time.”[/i]

How recently had it been since he saw Honeyman last? A week? A month? So much was different now.

“I’m not great with computers,” he admitted. He thought to the handful of times he had used them—mostly to see what would come of it. They were a luxury even the richest in A could hardly affound. “But I know someone who is. I can take a lesson with them and come back to see what’s in this laptop. And I could touch base with Apex and see what they know.” 

He would need to tell them he lost the laptop, certainly. In fact, he’d likely need to tell them Aura took it. It was a dangerous move to talk directly to Apex now, but he had little choice. If he didn’t show his face, Apex would likely come to the port and look for him. 

And find Aura. 

It had to be done. 

Kieran rose after Aura had poured him another drink, but found himself tipping forward ever so slightly, and with a brief stumble, settled on his feet. 

He trusted her, certainly. More than most. Perhaps more than any. But transparency wasn’t his strong suit. The drink would help with that.

“I don’t know, I quite like the sound of Mystery Man,” he mused, leaning against a wall a few feet back. The more the drank, the more he liked to be on his feet. “It’s been fun hearing that.” 

He paused, thought, then continued:

“But I’m not that interesting. I was dumped at this port when I was young. I was raised by vagrants and ship hands, mostly. A sort of fucked-up foster care, I suppose. But eventually some fatass by the name of Honeyman came by and said I looked fit enough to run, and soon enough, I was the Runner for the port.” 

He looked down to his drink and swished the contents around in a circular motion. Then, smoothly, he knocked it down. “I don’t have a lot of friends. You can’t, when you’re me. I tried. But then someone wants double rations, and someone else’s grandma needs a new doorframe, and eventually, you’re not a friend. You’re another fucking client.” 

He had a little more distain in his tone with that last part than he was expecting. The sting of being a teenaged Runner was still on his mind. Boys that wanted him to deliver love notes. Women that had gotten close to him only to make some grand request about moving her family up a subsection. At a certain point, the agoraphobia kicked in. 

“It gets old,” he said, looking off instead of at Aura. “Being everyone else’s ticket to success. Someone’s fucking big break to get out of a bad situation. So, I stopped talking after a while.” 

He looked back to Aura. “I became [i]Mystery Man[/i],” he said, half-jokingly. “I’ve talked more to you these past few days than I have to most anyone else in years.” 

There was some sting on his voice. Kieran because acutely aware of how open he was being, but he wasn’t sure he could close that box again. Not with Aura.

“Parents? I don’t know,” he muddled out. “They were good people. Or, bad people with good parenting skills. Like I said, I was dumped here. About ten years ago I traced down our old place, but the only thing I learned was they went east, over the mountains, and never came back.” 

A pang of pain, a pause, and then:

“So, there we go,” he said with a finality and a facetious flick of his hand. “Mystery no more. But I’ve love to know more about my hilarious and beautiful partner if we’re going to be off to god-knows-where. Any bounty hunters planning on hunting you down when we go? Aside from Apex of course.” 

He found himself comfortably discussing leaving—leaving with Aura for that matter—without a tinge of fear. Perhaps it had been their evening, or perhaps everything that had happened so far, but he found himself a little more comfortable each moment with the idea of leaving it all behind. 

It wasn’t like anything out there could possibly be worse than this.