HangYourSecrets

In Bloom: The Reunion

Where was he?

Rob blinked a few times to try to gather his senses and look around him.

To his left, he could see a few members of the band he was drumming for.

What was their name again? Men Of Old?

He wasn’t sure at this point.

Rob’s evening had been a complete cluster of noise and booze–which was pretty typical of a night in The Crocodile.

Tucked in between a hostel and a Bank of America, The Alligator was the place where diverse and thriving acts could come and play in a space that wasn’t judgmental, clean, or even above code. The floor swayed and bent at the thrashing mobs, which ebbed and flowed with shrill power chords and far too much low end from the three stand amps that pumped the space with precious noise.

Whoever or whatever lived below The Alligator was probably something Rob never wanted to meet. Yet, if the outdoor signage was to be believed, the owner himself inhabited the space–paid for in total by the noise above.

Rob blinked a few more times–hard, fast, like he was clearing a splinter. He re-centered himself and looked to his right this time. Next to him, a polite girl who went by Ari signaled that the act on stage was almost done.

”Woman,” Rob mentally corrected himself. ”The woman next to me.”

Yet he couldn’t help himself. He knew Ari somewhat well–and even started tutoring her on microbiology for her UW courses.

She was a proto-adult in his eyes–same as those in the band he was opening for (what was their name)? People who still carried a fake in their wallets and purses and hurt themselves in a pit to the type of distorted drivel which swelled out from the band on stage.

Again. Rob blinked again.

He needed to be ready for the set. Sure, the songs the boys had put together was little more than a cacophonic mix of thrash and doom–but he still needed to focus. At least, he would need to focus this many drinks in.

He blinked again. How many drinks had he had?

He was drunk–he knew that much–but he wasn’t entirely sure how drunk he was. He tried to count his shots.

One at the front of house, free of charge and courtesy of Ryan the Bartender who knew him very well. Two more purchased by the band for him, as a bit of a “thank you” for stooping down to the band’s level. At least three of four more after setup and before the opening act started up. Maybe another from Ari for good luck?

And after that? He wasn’t entirely sure.

“Hey man. You good?”

The voice rang out from his right, barely audible above the music on stage. Rob turned to his left to look towards Jared.

What a stupid name for a kid. Jared? How old was he when In Bloom toured Europe? Eight?

“Yeah man,” Rob shot back. He threw a bright smile on his face. “Let’s fuck it up!” he gruffed out over the mess of noise which surrounded them.

Jared smiled and nodded. “Fuck yeah, dude!” He shouted, looking to the two other boys.

Rob looked at them through whiskey-soaked eyes and felt little more than contempt.

These were no trailblazers. They weren’t the kind of kids to make music to mean anything. And he would know.

He’d seen it done twice.

No–these were kids who wanted the idea of a rock band. The allure of the sights. The sounds. The tours full of drugs they could take and the women they could fuck the brains out of on a tour bus.

They wanted something they thought Daddy could buy. Which is exactly why Jared’s Dad–a nice, perpetually busy person he had met during the heyday of MAE–had set the two up and paid Rob far more than he was worth to play with the boys.

Here he was, mid 30s, about to take the stage with kids who thought they could buy their way into the scene they were sampling.

So yeah—of course he had been drinking.

---

Rob blinked again, and the show was over.

Sweat bled down from his forehead like a gashed wound and bit at his eyes. His arms vibrated from the forearms down. His fingers blistered from poor form and a violent grip throughout the band’s set.

But the crowd ahead of him roared in approval, and all seemed right. He supposed he did earn that ten grand.

“Thanks again to Rob Pennie on the drums,” Jared barked into the mic, “’cause this has been an absolute pleasure and a dream of mine, my man.”

Rob shot a grin up to Jared to get him to turn away and back to the audience.

“And I have to say, on behalf of everyone here, in Seattle, all over the fuckin’ place man,” Jared continued. “Call Jane. Call Austin, call Sam. The audience is here man, make it happen!”

Before Jared could finish the sentence, the crowd shouted over him–and the noise seemed to deafen all of King County. It was insane the level of noise they produced. About as insane as Jared’s notion.

”Yeah,” Rob thought to himself as he waved and faked appreciation for the wooing crowd. ”You guys keep dreaming.”

Rob’s walk home wasn’t too far–three blocks east and two north–but fending off the teenage crowd wasn’t an easy task. He was a weird spot with this sort of thing. With Mae, there’d likely be a bodyguard or two following the two of them around the streets of Seattle. But without her, he was almost entirely anonymous.

That was, whenever he wasn’t at or in a concert.

Every year since In Bloom’s demise and especially after Mae’s MAE phase (at the two referred to it is), he’s grown to resent the fame and the noise. Because it wasn’t a fame to be proud of. It was a fame based on his proximity to his ex-wife. And, a fame based on a band that exploded so cataclysmically and fully he wanted nothing to do it with it.

But, as luck would have it, In Bloom and MAE followed him around like some fetid ghost. He couldn’t listen to KEXP for more than an hour before J’s voice would crackle over the car stereo. And not even three songs seemed to go by on the pop station before Mae would be on there, singing her biggest hits.

Especially these days, In Bloom seemed to take on more and more of a life of its own. Kids seemed to throw their hits across video after video. You could easily see 15-year-olds lip-syncing their hearts out with J, mashing up the songs with Paramore or Rodrigo.

Rob always laughed at the thought of it. ”Wherever she is,” Rob would think, “I’m sure she fucking hates that shit.”

It was almost a relief, however, that his ex-girlfriend’s band was taking on a new life over his ex-wife’s act. Listening to MAE, all-caps, was an aggravating experience. It would only bring about memories of slaving over an album, over and over, only to have Mae, the person, overrule him and swap him out with a drum machine.

Listening to MAE also brought him back to the world tour. Crossing over Europe, Asia, and at one point they did a week in South Africa. If you watched MAE’s documentary, it would be easy to see how the tour was actually going.

It wasn’t a tour of dreams. It was one of nightmares.

Still, after all these years, Rob couldn’t be too mad at Mae. Visitation rights had been firmly upheld, and he even got child support, and a lot of it due to the difference in income.

Rob even had to admit he liked seeing her. They had always been good friends.

Just not-so-good lovers.

Rob shook his head. Centered himself.

He was a block away from his home, turned around and signing the last of the autographs and telling his final tour stories.

One guy–a short, timid dude probably still in high school, was the last of the crowd. His arm shook as he handed over a vinyl in pristine condition. On the front, J’s face bright and happy.

Last he heard of her, she had been in rehab. And last he’d seen her, it had been through tear-stricken eyes, looking at her sleeping form. Then bolting off in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.

“Want me to make it out to someone?” Rob asked as he got a silver sharpie out. He was all business–even knowing half of those words came out slurred, half-formed.

“Jane,” the boy said, after a moment.

Rob looked at him, swaying, more confused than anything. “J?” he asked back.

The boy looked taken by surprise. “No, no, sorry,” he laughed out. “My girlfriend’s name is also Jane. I’m giving this to her for her birthday.”

Rob blinked. “Of course,” he said–too loud–and signed the album. “Best of luck to you both.”

The boy thanked him and turned the corner, and again Rob was alone.

---

The next day was when the call came.

It was two–no, three–in the afternoon. His head throbbed and ached. He was leaned over his armchair, ice pack in hand, when the phone buzzed.

At first, he thought it was Elle. She probably had grabbed her mother’s phone, as she usually did around this time when the tutor wasn’t looking. She’d usually call and scream “Daddy, I did it!” into the phone. No reason—just a child declaring victory over her mean tutor, snagging the phone and making a call when no one was looking. Rob would laugh and say as much as he could before the tutor eventually came and took the phone back.

But it wasn’t Elle this time. It was Evan.

“What?” Rob shot into his phone, before putting it on speaker and sitting it on the end table.

In the transition, Rob missed the first few words of Evan’s speech. Not like it mattered much, anyways.

Evan was the ‘account manager’ for In Bloom at the moment. The third in four years. The licensing rights for the band post-breakup had been a clusterfuck, made ever-more complicated since the four of them mutually agreed not to ever meet up in person again. So instead, four different managers working with four different estranged bandmembers had made a quagmire of the rights over the years. Evan was the unfortunate ringleader—the voice between the band and the label itself. He was probably the closest thing they had to a manager at the moment, as terrible as that was.

“—absolutely fucking insane, what we’re seeing,” he said as the speakerphone activated. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I haven’t,” Rob said back. He re-adjusted on his seat and moved the ice back down his bad leg. “Do tell.”

“Millions per day, Rob. On every fucking song in the back catalogue.”

“So, the catalogue?” Rob corrected.

“Yeah–fine¬–whatever,” Evan replied, the three words hitting equal emphasis and lack of interest. “The point is, you have to strike when the iron is hot with these things. We can’t wait for it to top out before making our move.”

“And what would that move be?”

“…don’t be mad.”

Rob’s blood pressure shot up. That wasn’t good.

“Evan—”

“Two weeks in Orange County. That’s all I’m asking—”

“EVAN—”

“Hey. HEY. Two weeks. You and the rest of them. Turn in a song, an EP, fucking four albums, I don’t care. Just turn something in. We can put in cameras and everything, make a doc out of it.”

“No the fuck you won’t.”

“Or not! It’s fine. I don’t care. I don’t. Just make something.”

Rob thought for a long while. Ahead of him he could see the faint outline of Puget Sound amongst the fog and fir trees. He envisioned them dissipating into the smog, pollution, and shithole that was Southern California. After leaving, he had vowed never to return. So far, he had kept that promise.

“What did the others say?” he finally asked. He could feel the sigh of relief from Evan on the other end. Not an immediate no. Progress.

“I haven’t asked them yet,” Evan admitted. “To be honest, I wanted to start with you.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, you’re the most dependable! You’re an excellent drummer, still working all over the world and…how do I put this.”

After a moment, Rob interjected. “Put it however you want.”

A pause. Then: “You’re the most successful one, Rob. I thought you would be the easiest yes and I need a yes from someone before I call anyone else. I know you guys aren’t close—”

“—a nice way to put it—”

“—but they’re not that easy to get a hold of, much less convince.”

Rob leaned back in his chair, weighing the options. Elle would be out of school in a week. He always took her on a trip in summer. He’d have to push that back.

“I can’t be gone all summer—” he started, but Evan was way ahead of him.

“You won’t be. We do this over the next three weeks, you go home for the summer, spend time with Elle, we mix and master, maybe we talk about a short tour in the fall. I know Elle’s important to you.”

“You promise? No summer tour—”

“Rob I can’t promise anything,” Evan said. “You know how these things are. But I’ll try my best.”

Rob took a deep breath. Between him and his picturesque Seattle view were three half-drank bottles of whiskey.

Maybe he could use a change of pace. At least, before he’d have to call AA.

“Two weeks,” Rob repeated. “Not a fucking day more. I want the fuck out of California after two weeks.”

---

Within four days, all of the arrangements had been made. When he told Mae over the phone, she seemed over the moon for him. And she was—which didn’t help.

He almost wanted to fight with her, but the truth was, Mae was an excellent mother and a genuinely nice ex-wife. Which really only made him feel shittier.

She also let him have Elle over the weekend for a short getaway even though it wasn’t his weekend. Rob took her out to nearby Victoria. She was in the middle of a floral phase, and the two had an absolute blast walking through the streets of the quaint Canadian town.

But it all passed far too quickly. Right as he picked her up, it felt like he was dropping her right back off at her mother’s—a glass mansion on a hill in Mercer Island.

“Where are we going next month?” He asked Elle, on his knees, at Mae’s doorstep.

“I dunno,” Elle responded. “Oranges cow?”

“Orange County,” Rob corrected. “Why do you wanna go there?”

“You wanna go there,” she responded, matter-of-factly. “I wanna go there.”

Rob and Mae shared a look and a laugh at their daughter’s answer. “Tell you what,” he said, “maybe we can check out a farm when I get back. See some cows, oranges, apples?”

Elle smiled at the thought. “Can I get dinner now?”

“Can I get a hug?”

Rob squeezed his daughter tightly for as long as she’d allow—hardly more than a second—before she bolted into the home, yelling in delight. It was movie night, and movie night was the one night she got chicken nuggets for dinner.

Rob stood to his feet and looked to Mae. He tried to get a read out of her, but she seemed unreadable in this moment. It almost concerned him.

“Take care of yourself, Rob,” she said softly. “Seriously.”

“I do,” he said, a bit more defensively than he intended.

“Rob…it’s starting to smell on you. Seriously.”

“I don’t drink when I have Elle,” he shot back. “You know that.”

“I know you didn’t. I know you don’t. That’s why I’m worried. When’s the last time you washed that shirt?”

“Mae, please—”

“Tell them hi for me, would you?” Mae responded—changing the subject as she always did when she made her point. “I hope it works out.”

With that, and a brief hug, Mae receded back inside.

She had a way of doing that. Making her point—making her threat—without having to even seem mean.

Rob stormed back to his car, filling with anger with every footstep. Because no matter what happened, Mae was not going to take Elle from him. And if she thought so, she had another fucking thing coming.

---

Within 24 hours of dropping Mae back off, Rob was flying over California.

He had been situated into first class–not his request–and kept a hat as far down as he could. He’d wear sunglasses in this flight if it wasn’t too suspicious.

In just the past few days, the millions the previous songs had been pulling had begun converting into record sales. At this point the band had only small batch pressings available. In the past few days after they all had sold out, the label had put out pre-orders for a full pressing.

Tens of thousands of pre-orders later, it was starting to look like a four or even five figure royalty check this month.

Thanks to his work with MAE, he had never hurt for money after she went big—and made about as much as a predominant lawyer from royalties alone. And as uncomfortable as he had been with his growing wealth as of late, he had to admit that a royalty check that size wasn’t life-changing anymore.

But was it to J? Was it to Sam and Austin?

The thought of meeting them drew a pit in his stomach, so he returned his focus again to the drink on his tray.

Within another hour, the plane had landed. Rob practically bolted from the gate terminal to the baggage claim—picking a spot in the corner to avoid any growing paparazzi activity. In Seattle he was a virtual unknown. But here, being the ex-husband of one of the biggest pop stars of the decade made it easy to be seen. The In Bloom explosion didn’t help either.

And sure enough, just as he grabbed his bag—

“Rob! Rob!” Some lanky boy with a patchy beard sprinted up to him with a DSLR. The flash was already blinding. Rob threw his glasses over his eyes before trying to move past him, towards the door.

“What do you think of In Bloom’s recent success? Is more retro rock making a comeback?”

“What?” Rob couldn’t help but mutter aloud. ”Classic rock??” he thought to himself. What the fuck happened to California in the past few years?

The paparazzo, unflustered, continued a rattle of questions while maintaining about a six inch distance between himself and Rob. “Have you spoken to Mae recently? What does she think of the success of your side project? What are your thoughts about Jane’s newfound sobriety?”

That one stopped him dead in his tracks. J had gone sober? How was that news? Once a few years back someone had asked him what he thought of her in rehab, but he didn’t think on it much further than that. And if he was being honest, he brushed it off with the mindset that it was typical for her.

But now, on his way to see her and the others, he was just now finding this out?

He was beginning to feel worse and worse about this.

“Look, man,” Rob finally said, “I’ll answer one question if you ask just one.”

The two were nearly outside–where airport security would no doubt stop this guy before following Rob any further.

Without hesitation, the paparazzo responded: “What happened between you and Jane in the first place?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Rob turned to go outside. “Nevermind,” he said as he turned away from the guy and his promise. “Sorry, kid.”

---

Rob was quickly whisked into a black SUV, which took Rob up and up—higher and higher into Chino Hills. He had a brief call with Evan to get the details: it would be a three-story AirBnB with a private drive and a security detail nearby in case of any fanatics. The kitchen was stocked with as much junk food and booze as they could find. The basement was a converted theater-turned-studio and they had installed the simplest soundboard they could find for them to record demos with. And finally, at any point they could call in pros to get some better sound and even cut a record right then and there.

Rob only had one question, which he asked as they pulled up to the gate and his driver started to enter in the access code:

“Am I first?”

“Yeah,” Evan said. “But you won’t be alone for long.”

The driver pulled up the home–a nice, distinctively Los Angeles-looking mansion–and drove off without a second world.

Leaving Rob with a suitcase and little else to enter inside.

He didn’t spend too much time looking around. In fact, he almost immediately moved upstairs and picked a room.

He briefly considered picking the master bedroom—an old band tradition of whoever got to a rental home first—but saw that the entire mansion was designed for the purpose of making music. Each bedroom had its own mini-fridge (with more booze), a bathroom, hot tub, and even sauna.

Rob picked the first one he entered, unpacked a few things, and plopped down, face first, into the bed.

Every moment he spent here alone was bringing him ever closer to confronting the rest of the band. Had they spoken since the band ended? Did they have some sort of anti-Rob group chat? What did they think of his and Mae’s overpublicized divorce?

He calmed himself and decided laying in bed may not be the best move. He moved down to the studio space, got behind the kit, and got to practicing.

If anything was going to get these two weeks over with, it was going to be the work.

As he played, he pulled out a whisky shot, and took it.

Lord knows he’d need it for however this first talk with J was going to go.

In Bloom: The Reunion

Name: Jackson Robert Pennie

Nicknames: Known by his middle name, Robert, but more specifically, Rob.

Age: 34

Favorite Song: Ocean Song - Daughters

Appearance:



Description: Over the years, Rob has continued to remain fit and take care of himself; but middle age is slowly approaching, and with it have come a few new changes. His hair has begun to recede--so he typically keeps a hat or a hoodie nearby when he knows cameras are near. A skiing accident during his honeymoon also resulted in a compound fracture to his left leg. As a result, his typically technical drumming style has changed into a heavier, less complex approach, which is reflected in his taste in music as well as the bands he gigs out for.

Hobbies: Running, fishing, drinking, smoking (old habits), and multi-day solo hikes.

History: In many ways, the rapid success and sudden implosion of In Bloom came to define Rob's adult years.
After the experience, Rob turned to several odd jobs before eventually settling into the Orange County music scene. The connections he built, specifically with those in Vicarious, led him to become a modestly successful touring and gig musician. He soon began touring with MAE--a mononymic local alt-pop act who quickly topped the charts and released a platinum album in a whirlwind success story.

For a brief time, during Mae's first (and only) headline tour, Rob was able to play at every venue he had ever dreamed of playing--and remain mostly anonymous while doing so. Somewhere in the depths of Madison Square Garden, his and Mae's name are carved in exposed steel.

The experience would similarly sweep him into a whirlwind marriage with her, and by 26, he relocated out of California for the first time in his life and settled down in a Seattle suburb near Mae's extended family.

His then-wife continued a successful touring and singing career for another year before retiring early--embracing the label of "one-hit-wonder" as a badge of honor. The couple had one daughter, Elle, before tensions in the home separated the two within another year. As it turned out, they had only worked as a couple when they were touring.

Still, the divorce was as amicable as any divorce could be, and Rob chose to remain in Seattle to share custody of Elle. For the past several years, he has continued to tour whenever possible--focusing on fall and spring tours to stay local for Elle's summer breaks from school.

Rob remains a modest financial success--gigging out for national and international acts whenever a tour stops in Seattle, and going on the occasional tour or working as a session musician otherwise. His downtown apartment and its panoramic view are always a hit with Elle and her friends whenever they visit, but more recently, the isolation of the rainy Pacific Northwest has been getting to him.

Finding out of In Bloom's overnight success was initially an exciting prospect--but as the sales skyrocketed and the first big royalty check came in, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of fear for the phone call he knew was coming.

And when it finally did come--summoning him and anyone who wished to rejoin In Bloom's original lineup to a two-week retreat and songwriting period--he felt a pang of guilt that hung like a millstone for days.

Because he hadn't spoken to any of his former bandmates in nearly 10 years.

Who would come? Could they even write music together anymore?

How was Jane?

In Bloom: The Reunion

@megatrash

APEX

Kieran watched as Aura rose, unsure of what came next.

What would come next?

The question bounced around in his mind without much of an end. There was little they could bring—as the more they carried on their backs, the more they brought undue attention upon themselves. They would need to travel quick and light—moving in the hopes that the old retrograde homes that sprawled between here and the mountains would provide some brief respite.

Then there was the issue of the massive lake that lie between them and the mountains. The only way he knew how to cross were the tunnels that he and Aura had used to meet up. But accessing those tunnels meant traversing back towards the Maw, and talking with the Apex guards who may or may not be willing to hear him out.

How long did he have again? Kieran considered how Honeyman had phrased it. He figured by midday, it would be common knowledge that both he and Aura were fugitives.

His goal would be to make it out of the city before that word got passed to the guards that blocked his path.

“I think—” Kieran managed to croak out, until he felt Aura press against him.

Immediately, his cheeks flushed a bright red—and he found himself thankful Aura had pressed her face into his chest so that she wouldn’t be able to nice.

’She’s so small,’ He thought to himself. He didn’t mean to think it—but the thought crossed his mind the moment he wrapped an arm around the small of her waist. Whether it be from malnourishment or statue, he suddenly recognized the size difference between them both.

His mind raced to the first night they had spent together—with her towering over him as he lay prone on the ground, a boot digging into his side—and now, as he embraced her in her home.

Two souls eastward bound, to god knows where.

Perhaps it was the isolation of his life, or perhaps it was just how he was raised, but he found himself more and more unsure the closer he became to Aura. And he was close to her—make no mistake. He had chosen to leave the only home he knew with her.

But as Kieran fumbled through his feelings, and as he held Aura close to him, he began to act more instinctually. The last of his racing mind faded out into the air around them. He leaned into the gray, the unknown—both of what was to come of the future, and what was to come of them.

And without a second thought, his right arm raised. His palm found its way to the nape of Aura’s neck, and his fingers brushed their way into her freshly cut hair. He held her head softly and lowered his chin to rest upon Aura.

She pulled away soon after, and Kieran found himself briefly holding on, before letting her slip from him. As he released, he felt something odd and fresh between her shoulder blades. He thought briefly to ask further, but thought perhaps now wasn’t the time.

“I, um, I’m gonna get ready, I –“

“Of course,” Kieran said in response. An automatic reply. He turned from her as she from him, moving towards a smaller bag that could slip comfortably under his long black coat.

He had luckily spent many nights away from his home on mission, and was able to quickly assemble a bugout bag. Rations, rope, twine, fresh socks, knives—there was a lot packed into a very small space. He make sure to snag a few water filtration tablets, as well as a small fuel canister, a lighter, and handheld gas stove. Looking over his shoulder to see Aura prepping, he opened the bag and continued loading as much as he could inside for two.

It was hard to know what should be taken—particularly when considering he would likely never see this place again. He wasn’t a man of much sentimentality, but there was one thing he wanted to take.

He reached below his bed and pulled out a box. Brushing aside papers and objects he had collected, at the very bottom, he found what he had been looking for.

A small vile, corked at the top and filled to the brim with white-gray sand. Sand from the beaches of his childhood. From the last and only place he knew much peace.

He slipped it into his bag in a smaller compartment he knew wouldn’t take a hit.

Once he had prepared, he waited on the bed—deliberately sitting in a spot where much of his home wasn’t visible, as to give Aura space to change. Once she had finished and returned, he rose before she could even close the gap between them.

“I know why you did it,” Kieran said. “Returning the laptop, I mean. I get it. Gregor and the rest…they didn’t sound like easy people to have an out from.”

He couldn’t say he wasn’t entirely over the issue of the laptop, but what did it really matter now?

“My thinking is if we can get to the tunnels and cross the river by midday, no one should be after us and I can still use my Runner credentials to get us access. A friend—” Kieran stopped himself suddenly. The thought of Honeyman and the crane last night flashed into his mind. He brushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time. “My old boss told me last night we’d have hours at best if he went missing before all of Apex would know to find us. So…we have hours.”

He stood and moved to the door. “I’d love to hear more on the way,” he said, bringing out a smile. He felt a little better now; knowing he had an objective he wanted to go towards.

Or rather, a reason to live.

“I like the haircut, by the way,” he said, half-teasingly. “For a midnight rush job, you did a pretty damn good job.”

He cracked the door open. From here on out, they would be on the run.

APEX

Kieran floated in liminality for some time—not quite asleep, and not quite awake. The alcohol swirled through his veins, giving him no sleep. He could not remember the last time he had allowed himself to become as drunk as this.

His mind raced—images of Aura, the evening, the face of the man he had killed, all mixed together. One amorphous being. And behind it, behind it all, the jagged mountains. Those that loomed light shadows upon Apex. So close, and so far.

He had read their names in a book one. Cascadia. An impassable region. Where once any family could easily cross in a few hours.

Now? It was suicide. Dense, thick forests. Glacial planes. It would be a journey without a way back no matter if they crossed over or died in the brutal cold.

Kieran’s eyes shot open and his body out of bed. He panted in his cold sweat for just a moment, before his eyes looked down.

And saw the empty makeshift bed, and knew exactly what had happened.

The laptop, the plan…all gone. Gone with Aura.

And funny enough?

He didn’t feel the least bit angry.

** **

Kieran took a few moments getting ready to head out.

He splashed his face was cold water, and pulled on a typical dark, long coat for him. He laced his boots and pushed his worn body through the door.

He moved automatically—without knowing where he was going or what he was doing.

As he turned to close the door, his hands clasped around strands of hair. He jumped at first, dropping the bundle in the dark to the ground. But as he bent down to pick it up, he knew exactly what he held.

And couldn’t help but laugh. Quietly at first, but then, so loud he could feel the echo bounce from shipping container to shipping container. Throughout the muck of Port Apex.

“A meeting with the gods,” he muttered to himself.

After this, he pocketed the bundle and moved towards the only source of comfort he had on in this wretched place.

A crane—one of only a few—still standing beyond what had ended the old world. Its bending metal upon its base showed that its days were numbered, but he couldn’t help but climb it again and again as a kid.

Up here, ages ago, he had met Honeyman for the first time. He received his first mission here and had even shared his first kiss right at the top.

As he climbed the rusted staircase and rose higher and higher into the night sky, he couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that he was climbing it for the last time.

And truthfully, he was.

As he reached the top—some two hundred feet into the air—he turned to see the Apex skyline.

It was a funny thing, really. A mix of antiquated buildings and wretched amalgamations that Apex Authority had attempted to construct. But without the technology of the old world, the best they could make were abominations—writhing from the ground level of Apex and standing alongside towers crumbling and bent with the wind.

He wondered what this place used to be like. His mom had told him the name once when he was young. On the night he was sent off to this place. He had tried to remember it as he drank with Aura earlier that evening, but it came clearly now to him.

Seattle. That was it. He wondered what it had meant.

Whatever it was, of course, it wasn’t much these days. But maybe that could change. Maybe he was venture off to the east and one day hear stories about what came of Apex.

But all these thoughts faded into the howling wind as he heard a gun click, and cold end of a pistol touch his temple.

“They told me to go right to your home,” Honeyman said, his voice cracking. “But I knew I’d be dead before I got the door open. So I waited. I would have shot the girl too, if I had better confidence in my aim.”

Kieran quelled the tension in his gut and turned to face his former mentor.

Honeyman looked the same as he did just a few days prior when they had last spoken. His floppy hair seemed to whistle in the wind. Nothing looked different but his eyes. Red and puffy, they avoided Kieran’s gaze and shot daggers into the metal scaffolding below them.

“You’re going away with her?”

Kieran thought for a moment, then:

“Yes.”

“I figured as such. With the way she sliced her hair off. You don’t do that unless you’re dead either way.”

“Why are we still talking?” Kieran asked. He spoke calmer than he thought he could. “Do what you’ve got to do.”

“K, please,” Honeyman shot back. “We both know only one of us is climbing down those steps. The least we can do is talk.”

Kieran kept searching for his eyes, but Honeyman hid them—holding his pistol high to his face, making Kieran stare down the barrel. The gun shivered in his hands, and his fingers dripped with sweat.

“Let’s take a walk then, huh?” Honeyman offered. Without awaiting his response, he gestured with his pistol out to the scaffolding that lined the top spine of the crane. As he complied and paced out towards the ocean, he felt Honeyman’s heavy footfalls pace behind him, almost in synchronicity.

Together they walked out over the black, lapping waters two hundred feet below. To the edge of the crane that dangled over oblivion.

Kieran placed a hand on the ice-cold guardrail at the end of the line. He turned again to face the barrel.

“What gave us away?” he asked.

“Only two people know your password for the black seal. You, and me. I have to say, you got sloppy. I trained you better than that.”

“Circumstances changed quickly,” Kieran replied.

“So did alliances, I assume,” shot back Honeyman.

A moment of silence between the two of them passed.

“So is this your ticket into A?” Kieran asked. “Turning me in?”

“Turning you in, yes,” Honeyman. “Killing you gets me to B. I’ll settle for B.”

Kieran couldn’t help but laugh. And funny enough, Honeyman joined in.

“How did you let it go this far?” he then asked, his tone suddenly, sharply dark.

And to be honest, Kieran didn’t have much of an answer for that. A short time ago he had a system, a plan. The means to survive.

But as he looked past the barrel of the gun, past Honeyman, and the crane, and the city skyline…towards the distant mountains and their apexes illuminated by the night sky, he realized something.

Should Aura come back, and should they make it out alive, he wouldn’t have the means to survive.

He’d had a reason to hope.

And as he looked back to Honeyman, the man between him and the mountains, they locked eyes once again.

And suddenly, Kieran understood.

His chest panged, and before he knew it, he was crying.

“Hey now,” Honeyman said. “No reason to cry, K. They’ll treat you well before your execution.”

“I’m sure,” he eked out. His voice cracked and moaned with the crane. “And you’ll like A. Pretentious lot they are. You’ll fit right in.”

The wind howled again at them. Honeyman’s pistol was shaking even stronger. Kieran watched as he placed his finger on the trigger. Then Kieran widened his stance.

“How much time will I have?” Kieran asked.

“Hours, at best,” Honeyman replied. “Aim to be out by noon. That’s when they’ll be ready for you.”

Kieran’s face burned with a white-hot rage. “Is that all you’re worth to them?” he asked. “Hours?”

“Nevermind it, boy,” Honeyman nearly whispered. “It doesn’t matter now.”

The two men swayed. And for eternity the world stood still.

“K…do it.”

And so he did.

A shot rang out just past Kieran’s left ear as he pushed the pistol out of his way. And in one foul motion, Honeyman was tossed into oblivion.

The sounds of the wind and waves hid his crash into the sea.

And one man descended the scaffolding with a pistol in his hand, alone.

** **

Kieran returned home and feigned sleep a while longer—still in his clothes underneath the covers. He awaited for Aura’s return, and couldn’t help but feel relief as the door opened and Aura returned to bed.

He waited another twenty minutes before sitting up.

As he searched with his eyes towards her side of the room, he could see Aura’s sleeping form resting on the floorboards, beneath the sheets. Sharp-edged yellow hairs stuck out from the sleeping form. Absentmindedly, he twirled the black strands still is his pocket as he watched.

He rose silently and began to gather a few things—rations he had stolen from armed men. Tablets designed to purify water until they arrived at glacier-fed rivers. Things light enough not to cause suspicion but good enough to use until they could find items to survive on the other end of town.

There was a whole city between them and the mountains, he thought to himself.

He did make one exception, however. He opened a small drawer by his bed, and moved a few belongings aside.

Underneath it all was a handful of chocolates.

If we survive to next week, he thought to himself, at least she’ll have some chocolates.

** **

He waited as long as he could until the sun began to shine into the room, before opening a wayward curtain and shining the right directly upon Aura.

He waited until she moved, then rose, and finally, made eye contact with him.

It was apparent that both of them had had what was possibly the worst night of their lives. Her eyes shone from recent grief, just as his did.

“Good morning,” he said. He didn’t wait for a response.

“You probably already know this, but…” he trailed off, thinking for a nice way of phrasing it.

But then again, there wasn’t really a good way to phrase it, was there?

“I think it’s time we left Apex. For good.”

APEX

Kieran laughed slightly at Aura’s intoxicated apology, but in many ways, he was glad she had cut the tension. He had been comfortable bearing his soul to her for a minute, but any longer and he knew he’d likely shut back down.

Still—with the alcohol burning in his veins and burning at his cheeks—he found it hard to dwell on much at this particular moment.

Kieran felt a trust as well—something he had not felt in a long, long time.

Trust was a hard thing to come by in Apex. A harder thing for Kieran as well. Should she keep to her word, and he to his, he could easily see an eastward journey going well. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t, in this moment at least, looking forward to such a trip. As Aura spoke, his mind struggled to focus on her words and the thoughts that rang through his head. The idea of collecting materials, cashing in debts, and getting them, finally, away from here.

And who knows? Maybe at the other end of his journey would be some sort of familial solace.

“Yeah,” he muttered, intending to nod instead. A live-in servant in A…he wondered if there was something he could do to help her mother out of that. In this moment, with someone he was actually comfortable drinking this heavily with, he could probably have been coerced into a lot of things.

Was he always this bad at holding his booze? Or had he drank far too much and the day been far too long? It has hard to know for certain at this point.

Twenty-five, he thought to himself. She likes chocolate, I could get some pretty easily. Not sure what kind to get, maybe just a few different types?

He felt like he was a port boy again. Back when he would occasionally head to The Square and try to make friends with the butcher’s daughter on 4th street. It was innocent then (as innocent as it could have been at ten), and he remembered racking his brain over what to get her and what sort of object would convince her he’d make a good friend.

Funny enough, it had been about that long since he felt like he actually had a friend to talk to.

As she gathered herself to sleep on the ground, he nearly jumped from the bed.

“Strong drink, yea?” he said aloud, as he passed her and finished his drink in one fell swoop, before setting his and her cups on a nearby counter. “Here, I gotta thing that’d help.”

He was really slurring his words at this point. He opened a cabinet and produced two pillows, before setting them down by her and nearly falling back into the bed.

As he did, he remembered that a few moments ago Aura had said something about The Cause. Perhaps he should’ve noted that…what did she say? A meeting in a field, in a few days?

Nevermind it, he thought at he slipped into the bed, positioning himself and quickly feeling his body relax. He’d ask her before he went to get chocolates and see what the laptop had in it.

“A runner forever?” He asked and repeated. “No, never. I mean, you rarely see runners make it to 40, anyway.”

He thought for a moment, trying to find words as sleep tried to take him.

“I want a family. But not here. There’s too much…shit…I guess, around here…but…. yeah.” He finally settled on a definitive answer.

The room was spinning, and the last of his filter left him.

“I’ll go east…sometime, and have a family. I’ll have a family, and I won’t…leave. If only this place would let me.”

The room spun and spun.

And then it was dark.

APEX

Kieran listened as intently as he could, but like Aura, the drink in his hand was bad. 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 think if we get into the computer, figure out what Gregor really needed, we can stop whatever attack they’re planning next.”

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.

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

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 Mystery Man,” 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.

APEX

Aura’s bemusement shone clear on her face as he got up to find ice and clean clothes. It was an almost surreal feeling—being more comfortable and at home at Loor’s party, with enemies left and right than here, in his home, with Aura.

”A change of clothes sounds lovely.”

He tried to swallow his anxiety as he found some thick cloth and luckily had a few bits of ice still in his freezer, which he wrapped up. He also found some clean clothes and placed both beside Aura before sitting back down.

As she tried to recount her experience with Loor, Kieran quickly quelled his immediate feelings of rage. How terrible that must have been. What he must have said or done to have placed her in such a position. But this was no time to mention his own thoughts.

Instead, he waited—listened—and nodded his agreement when she suggested they don’t discuss it.

“What matters is he’s dead,” he said briefly, nearly to himself. A complication, sure, but of what use was hindsight now?

“This is my jurisdiction,” Kieran said briefly as Aura made mention of a paid runner. “They’ll be hesitant to come directly here. I have a bit of a reputation for protecting it.”

Kieran thought briefly to a time a subsection B runner came to the docks to try to make a deal with some of the Port Boys. Of course, they told him, and Kieran met up with the runner in a bar about a week later. The poor runner couldn’t see his sucker punch coming from a mile away. Kieran must have knocked out four teeth that night when he was only going for a broken nose.

’His fault,’ he thought to himself. ’Should have seen it coming.’

“I’ll need to hash out my cover story with AA,” Kieran mentioned after Aura spoke of getting some stuff from Del. “After that, I might be able to sort something out with Del and your things.”

Kieran’s somewhat austere face softened somewhat as Aura mentioned their deal. He had almost forgotten about it, given tonight, but the mere mention of alcohol gave him an excuse to calm his nerves a bit. Even if it meant being more honest than he wanted to be.

Although, what was the goal now? With Loor dead and the laptop stolen, and with Aura separated from the rebellion, he had few opportunities to get connected enough to take them down from the inside. Whatever Aura shared now, even if it did take out the rebellion, did he really want to live in subsection A? What was the point of that lifestyle?

Kieran briefly thought of the others living in town. The whispers he had heard about going against the grain when it came to Apex Authority. He had often wondered—when the last leader fell, and the flags came down—who would run Apex then?

He knew that the retrograde name of the city had been something with an “S.” Seaborn? Settler? Perhaps that town would rise again.

Or, perhaps the entire city crumbled. And Kieran would need to go wherever his parents did. South, north, or over the mountains to the east. To whatever was beyond Apex.

But all of that could wait. All of that lay outside the walls of his home. In here, was Aura. And his things.

And a lot of ale.

“Well, if you’re as good as dead to them,” he said, rising from the floor and taking her empty cup, “I suppose it’s time to talk.”

He pulled a second cup from a shelf and filled them both to the brim with a barrel of ale that had been fermenting so long it may have been whisky. The stuff tasted foul, but it did its job nicely. It should serve them well tonight.

He returned and handed her the cup back. He sat, thinking back to the first time they attempted to chat over drinks. If he remembered correctly, Aura had little interest in playing drinking games then.

How much had changed in a few short days.

He drank from his cup—several large glugs of the stuff, enough to burn in his nostrils and bring wetness to his eyes—before lowering it once more. “Let’s not waste any time then,” he said through a choked throat, of his drink and the conversation alike. He cleared his throat, then continued.

“Whatever gets us out of here.”

He thought for a moment after his statement. Did he mean to get them out of the situation with the rebellion? Or Apex itself?

Not even he knew the answer to that one. But he leaned forward and listened anyway.

APEX

Kieran tried his best to keep his eyes from bulging out of his head once he realized what Aura was trying to suggest.

’You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ he thought to himself. His mind raced to think of how he could best sneak her into Port Apex, and the very thought gave him sharp pangs of anxiety. He’d had to get past the Port Boys, which was going to be an issue all on its own with how shitty the men of the port could be, but even beyond that, beyond paying off anyone who saw them, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

His home was terrible. An amalgamation of whatever he could find within a few containers. Nothing even close to creature comforts.

But...he knew they had to do it.

After the party, “Sada” was going to be public enemy number #1. And he knew that he would need to contact AA before they tracked him down themselves, endangering them both. Tonight and tomorrow he would spend the time sorting out a cover story and next steps.

But for now, there was a more pressing problem. He needed to get them out of here, and quickly.

He watched as Aura turned to hurl over the boat and wrap herself up. He tried not to watch too closely. It was uncomfortable, watching someone unravel. But he knew he would have done the same had he been in her position. She was now a fugitive, and he needed to do what he could to protect her.

So, instead of watching, he occupied himself with the engine block. Taking the jumpers and making a few adjustments, he pulled hard on the pull cord, once, then twice, then--

WHIRRRRRRRRRR

The engine roared fiercely into the night, before settling to idle at a lower speed. He could feel the boast jostle beneath them--a good sign--and knew that the engine was moving the propeller.

They were mobile.

“So, what do you say? It’d only be for a few days.”

He turned away from the engine block and back to her.

“Until we know what the fallout is from this, I agree. You need to lay low. Let's get moving."

--

Kieran occupied himself with the rudder as the boat buoyed and bounced its way through the choppy waters of the sound. Above them, moonlight reflected several-fold. As Kieran took a wide berth away from the shores of Apex, the light meant that the two could see all of Apex in this one, simple light.

The city looked more dead than alive out here. The towering retrograde buildings in the heart of downtown had half-fallen--leaving jagged peaks and imposing pikes to rise from the earth. Even still, behind the city, he could see the distant peaks of a more natural kind.

The mountains that surrounded and seemed to consume Apex. Cutting it off from...whatever it may be beyond.

“My Dad told me once that our family had come from the other side of those mountains,” he thought aloud. “I wonder what’s there now...”

He glanced to Aura before quickly realizing those thoughts had been said aloud and turned away to avoid discussing it further.

Luckily, the port was quickly approaching, and it was time to get ashore.

Once a few hundred feet from shore, Kieran killed the engine and let the ship slowly float towards one of the many deserted docks on the north end of Port Apex. He knew that in the shadows, many of the Port Boys and others would likely be watching. Tomorrow, he’d have to venture out to see who knew what, who and told whom.

Once the ship docked, he helped Aura off of the boat and onto the rocky shoreline. As he did, he could see her injured foot--and it wasn’t looking great.

“Here,” he said, moving to her opposite side, “don’t put much weight on it.” He slipped an arm around her and helped her cross the short walk to his home a few hundred feet down the shore.

He opened the door to reveal the same home he had known for years--spacious enough, given it was four shipping containers connected together, yet still small enough to where the entire space could fit in a single field of vision.

He helped Aura to the bed--a rather large tarp over makeshift betting and some blankets pawned off from a client--and moved to the furnace.

“Sorry for the mess,” he said quietly, Why did he feel so embarrassed? He quickly started a fire and warmed up the cold space, before moving to his water tank and pulling together two pints of water. He brought one over to Aura.

“It’s not much of a place, but I made it myself,” he continued. “It may not be all that grand, but it’s home.”

He sat down on the floor a few feet away--a comfortable conversing distance, plus, he had no real seating in here other than the bed--and finally, took a deep breath.

They were safe, for now.

“We should get something for that foot,” he noted. Kieran was quickly beginning to realize he had a good deal of anxiety brewing in his chest. Strangers came and went--and he was very comfortable conversing with a whole host of them throughout a day. But Aura was much more than that at this point.

And he hadn’t spoken with anyone he actually cared about in years, and now, suddenly, he and Aura were bound together. It had happened so quickly he hadn't realized how quickly he had come to trust her.

He suddenly felt aware of the fact and tried not to think on it too much.

“And I’ll see what clean clothes I have that’ll fit.”

He felt another pang of anxiety. Perhaps if he could focus on fixing whatever issue was in front of them, it would go away.

Still, it was a nice feeling, in a way. Maybe these next few days wouldn’t be so bad after all.

APEX

Kieran's eyes blurred in brilliant displays of light and darkness.

He stormed through the tunnels beneath the hills of subsection A--Aura keeping pace as they sprinted.

Their gait was hurried and pained--their breaths ripping, gasping in the air and sending hollow echoes throughout as they ran.

The boat. Kieran thought, over and over again. We have to get to the boat.

"I can't go back to Unity!" Aura explained. Loor was dead. The words crushed into Kieran though he had known their truth for the past several minutes.

This plan had gone all sorts of sideways. The laptop--should Aura even have it, as the past few minutes had been a blur--was their only salvation. How was he to explain to AA what had happened? If Aura couldn't go back to Unity, what could he even accomplish to get them both in better standing in AA?

Right now, the time for rumination was far from where they were--running like animals from what would likely be a mob of police and resistance.

Kieran pushed past the hatch and dumped them on the beach. Suddenly, all of the noise and the chaos of the party bled away into the night. Here the salt air sliced through the silence like a tempest calm. And suddenly, all was still.

Kieran huffed and puffed--trying to catch his breath. Beside and behind him, Aura seemed similarly lost in thought. A momentary glance to her concerned him, given the emotion on her face, but he gave it no mind.

They both were murderers, this night. There was little to be done about that. He could ask her later how a shoreline could be so moving.

He led them forward--slower now, gently--across the retrograde boardwalk. Towards the ragged boats around and beneath. Out here the full moon shone upon the shores of this vast sea so much that the distant, cragged peaks of distant mountains shone themselves even now.

All he wanted in this moment was to leave. To take Aura far, far away from whatever fetid mess they had created tonight and to start something new. But he knew things may be more complex than that. They always were.

"That's where we're going," he responded in kind to her question. He figured she wouldn't be so impressed, but what else was there to do in light of what had happened? Escape via the streets was one thing, but after Loor's death? These consequences would be felt for long after they had escaped.

Or been killed.

Looking for construction and engineering he could recognize, Kieran spotted a larger boat with twin hulls. A catamaran, to be exact. This sort of boat had what he wanted--a sturdier engine he could possibly start with siphoned fuel, and a lower storage and cabin area to hide in should AA come around.

"Here," Kieran said, helping Aura down to the top of the boat. He took a few takes around the area before letting his guard down--wasting no time and moving to the stern and opening the engine compartment.

"These retrograde engines have held up better than you'd have expected," he explained to her as he took a look at the block. He felt alongside the walls of the inner compartment, leaning into it and feeling for bumps. "The batteries die, of course, but a lot of the time the people who owned these had these jumpers that held up hundreds of years. They thought it would have them if they were abandoned at sea, but for us," he continued, "it works out long after they're gone."

As he talked and explained, he couldn't help but think of the last time he had been on a boat like this. In Port Apex, with the port boys and him looking around abandoned retrograde models for booze or something better. He spent much of his adolescence like that--drinking with the others, messing with engine parts, without a care in the world so long as they were back before the morning...

He shook the thought from his head and kept making adjustments to the engine block. "I know you probably had the best reason in the world to kill Loor. In fact, I'm pretty fucking sure of it." He found a bolt holding the ignition assembly and began to loosen it.

"Though honestly, I'm not sure where we go from here because of it."

He looked to Aura--unsure of her eyes but knowing his shone little more than the truth. He could get the boat moving, sure, but then what?

"I'm not sure what we do from here."