Asmodeus Fix picked through the situation in his head with all the delicacy of a clockmaker.

He had been framed for the murder of his employer, Jacques Oliphant-Escoffier, using the framework of the Hunter Game as evidence -- the reward deposited into his account incriminating him further. Dragan Hadrien was working hard to clear his name, but that only put the boy in danger as well. With everything happening, the Oliphant Clan was in chaos, scattered to the four winds. They'd abandoned this place.

Leaving just the two of them.

Fix glanced up at Moss, the man guarding his cell. He was pacing back and forth outside, occasionally cursing, his eyes barely ever leaving the script he held in his hands. Bad news, clearly.

"Something wrong?" Fix asked, his voice dry from lack of water.

Moss did not reply. Unsurprising: he was in a state of stress from this chaotic situation. However, Fix had no choice but to persist.

"I heard gunshots from above," Fix continued, his gaze cast up at the ceiling. "They've now stopped -- but nobody has come down to inform you of the situation. Would you like to hear my opinion?"

Moss looked up from the script, glaring intensely at Fix. He'd never been overly fond of his professional rival, and with everything happening that contempt seemed to be magnified.

"No," he all but spat. "No, I don't want to hear your damn opinion."

Fix closed his eyes. "Unfortunate. My opinion is that the Oliphant Clan have chosen to prioritize their own safety and abandon this location along with whatever employees have remained loyal. You, however, have been left behind."

"Not listening…" Moss muttered, tapping away at his script.

"The obvious explanation for this is that they have forgotten about you, down here, in the chaos of their escape. I believe the popular saying is 'out of sight, out of mind'. However, I find this unlikely. You're guarding the man they believe killed their brother, after all."

Moss' eyes narrowed. "Might be executing him, too, if you don't shut your trap."

Fix ignored the threat. "I find it far more likely that they've simply performed the equations and decided that putting in the effort to retrieve you is not worth the expenditure of that effort. In short, you are an acceptable loss."

In a blur of movement, Moss ripped his plasma pistol from its holster and pointed it right at Fix's forehead, reaching right through the bars. Bound by Neverwire as he was, Fix had no way of defending himself. Instead, he slowly blinked up at the gun.

"This will not improve your situation," he calmly warned Moss.

"It'll make me feel a whole lot better without you droning on," Moss snarled, flicking off the safety. "Do wonders for my mental health."

"Perhaps," Fix conceded. "But it'll do more harm to you in the long run. If you release me, it will be the two of us against whatever enemies are still lurking in this place. You know I'm adept, and I know you're adept. At the very least, we can trust in each other's abilities. If you kill me, however, all you're doing is ensuring you have to fight alone."

Moss' finger hovered over the trigger. "You're sounding like you have a plan."

"Correct. I screened this location for Jacques before we came here -- I believe I know a way out that'll avoid our enemies entirely."

"And what way is that?"

Fix shook his head, holding up his arms bound in Neverwire. "I'd be foolish to tell you that while I'm still at your mercy. Release me and I'll inform you of the plan as we execute it."

Moss licked his lips nervously as the glare in his eyes intensified. He still had that gun stuck between the bars of the cell, tracking Fix's forehead.

"Maybe," he said slowly, danger lurking under every syllable. "I can just get those answers out of you."

"No, you can't."

Moss raised an eyebrow. "You underestimating me, asshole?" he whispered, deathly quiet.

"Not at all. There are reasons you wouldn't be able to torture information out of me. Just from looking at me you can see that I am a Scurrant -- a combat-type. The Gene Tyrant who designed my people wanted to create something that surpassed ordinary Pugnants, and he went somewhat overboard. I have five working hearts, a secondary brain to store memories in, and my natural lifespan -- so long as I live healthily -- is around two-hundred years."

"You bragging or something?"

A thin, humourless smile spread over Fix's rock-like face. "Perhaps more pertinently, I can disable my sense of pain at will. You can mutilate me as much as you like, but it will not loosen my lips -- and I doubt you have the time for that, anyway. They'll be searching the building. How much longer do you intend to endanger yourself for?"

Moss swallowed, his grip on the gun wavering slightly. "Anything funny, and I shoot you right then and there. Got it?"

"Of course. I'd expect nothing less."

As quickly as it had come out, the pistol returned to Moss' holster -- and a second later, he scanned his security card to open the cell. Fix slowly stood up, careful not to agitate his captor, and held out his bound arms.

"I'll be of more use if I can use Aether," Fix said seriously. "If I remain bound, I am a detriment rather than a help."

Moss hesitated for only a moment before acquiescing, sawing through Fix's Neverwire restraints with a disintegrator knife he had on his person. As Fix stood up, he massaged his aching wrists.

"Well?" Moss demanded. "What's the plan?!"

"All in good time," Fix grunted, crouching back down and retrieving the spools of Neverwire from where they'd landed on the floor. "But we'll need these."

He tossed them over to Moss, who fumbled to catch them, gripping them tight in his hands.

"Oh yeah?" he scoffed. "And what are these supposed to--"

Fix reached over and snapped his neck.

Thump. Moss' lifeless body hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, and -- after retrieving the security card -- Fix sent it back into the cell with a methodical kick. Moss wasn't a reliable partner for such an endeavour: despite what he'd said, there was a good chance he would have betrayed Fix the moment it became convenient. He wouldn't gamble with those odds.

The building was quiet as Fix made his way up the stairs out of the basement, treading as lightly as he could with his considerable frame. In the distance he could hear gunshots, but they weren't so close that he had reason to be concerned. Light slithered in from underneath the closed door at the head of the stairs, and Fix took a deep breath as he reached them.

He carefully opened the door, revealing the hallway beyond.

Gore dripped from the ceiling.

Every inch of the hallway beyond was utterly covered in blood, entrails and shredded skin. It ran down the windows. It soaked into the wallpaper. It pooled over the carpets. As he took that first step into massacre's territory, Fix narrowly avoided stepping on a discarded eye. It stared up at him, still dilated in terror.

The cause of this brutality was obvious. It was standing right in the middle of the hallway, with a videograph monitor covering it's head.

"King…Smile…" it said, voice distorted by the speakers. It raised its arms to either side, as if to show off it's good work. Aether like the fizzling static of a lost signal buzzed around its arms.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Fix took a deep breath as he observed the threat. He'd made it his business to familiarize himself with people like King Smile -- Jacques was always in need of additional muscle, and people like this creature were known for their efficacy. However, it had ultimately been decided that King Smile was far too unpredictable to be trusted, and the offer had been retracted.

Had it held a grudge over that? Was it the sort of thing that held grudges?

"King…" it repeated, cocking it's massive head to the side. "Smile! It's all me!"

The words were mismatched, each taken from a different recording and strung together into sentences, only half-coherent. It spoke in ransom notes.

Fix hovered in the doorway. Under ordinary conditions, he'd be fairly confident that he could at least escape a maniac like this, but his time in confinement hadn't done him well. His body was still exhausted, muscles aching, his quintuplet heartbeat like a concert of drums.

His eyes flicked over to the bloodstained window. He could throw himself out of there to escape, if it came down to it -- but as he was now, would he survive that fall intact? Would King Smile follow?

"Hold still," King Smile commanded, stepping forward, arms pumping exaggeratedly as it walked. "Let's do it! Let's make a mess!"

His natural defenses would be no match against this thing. Fix had read the files -- King Smile made no attempt to hide it's Aether ability: essentially, it was the opposite of Aether infusion. It weakened things, rather than strengthening them.

Against an infused fist and that ability, Fix's hardened skin would be as effective as wet cardboard.

"Wait," Fix barked at the approaching enemy. King Smile did not wait.

It was upon Fix in a moment, hands ready to claw through his stomach, weakening the air resistance around itself to increase its own speed. In the same moment, earth-brown Aether coalesced around Fix's hand -- and with a swipe of his own arm, he activated his ability.

Boulderforge.

King Smile's attack was blocked. The space Fix had swiped his hand through was now filled with floating stone, fixed in the air, forming a barrier between himself and Smile. Before Smile could switch the target of its weakening and break through, Fix made his move -- holding his hand down in front of him to form a path of floating stone, running along it even as he created it to escape the maniac.

The path he was creating was about three meters in the air, outside of the reach of most people -- but Fix wasn't stupid enough to think that King Smile was most people. Behind himself, he heard stone shatter as Smile broke free from the barrier. Without missing a trick, Fix dropped down from his makeshift escape route back onto the carpeted floor.

If he had dodged even a second later, he would have been dead -- King Smile zoomed through the space Fix had just been occupying, floating leisurely through the air as it weakened the effects of gravity on its body. The grin on its videograph screen flickered as it looked back down at Fix.

"Slippery kids all day time!" it's speakers blared, as he dropped back down to the ground. "Not even breaks can get away from this one!"

Fix didn't quite understand what that meant, but from it's hunched posture it was clear to see that another deadly attack was incoming.

"Hey every!" it roared, static flaring across its screen. "Let's do it!"

He would not survive this if he persisted in trying to escape. When predators saw a fleeing animal, it only made them pursue harder. He'd have to take a different tact.

"I don't expect someone like you to have pity or compassion," Fix said seriously. "But I hope you understand the principle of mutual gain."

Smile cocked it's monitor again, the hefty weight of it creaking as it moved. Fix was surprised it didn't break its own neck going on like that.

"You're!" it declared.

What did that mean? Was it interested? Fix decided to press on as though it was. If he was wrong, he wouldn't have time to regret it.

"I have 100,000 stator in my account," he said slowly, making sure to keep a constant distance between himself and Smile. "It was given to me for the death of Jacques Oliphant-Escoffier. As I'm suspected of killing him, I've no doubt been expelled from the Oliphant Clan's service. From what I understand, there's no reward in that Hunter Game for ex-employees."

He took a deep breath.

"Effectively, there's two conclusions to this situation. You kill me and you receive momentary satisfaction -- but nothing else. You let me live, however, and you receive 100,000 stator. You can earn such a hefty sum simply by doing nothing. It's a good deal."

"Money saving?" Smile mocked. "That's!"

It took a step forward, carpet crumbling beneath it's dress shoes.

"That's not all," Fix lied. "As I said, I am an ex-employee of the Oliphant Clan now. I have information that can be of assistance to you -- the places they would take shelter in a situation such as this, their powers, their weaknesses. You seem an intelligent… man? I'm sure you understand how valuable such information could be."

Smile paused, grinding its heel into the floorboards, steam rising up as the wood disintegrated. It seemed to be wavering between its desire to kill and its desire to make money. Even this thing hungered for money, after all, salivating with the greed of a beast.

"Money now!" it demanded. "Big savings all around!"

Fix shook his head -- slowly, as calmly as he could, so as to not agitate the killer. "Half now," he corrected, reaching for his script. "Then I give you the information you want. Then the other half of the money in twenty-four hours, once I'm safely away from here."

He blinked.

"Do we have a deal?"

----------------------------------------

Scout and Chloe swung around as they heard the thundering footsteps from the entrance, but there was no need for fear. The man who bounded into the chamber, arms already wide for a hug, was no assassin. It was Roy Oliphant-Dawkins, his face spread into a wide grin.

"Aw, you guys!" he roared, sweeping them both off their feet and pulling them tight. "How you doing?! You keeping safe?!"

Chloe choked out something incoherent. Scout only nodded. A second later, they'd been dropped down to the floor as suddenly as they'd been picked up.

"Ya did good," smiled Roy, ruffling his son's hair as he stepped past him. His gaze turned to Midnight Disobedience, and the human silhouette visible floating in it. "Who's this?"

"The guy that was with us," Scout explained. "Turned out he was one of the assassins or something, so we tied him up."

Roy scratched his nose, looking the indistinct figure up and down. "Why didn't ya just kill him?"

Chloe crossed her arms as she answered. "I'm not sure we can kill him -- I think he's an Aether construct, not an actual person. He doesn't feel pain at all. I was hoping we could get some information out of him about the Hunter Game."

With a frown, Roy ran his hands through his chaotic mane of hair. He clicked his tongue. "If he can't feel pain, how're ya supposed to get anything out of him? Ya can't exactly torture someone if they can't feel it."

Chloe sighed, and in that moment the maturity she'd adopted over the last few hours seemed to drain away a little. "You can't do anything…?" she asked meekly.

"I haven't tried to use Save The Day yet today," Roy said. "But I don't think we'll be lucky enough to have an interrogation power. I can try it, but just being realistic, you know?"

"Right. Well, we can wait for everyone else to --"

"Scout! Chloe!"

Another voice called out from the darkened hallway -- and as they turned to look, Rico emerged from the shade, panting with his hands up. He'd clearly been going through it the last few hours, his hair rough with sweat, his clothes covered in cuts and stains. He put his hands to his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

He wasn't alone. Three other figures emerged from the darkness behind him. Two of them Chloe didn't know -- two girls, one with red hair and the other blonde -- but the third of them was eminently familiar. Chloe's eyes lit up as she saw her favourite cousin.

"Keiko!" she cried, running forward. "What are you doing here?"

Keiko didn't answer straight away, her eye flicking through the room cautiously. "Is he here?" she demanded. "The third person from your message?"

She already knew about Lionel? "We've got him captured here," she indicated, turning to point at Midnight Disobedience -- only to stop in her tracks as the light shifted, and she saw the expression of the young man inside.

His eyes wide with terror and rage, staring at the blonde girl.

His teeth bared with the instinctual fury of a wild animal.

His lips moving, forming a single word.

Monophobia.

And with that, the world exploded into light.