Mikael and Brock strolled down the sidewalk away from the Love Shack, Brock finally managing to grapple Bindy back into some semblance of silence. Sounds of merriment filled the early-evening twilight, and the crisp bite of a bracing breeze helped chill the heat still radiating from Brock's cheeks. Mikael was uncharacteristically quiet next to him, brooding over something.

"Why didn't you tell me who she was?" Brock asked eventually.

"Wanted to see your reaction," Mikael responded absently. "Hers too."

"Why?"

"To make sure she wasn't still influencing you. Even though we had eyes on you when you ran into her last night, it was possible she slipped something deeper into you than 'low level horniness.' She's allowed to do that at parties, by the way," he added. "Part of her job."

Brock flushed again, thinking back to his first meeting with Aphrodite, the feel of her hands slipping beneath the waist of his jeans, how eager he was to get his clothes off.

"...well? Did she?"

"Doesn't look like it. Can't tell for sure, though."

"...do you trust anyone?"

Mikael slowly turned his head and stared at Brock.

"Not if they're a Sekkie. Good way to get yourself killed. Something you might want to remember, kid."

"I'll keep it in mind," Brock grunted back. "Who were those other two with her? I recognized the one guy from the Council meeting this morning. He had a pretty nice speech. You said they were from the same group?"

"...fucking Capitalist Collective." Mikael almost spat out the words. "Don't worry, we'll get to that training module soon enough. Those two are idiotic thugs, no matter how classy they dress."

What's wrong with capitalism, Brock silently wondered, but didn't feel up to questioning Mikael on the topic further.

"So now what?" he asked as they boarded the Miyazaki again. "Wasn't that our last stop?"

"Back to the department to change out of my work clothes, then we'll go meet Ken at the Unsavory Unicorn. We're done for today, and I," Mikael ran a hand over his face, "could use a drink."

"It was a long day," Brock agreed with a yawn, leaning his head back against the seat. Stone flickered outside the window, then the gaping void of the underground chasm, but he barely noticed it. "Are they all like that?"

"Yup. If it isn't tracking down rogue Sekkies, it's wellness checks, and if it isn't wellness checks, it's paperwork and training."

"Great," Brock groaned, "sounds horrible. Do we get any breaks?"

"Two days on, one day off is the standard, with an extra two days off after every eighteen total days. We're always on call, though, in case something weird happens."

Brock thought about everything that had occurred in the short span of time he'd been in this world.

"...so, no breaks then?"

"Now you're getting it kid," Mikael smiled tiredly. "The Director makes sure we don't burn out, but we do this because we want to be here."

The subsequent silence lingered for the duration of their trip back up to the surface, eventually re-entering the area of the city Brock decided to mentally label 'downtown.' The sun had completely set at this point, but the streets were just as alive with lights and motion as they had been during the day. Goondams lurched down the vehicle-only lanes, shedding parts everywhere, accompanied by the blats of horns, growls of disgust, and assorted indications of displeasure from the rest of the actually functioning conveyances trying to navigate the litter. Meanwhile, the crowds of pedestrians ignored it all, focused on their magiphones, the advertisement wars overhead, or each other, skyscrapers looming like distant sentinels but always dwarfed by the massive roots of the Yggdrasil. Brock watched a catbus swipe a paw viciously across the back of a slow-moving Goondam's legs, sending the rickety contraption over in a pile of weakly thrashing limbs. The catbus paused to urinate on the wreckage before passing, accompanied by cheers from its passengers, but Brock couldn't bring himself to care.

Eventually they reached an opening in one of the gargantuan ghostly roots and an elevator ant opened its doors.

"Hang here for a second, kid. I'll be right back." Mikael motioned to a pair of comfortable looking benches set back against the Yggdrasil root. "Take a load off."

Brock decided not to argue, and seconds later the elevator ant carrying Mikael disappeared in a scuttling motion. Letting out a long breath, he slouched back against the bench, draping his arms to either side, and closed his eyes. He deserved a break.

Sheesh. I'm beat.

Reality itself seemed to shiver around him, and an overpowering sense of deja vu flooded through his mind. He could remember sitting on the same bench, at the same time of day, feeling the same sense of fatigue, wondering what he was going to bring home for dinner. Waiting for someone to come back down the Yggdrasil, someone who'd shared the same challenges, enjoyed the same achievements. Someone he loved, and loved him back just as fiercely.

He opened his eyes to see the elevator ant door sliding open, a shadowy figure standing within. Colors seemed more saturated, angles somehow sharper, yet it was all out of focus.

"...Tara?"

Reality snapped back into place, and Brock saw Mikael step out onto the street, dressed much more casually now in a pair of jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt, katana looped across his back, hands in his pockets. If Brock didn't know any better, and ignored the sword and gray hair, Mikael looked indistinguishable from any college kid walking home from campus late at night.

"You say something, kid?"

Brock rubbed at his face. For a moment, it felt like he'd been somewhere else, been someone else, but the feeling was fading like an unremembered dream.

Was that... Starak? Hesitantly he tried calling inward. Are you there? Can you hear me?

Nothing answered.

"Don't lose it on me now," Mikael said in a concerned voice, reaching down for Brock's shoulder. Wearily, Brock ignored him and rose to his feet, one hand rubbing at the aching pit in his stomach.

"I'm fine. Just, uhhh, hungry, I guess."

Mikael gave him a long look, then turned down the street.

"If you say so. Come on, the double U isn't far, and their food's decent enough."

Sighing heavily, Brock fell in on his heels as they made their way through the crowded streets once more. The crash and ebb of unwelcome surreality washed around him like gnawing waves devouring a deserted island, and he felt the acidic pit in his stomach expanding as their walk extended. Desperate to avoid breaking down again, he tried to focus on anything else.

"Mikael."

"Yeah?"

"Why does Aphrodite have two names? You called her Rin Softheart, and they called her that at the Council too, but you also called her Aphrodite, and she told me that's what her name is, and-"

Brock managed to cut off his babbling, but Mikael didn't seem to have noticed his burgeoning panic.

Stolen story; please report.

"She got rehabilitated, kid," he replied in a tired tone. "Before we found her, she was Aphrodite. She'd haremed two entire floors of a megascraper, and was making solid inroads into a third. We tracked her down, got a collar on her, and tried to figure out a way she could actually contribute to society." One shoulder lifted slightly. "Director saw something in her, and now she's the Sekkie mouthpiece on the Council. Had to change her name, obviously."

A random bit of information collided with one of Brock's neurons.

"...but wouldn't someone recognize her? KB (Administrative) told me that you put out notices on all the new 'sekkies.'"

"Not unless they're checking her biosig and have sufficient clearance. Every Sekkie has harem powers, but only a few are actually considered Harem-class. Those who are can change their outward appearance pretty much at will." Mikael spits. "Seems like it comes with the mindset. When the Director decided to reintroduce her, it was trivial for her to take on a different appearance than she had before. No," he shook his head, "the only people who know who she used to be are members of the Cataclysm Squad and certain members of the Council. For all the rest of the world knows, she's Rin Softheart."

Brock tried to take that all in.

"...so her name's really 'Aphrodite?' That seems weird."

"It's not her real name," Mikael said, pausing in front of a squat two-story building lurking between a pair of skyscrapers. The hindquarters of what looked like a white horse protruded from above a pair of swinging wooden saloon doors, but that wasn't what caught Brock's eye.

It was the constantly flaming jet flaring out of the horse's ass that curled around to form the words "The Unsavory Unicorn," bracketed by a gracefully waving tail.

"...buh."

"Yeah, it stumped us at first too, because she believes it absolutely." Mikael seemed to confuse Brock's stupefaction for his normal confusion. "After we got a proper Appraisal on her, we figured out she used her Skills to rewrite certain parts of her own memories. From what we can tell, it was the first thing she did when she crossed over, and she was thorough. Whatever she wanted to forget, she wanted it gone in a bad way."

The swordsman pushed through the splintering saloon doors into a surprisingly cozy-looking establishment. Not-quite-gloomy lighting cloaked high-backed booths in pockets of privacy across the low-lit floor. Murmurs of conversation that remained below intelligibility no matter how hard Brock strained suffused the air in comforting swells.

"No one knows what her real name is," Mikael continued, leading Brock down one of the aisles. "Her running from her past, coupled with the fact she hadn't killed anyone other than her host when we finally tracked her down, well, she caught the Director's fancy." He twisted to look over his shoulder. "She's still nowhere near as strange as you, though."

Brock was spared from answering when Mikael suddenly stopped in front of one of the booths and yanked its curtain open.

"There you are, you ancient bastard," a semi-familiar voice roared out. Mikael smiled as he bumped fists with the same imposingly muscular man that had greeted them that morning. Three icy mugs of amber liquid were condensating on the table in front of him, and Mikael grabbed one gratefully as he slid into the curving bench, propping his katana sheath beside him. "And you brought the new guy, too! Take a seat, take a seat."

"Uhhh, Ken, right?" Brock stammered as he joined Mikael in the booth.

"You got it," Ken responded heartily, pulling the curtain shut and grabbing one of the two remaining mugs. He drained half of it in one go. "Ahhh, that hits the spot. Now," he slammed the slopping mug down, "let's hear it! How you took out an Overlord, am I right?"

Brock looked over at Mikael, but the swordsman waved a hand at him, too engrossed in his drink to care about something he'd covered earlier. In front of him, Ken nudged the brimming stein forward, eyebrows raising in interest. Hesitantly, Brock grasped the frosted mug, trying not to wince at the chilling bite on his palms.

"Is it, uhhh, okay for me to drink? I'm only eighteen."

Ken burst out with another boisterous laugh.

"And here I thought you were joking last night," he waved his mug in Mikael's direction before taking another huge gulp. "It's fine, Brock. Between me and this geezer, we'll keep you from doing anything too stupid. Besides, you look like you could use some relaxation."

Brock nodded uncertainly, staring down at the brimming drink. He'd tried alcohol before at a few small parties with his friends, but it had always felt illicit somehow, like they were playing at being adults without really understanding why someone would actually want to alter their perception of reality. The swirling knot of emotions still churning away in his stomach chose that moment to flare up again, and impulsively he lifted the mug to his lips. The initial bitterness stung his tastebuds, but he forced it down anyway.

Huh. There's something there after the shity part. Kinda warm.

He took another large swallow.

Gosh, this stuff sure gets easier to drink.

"Uhhh, so, like, there was this weird looking old guy with skulls and stuff, and he tried to kill me, so, uhhh-"

Tens of minutes passed, empty glasses were collected and refilled, appetizers were ordered and consumed, and Brock finally felt himself fully relaxing for the first time that he could remember since he'd arrived in this strange place.

"So, you're not going to believe this," Brock said, laughing around his bite from a 'genuine western bacon cheeseburger' that lived up to its gutroiling promises, "but he spent, like, five minutes chanting all this shit and doing some weird lightshow while I'm like, 'what the hell, buddy, some of us are frozen here, and I didn't buy a ticket for the circus.'"

"Typical-" Ken snorted, pointing at Mikael with his pita wrap-

"-Overlord," Mikael smirked back, raising whatever abomination he'd ordered that had sent half the waitstaff looking in on the table sobbing, mainly at the still wriggling tentacles extruding from the innocuous taco shell in his hand. "Can't resist a power-up monologue."

"And all I could do was watch him!" Brock spluttered out, nearly choking on his mouthful of food. He swallowed hastily, trying not to derail the conversation. "It was weird."

"Hah, of course it was-"

Ken's next words were cut off by the loud rattle of the curtain shielding their booth being drawn back. The three looked towards the opening and beheld a tight face occupied primarily by a gloriously purple-black broken nose topped with half-cracked spectacles, features pinched in an extremely hostile scowl.

"You."

Brock had a sudden flashback of dingy carnival fronts and happy people laid waste by an imperious officer's demands, a backhand splitting a pale cheek. Captain Darwhick. Brock's eyes narrowed.

"...you motherf-"

Several things happened very quickly.

Mikael rising from his seat so fast it seemed like he was levitating, legs tucked beneath his body, right hand halfway through drawing his blade from the sheath gripped in his left, swirling purple-black highlights cohering into the bare metal as three maniacally giggling voices hovered at the edge of perception, eldritch taco flying up towards the ceiling-

Captain Darwhick materializing an ominous device in his clasped hands, sickly red light gathering along its constantly shifting length, eyeball muzzle tracking towards Brock's face-

Ken bursting out from his seat in an impossible explosion of movement, stretched in both directions, left hand forcing back Mikael's extending grasp, right hand shoving Darwhick's pistol grip towards the ceiling, appetizer plates careening towards the walls-

Brock's magiphone rocketing out of his pocket and smashing him on top of the head, relentlessly pummeling him back into his seat, Bindy furiously chanting "NO punching superior officers, even if they deserve it!" over and over-

The remainder of Brock's burger impacting wetly against Darwhick's already broken nose-

A discreet 'pop' as a bare-chested man in daisy dukes and a unicorn head - Brock stared, momentarily caught off guard, yes, that was a unicorn head - appeared in the corner of the room, a bored expression plastered across his equine face, arms folded across his muscular pecs, and everyone froze, caught in the grip of some sort of skill.

"Y'all know the rules," he drawled languidly, pausing for a moment to blow a pink bubblegum bubble and pop it. "This floor's for feasting. You want fucking or fighting, you go to one of the other two." Various bits of airborne food fell, slid, and oozed their way to the floor as the skill withdrew.

Brock glared at Darwhick, a task made significantly more difficult by the magiphone jamming itself as hard as it could against his forehead to keep him from rising from the table, but surprisingly, it was Darwhick who turned away, making his weapon disappear with a grimace, brushing remanants of western bacon cheeseburger from his cheeks.

"Not like it's worth sticking around this place anyways. Smells like Sekkie," he growled, shaking himself out of Ken's one-handed hold. "Sekkie and slavers." His eyes bore into Mikael's as he snarled the last word.

Mikael grunted atop the table, still crouched in a viper's striking stance, but Ken held his palm in place, keeping the radiant katana from clearing its sheath entirely. "Not worth it," the big man grimaced, massive hand visibly trembling. "You know it's not."

Veins pulsed along the left side of Mikael's face, but gradually subsided, along with the tension in his grip on the blade. Slowly, deliberately, he slid the weapon back home, then peeled his fingers off its hilt one by one as if he was fighting something within himself.

"You're right," he managed, settling back into the cushioned booth, left hand still white-knuckle clenching the lacquered scabbard. "I'm off-duty. Just having a drink. Why should I let," he paused, raising his half empty mug and saluting it towards Darwhick's reddening face, "some psycho asshole who doesn't understand what this job requires upset my evening?"

Ken rotated in a blur towards the entrance, hands slamming against Darwhick's reconstituted weapon and forcing it to the side. A blast of fiery negation spat out toward the wall and the unicorn-headed man/stripper?/bouncer?/person tsked in irritation.

"Okay, yeah, I'm cutting you off."

The blast of energy disappeared, along with Darwhick's suddenly shocked expression. Brock thought he heard a distant scream trailing off from outside, but it also could've been the sound of Bindy slamming him back into the booth, his butt squeaking against the glossy leather.

"What," Brock started unsteadily, reaching for a mug that seemed like it still had something in it, "in the fuck is his problem?"

The unicorn-man shrugged, still wearing the same bored expression.

"Darwhick? He's a drunk donkey dildo who just got his admittance privileges revoked for a month. Rule number one: no interrupting other patrons during meals. Enjoy the rest of your dinner."

With another pop, the unicorn-man disappeared. Brock stared at the space he'd occupied unsteadily, then downed the contents of his mug in one go.

"I need," he declared, "another drink."