Kismet's eyes watered, so dry from hours of wandering. The brick buildings were pressed too close together and stretched toward the sky. This part of the city was often still this late at night. The pavement was rough and cold on her feet, splashing in shallow puddles. Kismet descended into one of the metro tunnels, imagining herself heading into a darkened cave.

She clamped her noise-cancelling headphones tight over her ears and cranked the volume on her CD player up as loud as it would go. Death metal blared, screaming vocals and shredding guitars, but not nearly loud enough to shut out the voices. The train arrived with a whoosh of air through the tunnel, and she climbed aboard. Something sticky tacked on the bottom of her feet. She tried not to think about it too hard.

The metal pole was slick under her sweaty palms. She clung to it. Not just to keep from wobbling as the subway train rattled down the track, but more as a tether.

Every brush against a person sent their thoughts screeching into her head. Luckily, the time of night left the train sparse. Still, she tried to be cautious as the odd person got up to leave or stretch their legs. When Kismet braved opening her eyes, neon-bright colours swirled around the train car in ribbons. Pastel trails whispered of commuters long since gone. The ribbons spiraled upwards, conjoining in a swirling whirlpool at the ceiling.

Kismet's breath came in short, rapid bursts. She counted the people, the lights, the seats - blinking until the colours flickered and faded. The music pulled her in and she tried to focus on the words instead. If she couldn't stay present and grounded, at least she could be lost in her own mind.

When the train reached Kismet's stop, she got off, moving on autopilot. Almost nothing of the real world was comprehensible to her anymore. One foot landed in front of the other. At least her body was reliable. Snapping in and out of reality, she was able to guide herself along once she made note of any landmarks to regain her bearings.

The messy graffiti on the subway station walls faded behind the glittering hues shading the full spectrum of human emotion.

Almost there.

Kismet trekked along, weaving around people on the sidewalk. She played the same CD five times already. Her only regret was leaving her collection behind. Shelves and shelves of CDs, now gone forever.

No doubt Kevin will make quick work of selling them, or toss them out. The art gallery once displayed a mobile made of CDs. Maybe he'd do something like that.

Then there were her books. Their walk-in closet had no clothes. Instead, it was end to end bookshelves, stuffed so full some were stacked in piles on the floor.

Kevin will surely burn them. He's certainly threatened it often enough.

She twisted the ends of her sweater sleeves, finding them damp from chewing.

Her mouth moved silently to the music. The lyrics were so familiar to her now, she could recite them in her sleep. The sidewalk was nearly empty at this hour. Kismet imagined an apocalypse had wiped everyone out but her and the few other stragglers passing by.

How will I ever survive the wasteland?

The streams of colours were cosmic against the bleak city backdrop.

A torn poster advertising The Academy was tacked to one of the brick walls promising a haven for mutants. She pictured Ivy like some sort of Vampire, sucking the life-force out of all who dared to oppose her.

Though Kismet had also heard of the headmaster's immeasurable healing abilities. Perhaps even more than her wrath, Ivy's mercy was renowned. Even now, after the war, she healed all who asked. She traveled Gleodem and the rest of the world to tend to as many people as she could.

Some people, mutant and human alike, had even deified her.

Maybe The Academy wouldn't be so bad? Who would I even talk to? How can I approach a living-Goddess? Would she smite me?

Kismet wished she knew another mutant, someone who could tell her how to navigate that world. She didn't dare reveal herself to any humans in order to ask.

Besides, the Academy was all the way in Applegate on the other side of the country. Despite the posters and pamphlets boasting of its accolades, it couldn’t erase the fact merely twenty years ago, before Ivy's reign, the school served as a R and D branch of the government. Any mutants below the age of twenty had been swiftly captured and imprisoned there to have their skills exploited or experimented on. Some were deemed too dangerous to be left alive. Students either outlived their purpose, or became Watchers.

Then and now, Watchers worked for The Academy. At least these days, students had the option to leave and carve out their own lives. Most who graduated The Academy went on to blend in with human society, or stuck to themselves in mutant-only districts.

Kismet wandered under an overpass. Buildings became spaced further apart, making way for squat bungalows. The air smelled of brine. Waves rolled against the rocky shore. Somehow the sound was more threatening at night.

A lump of hardened certainty sat in the core of her gut, telling her where to go.

She followed the narrowing road, getting closer to the sea. The stars here were already brighter than they had been deeper in the city. The sign stretching across the toll booth read Portsmouth Ferry Terminal. It wouldn't be open until eight o'clock in the morning. She'd have to wait.

Kismet pressed play on her CD for the seventh time and doubled-back for the overpass. There was a dry and fairly litter free patch of cement against the concrete wall. She scuffed some dust out of the way and sat down, hunkering into herself to close her eyes.

When she settled, the hum of buzzing voices swarming at the base of her skull grew louder and more incessant. Rather than sleep, each thought carried her away to a new life and scenario. Too tired to fight, she slid along in an astral roller coaster. The tension of her own arms wrapped around her trembling body was the only thing keeping her together. Her feet throbbed.

Movement across the street brought her to reality again. Or at least so she thought, but couldn't be certain. She squinted at the shape trotting around the opposite sidewalk. A silver fox nosed around at the litter, tail high in the air. The dim street light illuminated their emerald eyes. They stopped. Sniffed the air. An ear tilted in Kismet's direction before they turned to look at her entirely.

Kismet clicked off her music, caught in the liminal awareness of being both prey and predator - fearful that the fox might attack, or that she may scare them away. Instead, the fox perked and bounded across the road toward her. Their bushy tail curled, swishing in the air. She held herself still, too nervous even to breathe. The fox sniffed around her body. Satisfied, the creature sat down and stared at her as if expecting something.

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"What do you want little guy?" she asked.

The fox blinked.

"Please don't give me rabies," Kismet said and slowly reached out to pet the animal's head. The fox squinted in contentment, so she scratched between their ears and marveled at how tame they behaved.

"Are you someone's pet?"

The fox crouched out from under her hand. Offended, their fur ruffled and puffed.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry. Maybe you're not a pet, just a really nice little fella."

The fox bounced in place, bounded away a few steps, then turned to look at her, tail wagging.

"Do you -" She hesitated, unable to believe what she was about to say. "Do you want me to follow you?"

Ok, this is it. I've officially lost it.

They crouched and sprung, looking in the direction of the road then back to her.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Kismet muttered and got to her feet. The fox scuttled forward and she went after them.

She followed them out from under the overpass and through the residential streets. Rows of apartment buildings that were once single family homes sat in stillness.

The occupants left piles of garbage bags stacked next to the outdoor bins. Rotten bits of broken furniture on the curb were heaped on the side of the road. A decaying mattress slumped in the grass next to the sidewalk.

The fox paid no mind to the trash and kept their mind on whatever mission had possessed them. They trotted forward, tail in the air.

Eventually, one side of the road gave way to a rocky cliff held together with mesh netting to keep the erosion of the ocean below at bay. The moon reflected in the water as the waves sloshed against the shore.

The homes on the other side of the street became grander in nature. At one time, they must have been glorious manors. They had since been chopped into apartments. Normally, waterfront views would surely cost a small fortune, but this section of town was far too industrial and decrepit. Overlooking a harbour and congested port almost made it so the ocean didn't count.

The fox turned and trotted down the driveway of one of these large homes. The blue house towered three stories tall. Two turrets framed it on either side with regal cones for roofs. A veranda wrapped around the front along the side of the home toward the back. Porch lights illuminated the navy siding and white trim.

Kismet hesitated to follow the fox, unwilling to trespass on the whims of a wild animal. The fox stopped and waited, tip-toeing urgently in place until she gave in. She scrunched up as she crept along, hoping no one would spot her lurking about at this hour.

Somehow I doubt, 'Sorry officer, the fox told me to do it,' is going to fly as a defense.

The driveway led to a small gravel parking lot packed full of vehicles. The backyard was neatly groomed and home to a blooming flower garden. A stone pathway wove between the flowerbeds, underneath archways teeming with roses. Others were laden with fat grapes shining silver in the moonlight.

The fox led her through the garden. Their black and silver flecked fur was difficult to keep track of in the dark. The white tip of his fluffy tail was the only beacon.

The yard was much larger than she would have suspected just looking at the manor from the road. The estate must have been something to behold in its time. A small shed was tucked neatly at the back. It was decorated with red siding and white trim that crisscrossed along the window shutters.

One of the wide doors was propped open with a rock. She frowned, finding it odd someone wouldn't lock up their shed for the night, especially in this neighborhood. The fox slipped through the crack, disappearing inside.

Kismet waited, wringing her hands. It was one thing to be caught out in the yard, and another to actually cross a threshold uninvited. That was certainly asking for trouble. She nibbled the cuff of her sweater sleeve, uncertain what to do next.

Maybe I really have lost it this time? Maybe the fox isn't trying to communicate and I followed a random animal into someone's backyard for no reason.

She'd have to find her way back through the maze of a garden again all on her own - The shed door shifted, pushing the crack open wider and she froze.

A man emerged, shirtless and still fiddling with the belt buckle holding up his torn jeans. The man was so tall he had to stoop a little to step out.

"I'm sorry, I was - I was -" she stammered, ripping at the frayed ends of her sleeves.

The man smiled, emerald eyes gleaming in what little light managed to glow from the porch. He shook out his shaggy blond hair and extended a hand.

Uncertain what else to do, she took it. His calloused fingers were rough against her smooth palm as they shook. Warmth, like heated caramel radiated from him. She relaxed a bit despite herself. His transformation had startled her, but considering the fact she could read minds, it wasn't so strange in the scheme of things. Though she had to admit, it was still a touch disorienting.

"I'm Alistair," he said. "Sorry about that. It's a little hard to talk in my other form, ya know? But It isn't like I could shift right in front of you." He flushed, ruffling his hair. "You seemed a little lost."

"I wasn't lost. I meant to be there."

"Oh, sorry." His blush deepened. "I thought you were. It's so late at night, and most of us know to come here, so I supposed where you were sleeping out in the dirt and all that maybe you didn't know where to go."

"Most of us?" she asked.

"Mutants?" He tilted his head slightly. "You are one of us, aren't you?"

"No, wait, I mean, yes - I guess I am." Kismet shuffled in place.

"I knew it," he said grinning, and tapped the side of his nose. "I'm never wrong. Are you new to town or something?"

"No, just new to all of this kind of stuff," she said. Now she was the one blushing. "It was really kind of you to help me. Sorry to interrupt whatever you were doing."

"Nothing important. Just out for a nighttime scuttle." He headed toward the path. "Did you want to come inside?"

Not seeing many other options, or a real reason not to, she agreed and followed him. "What is this place anyway?"

"It's a hostel for mutants visiting the area, so we have some place to stay out of the way of humans. Better yet, it's free."

Kismet scrunched her brow.

That sounds too good to be true. Everything has a price.

"How is that possible?"

They stopped when they climbed up on the veranda. Alistair took a half-finished cigarette out of his pocket. He offered a fresh one to Kismet, but she declined.

"Ivy covers it," he said. "She still makes a ton of money healing all those billionaires and the Watchers have to donate their service fees too, but they get to live for free, so what's it to them? If they wanna devout their lives to Ivy's cause, all the power to 'em."

"I thought Ivy wasn't healing the politicians anymore?" Kismet asked. "The people on the news complain all the time."

Alistair leaned forward on the railing, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. "Of course she isn't. She'll heal pretty much anyone but them. She hates their guts, and I don't blame her."

"What makes them so different from all the others?" Kismet asked.

"They were the ones orchestrating the structure of the old Academy. The elite outside of Gleodem are another matter though. She'll help them so long as their background checks clear and they can pay up, of course. She also ends up with a lot of say in international legislation that way too. Anyone wanting her help has to play by her rules." He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You never told me your name?"

"Oh, sorry. It's Kismet," she said and shook his hand again. The night had been so disorienting and surreal, she had completely forgotten to introduce herself.

"A pleasure," he beamed and tossed the butt of his cigarette into the garden below. "What do ya say we head inside and get you a room?"