Jayson’s burrow is dark.

A clock lays on the floor. Broken. Its hands twitch in a struggle to move on its cracked face. Its gears click. Nearby, a phone is smashed. Broken furniture litter the living room, torn wallpaper clings to the scratched wall, a wedding dress and multiple framed pictures are stuffed in the fireplace. All being eaten by the crackling fire contained in its brick inner hearth. And at the end of the burrow, where the bathroom is, bloody water spreads across the floor.

Standing in the entrance of the burrow is Jayson Hopper, frazzled, wearing a worn-out suit and carrying an aged suitcase. His baggy blue eyes are wide and bloodshot, and his ears are sagging. He cautiously steps into the living room, shoes crushing the glass of broken dishes.

“Lexanne?” calls Jayson, his voice hoarse and quiet. He clears his throat and sets his suitcase on the table where two plates are, with only one having a full meal on it. “Lexanne!”

The shadows from the fireplace dance along the wall, spreading and splitting like hands reaching for Jayson as he walks towards the bathroom. His feet sink into the bloody water, and the hallway darkens.

“Lexanne!” cries Jayson.

He runs down the hallway, but the door doesn’t get any closer. The water churns, the shadowed hands extend to him while a dark mass rises in front of him. Jayson stops, his eyes widening as the dark creature towers over him, taking on a feminine shape, with her long hair and fabrics of her shadowy clothes flowing in the air as if submerged in water. Blood drips from her wrists, and her face contorts with a wide, white voids of a smile eyes open as she extends her hands to Jayson.

“Come see with me,” says Lexanne.

«««O»»»

Jayson's eyes snap open, bloodshot and heavy with black bags. The fire is reduced to smoldering wood, casting Jayson and the desolate burrow in a dim, orange glow. He lays curled by the fire pit with the yearbook in his grip and his cosmic wood sword next to him.

Rain patters outside, and Jayson sits up and rubs his face. He sighs heavily and looks around in a dazed state. After a moment of silence, he grabs the mysterious envelope and stuffs it in his sack. Then he puts the yearbook in the sack, grabs his weapon, and leaves his hole.

As Jayson walks through the forest, he passes crumbled buildings overtaken by nature, and the remains of a large plane is partially buried with plant life growing from its gaping holes.

Jayson's silhouette bleeds through the dark trees and warped moonlight shines through the clouds.

Jayson's steps are sluggish yet determined. On he walks through the squishy, wet ground.

When Jayson enters the Eagle Enclave, he slows his steps to enjoy the field of scattered trees. Some are dead. Some are thriving. Some are dying. Most of tree houses high in the trees are dark, and some are rings of crumbled messes around their tree's trunk.

Jayson keeps walking, and a few minutes later, he enters a familiar desolate field. As he walks, he passes destroyed tanks and military vehicles ensnared by the plants, and some are submerged in the swamps contained in the craters.

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After a few more minutes of navigating through the damp terrain, Jayson arrives at the base of Derrick's tree. He gazes up and spots the solitary light shining from the glass patio door. Jayson lets out a tired sigh before beginning his climb.

Several minutes pass as Jayson makes his way up to the railing. After reaching the top, he sees Derrick sitting in his chair with a rifle mounted on a swivel and a makeshift coffee station set up on a crate nearby. A shotgun and pistol lay within easy reach.

“Couldn't sleep?” says Derrick

“I just had to get air. It gets stuffy in that rotten burrow,” replies Jayson while cimbing over.

“So, you came all the way over here?”

“Well, I knew you didn't sleep, so I decided to come over and keep you company.”

“Uh huh. Snag a crate. Have a seat.”

Jayson grabs a crate and sets it next to Derrick. They sit in silence, watching the moon and stars, and the cracks in the spread and shrink, warping everything near them. The silence continues for a few minutes until…

“What's bothering you?” asks Derrick bluntly.

“Nothing,” says Jayson.

“Lie to me again and I'll slap you on the back of the head.”

“I'm not your kid.”

“Might as well be. You and Lexia are a pain in my ass.”

“We didn't ask to join your... Thing.”

“I didn't order you to join, either.”

They are silent for a few more seconds before Jayson forcefully clears his throat and shifts awkwardly on his crate, his eyes briefly turning to Derrick before returning focus to the broken sky.

“So, what's bothering you?” asks Jayson.

“You first,” says Derrick.

“You don't sleep.”

“Neither do you. Nightmares?”

“Eh... Sure.”

“Memories as nightmares?”

“Let's change the subject.”

“Alright. What do you think of the envelope?”

Jayson fully turns to Derrick, eyes wide. “You know about that?”

Derrick nods. “Yeah. That big ram fella that’s been walking around town gave me one and said you and Lexia got one, too.”

Jayson sighs heavily and leans forward, using his weapon as a prop. “Great... Yeah, I got it, and it was weird.”

“Did you see the reward?”

“I didn't get that far.”

Derrick slaps Jayson on the back of the head, making him flinch and grab his head.

“Ow! What the heck, Derrick?” says Jayson.

“I warned you,” says Derrick calmly.

Jayson seethes and looks at his hand, relieved to not see any blood on his palm. “You got talons, dude! You could've whacked my head off!”

“I didn't hit you that hard. Anyway. You saw the reward, so what else did they offer you?”

“Why am I being interrogated?”

“Because I need to know what Trafford offered you and Lexia for his recruitment. Something ain't right about him, and I need all the information I can get.”

Jayson huffs and leans against his weapon again. Only this time his eyes are on the black mass of mountains in the distance.

“Alright, fine. Yes, I saw the reward. It's good, even with inflation being nuts. But they also said that they could ‘erase’ some things,” says Jayson.

Derrick nods and sips his coffee.

“The paper also had a winged DNA strand with three eighteen underneath it,” says Jayson.

Derrick nods again and pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, and Jayson looks at him curiously.

“I’ve seen that symbol around town near those murals. Are those three-eighteen weirdos with the government?” asks Jayson.

Derrick slouches in his seat, his talons tapping his cup and his eyes on the mountains.

“I don’t know. All I know is that he wants Mama Bear's cook, which will be good for us since his removal will weaken her in this area. But this might be a deal with the devil thing for all I know,” says Derrick.

Jayson rubs his chin. “Devil is a good way to describe him. When Lexia and I were fighting the Fixers, he showed up. He told us to stop fighting or he'd kill all of us to spare the town a headache. And I believed him.”

Derrick sips his coffee. “I have a friend inside the PD doing background check on Trafford. We aren't doing any business until I get a report back. As for you, get inside and get some sleep. You can use my couch.”

“What about you?” asks Jayson.

“I hate sleeping.”

“Alright... Well, good night. Or morning in this case.”

“Yep.”

Jayson stands up and gives Derrick one last look before entering his house. He makes his way to the couch, taking a quick peek at the array of painted figurines on display. From futuristic soldiers to mythical Amazonian fighters battling beasts, the collection is impressive. Jayson can't help but smile at the intricate details of each figurine as he walks over to the couch. It sits next to a round nest made up of various pillows and blankets. The couch itself is plain, with just a thin blanket and pillow for comfort. Exhausted, Jayson flops onto the couch and slips into darkness.