> My parents never wanted me. I know that because they told me so. Hundreds of times, and with such bitterness that I couldn’t help but resent my own existence. And then Jeremiah came along, and suddenly, I felt like someone cared about me. But that wasn’t true. He never cared. He just wanted to use me.

Nora Lancaster

For the rest of the day, I busied myself with my puzzles, but I knew I’d have to get a new program soon, because they were becoming so easy that I barely even had to concentrate in order to complete them. Patrick had it worse, though. He didn’t have anything to distract him, so he tried to occupy his mind by going over the various pieces of equipment I had looted. There weren’t any real surprises there, but I did pick up a few spare outfits. If I continue to run through clothing like I had during my training – or more accurately, during my tests – I’d have plenty of options.

About an hour after dark, I looked up to see Patrick staring out into space, which, given his mental state, I didn’t think was a good sign. So, in order to distract him, I asked, “So, what kind of skills do you know about?”

“Huh?”

“Skills. I figure it’s probably a good idea to know what’s out there,” I said. “And considering you’re literally my only source of information right now, you’re it. Know of any cool or essential skills?”

He shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “Remy never really gave me a lot of choices, you know? It’s not like I went to a skill shop and just picked things out. Not that we could ever afford anything like that.”

“Skill shop?”

“Yeah. There’s one in Atlanta,” Patrick explained. “Another up north somewhere. Remy mentioned the city a few times, but we never went that far. He said it was a bad place.”

“Huh,” I breathed, wondering what constituted a “bad place” for the old smuggler. “Did he elaborate?”

Patrick shook his head, saying, “No. He only told me things he thought I needed to know. Always said he’d tell me more when I got older. Now, though…”

“Yeah. Jeremiah was the same way,” I acknowledged. “So – skill shops? Have you been to one? Do you think they have one in the Bazaar?”

“I have no idea,” Patrick answered. “I’ve never even been to the Bazaar. We couldn’t afford the entry fee.”

It was news to me that there even was an entry fee, but it made sense. The place had to be run by someone, and that someone needed to make a profit. That attitude was the driving force behind everything, at least as far as I could tell, so it made sense that the Bazaar followed that same mantra. But that threw a bit of a monkey wrench into my plans. If the Bazaar required an entry fee, I was screwed. My uncle might’ve been rich, but I was decidedly not. In fact, I only had a few hundred credits to my name, and I knew that wouldn’t take me far.

“So? Skills? Know of anything good?” I asked.

Again, he shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “Why?”

“Just making conversation,” I lied. The reality was that I had two open skill slots, but I had no idea what to use them for. In fact, I didn’t even know enough to make an educated guess, much less home in on the best combination. Not for the first time, I found myself missing Jeremiah’s guidance. He’d been a taciturn man, and he’d often responded to questions by telling me to figure it out for myself, but he’d always steered me in the right direction on the important stuff. Now, I felt like I was adrift.

I wasn’t ignorant of the fact that, for three years, I hadn’t really had much in the way of agency when it came to the direction of my life. When I was in the thick of training, it was easy to accept. But now that I didn’t have anyone telling me what to do or where to go, I was beginning to realize just how inadequate certain aspects of my training really had been. I could only think that Jeremiah had had some kind of plan to remedy that; we just never got the chance to get that far.

As it stood, I was little more than a weapon. And I needed to become something else. Something like what he’d been. I had no desire to run a criminal empire, but one thing Jeremiah had always had was a surety of purpose. He knew who he was and what he was meant to do.

And all I knew was that I wanted to kill Nora and anyone else who’d had a hand in the massacre of Mobile. Beyond that, I was a leaf in the wind.

That uncertainty extended to my two empty skill slots. I could only hope that when I did get to the Bazaar, where I hoped to meet with Dexter and Gala, the two alien shopkeepers I’d met before, perhaps they could offer some advice. I wasn’t certain if I could trust them with information about my build, but I also knew that, left to my own devices, I would almost certainly make all the wrong choices. I needed information, and they were the best source I could think of.

Besides, Dexter and Gala were aliens, and they couldn’t do anything to really hurt me for another seven years. The same couldn’t be said for their human counterparts on Earth. That, more than anything, made the decision for me.

“You don’t have to distract me, you know,” Patrick said, fiddling with a knife from the pile of loot he had sequestered in his storage implant. “I’m not going to break down again.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, looking up. When he did, I saw a gleam of determination in his eyes. “I’m going to pull my weight, Mira. I just needed a little while to adjust to…you know…”

“Me too,” I said.

“Yeah, but you adjusted by going out and killing people,” he said, swallowing hard. “I did it by crying like a little baby. But I’ll be fine. I’ll do better.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” I said. “I can’t count the number of times I cried just in the past two months.”

It was true. There were times in the Rift, especially, where my frustrations had boiled over, and the tears had come.

“You haven’t cried about Jeremiah, though,” he said. “I know you haven’t.”

“I don’t…”

Suddenly, I realized that he was right. Everything had happened so fast, I’d never had the chance to process my emotions. Instead, I’d gone from one crisis to another, never stopping for more than a few minutes. And when I did stop, I’d always kept my mind occupied. Not that it mattered. I didn’t have time to cry. Not now. Not when I had a job to do.

But before I knew what was happening, I felt tears flowing down my cheeks. I wiped them away, then hung my head, sobbing quietly. When I finally looked back up, Patrick said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…you know…”

I wiped my eyes again. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “It’s me. I just hate feeling so helpless.”

“You? Helpless? I’ve never met anyone less helpless in my life,” he said.

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“Not like that. I mean, I can kill people just fine,” I stated. “But I couldn’t save any of those people. I couldn’t help my uncle. And now I know that they were only after him because of me.”

“What? Why would they want you?” Patrick asked.

I sighed. I needed to trust someone, and Patrick was my only real choice. Besides, he seemed solid enough. So, I chose to tell him what had prompted the attack. “They came to Mobile to get my uncle,” I said. “I think it’s been coming for a long time, but the only reason they came after him now was because, before, he’d had something they wanted. I guess they hoped they could take it from him somehow. I don’t know. But he gave it to me, and I used it, so they didn’t have any reason to keep him alive anymore.”

“I think it’s more complicated than that, Mira,” he said. “You didn’t see what I saw. It took hundreds of Enforcers to take him down. The whole city was destroyed, but he was only wounded. Even then, he almost killed them all. I think they didn’t come after him because they were afraid. You probably don’t realize, but your uncle, he was famous. Everybody who had even a little bit of power knew who he was. And not just around here. Everywhere. You don’t go after somebody like that unless you know you can take him out.”

I nodded, the tears still tracing lines down my cheeks. “Maybe,” I said. Patrick might not blame me, but I knew that my guilt was at least somewhat justified. The timing alone suggested as much. But I also knew that I wasn’t the real culprit. That was Nora. And whoever gave the order. So, I wasn’t going to allow myself to wallow in self-pity and let my guilt derail me. Instead, I resolved to focus on walking the path I had chosen. Anything else would have been an insult to my uncle’s memory.

I checked the time, then said, “Get some sleep. It’s going to be an early morning.”

He gave me a nod, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he just extinguished the mist-lamp, turned over, and went to sleep. Despite his resolution not to cry, his soft sobs continued for a few more minutes until they were replaced by the even sound of his breathing. After that, I went back to my puzzles, losing myself in the program until, at last, I felt fatigue pushing me towards sleep.

When that happened, I flipped over to the Leviathan file Jeremiah had given me, then closed my eyes. I lay there for a long while, just basking in the sound of my favorite band while trying my best to remember my uncle’s face. For some reason, as familiar as it was, it had started to get blurry in my mind. The defining features were all there, but it was almost like his death had robbed me of all the details that brought his face together.

Eventually, I fell asleep, only to wake up a few hours later when the sun shone through the cracks in the walls. For whatever reason, looking at that, I felt a little better about the world. Not good, mind you. But better. So, I rose, went outside to take care of some business, then returned a few minutes later to find Patrick finally stirring.

“Wakey, wakey,” I said. “I want to get moving today.”

“What’s the rush?” he groaned.

“Uh…”

I held out my hand, letting it flop around grotesquely. It hurt a little, but most of the pain was mitigated by Pain Tolerance. Plus, it was funny watching him go pale.

“That is so gross.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to get it fixed before, you know, I have to lose my hand,” I said. “So, no big deal, right? Take your sweet time.”

“Fine,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. “Just give me, like, ten minutes, okay?”

“You can have fifteen,” I said, resolving to take the time to re-splint and bandage my hand after having removed it while washing up with bottled water. It looked worse than before, but most of the pain was gone. I knew that was probably indicative of nerve damage, which wasn’t a good sign, but I had no choice but to accept it and move on. Worrying about it wasn’t going to make anything better. “But we eat on the road.”

He shrugged, then went outside. I noticed that he had his pistol out, which was probably a good habit. If something attacked him out there, I might not be fast enough to save him.

About ten minutes later, he returned, saying, “I miss toilets.”

“I miss the Dewdrop’s breakfasts,” I countered.

“And showers.”

I gave myself a good sniff, then added, “Definitely showers.”

Usually, I would’ve been very self-conscious to acknowledge my horrid stench around a boy, but Patrick just felt safe to me. I knew he wouldn’t judge me for it anymore than I would judge him. A rarity, I suspected.

“Alright – let’s not leave anything behind,” I said. After that, we gathered what little gear wasn’t in Patrick’s implant and, without any further ado, set off back toward Mobile. It might’ve been smarter to go cross-country, but I wanted to make sure that the Enforcers had indeed left the area. If they hadn’t, I wasn’t above picking a few more of them off.

However, when I entered the familiar territory of the outskirts of Mobile, I discovered that it was deserted. Still, with Patrick in tow, I carefully made my way towards the walled town, which I spent a while inspecting as well. By the time I was satisfied that the Enforcers were gone, half the day had already passed us by. So, I handed Patrick one of my ration bars, and we went on our way.

It was towards the end of the day when we finally passed out of the old city’s ruins and into the wilderness. It was just before dark when I found a viable building in which to camp. Once I had Patrick settled in, I scouted out the surrounding area, killing a couple of predators who thought they could get the jump on me. One was a wolf who sported a lower jaw entirely made of some gleaming metal, while the other was an enormous snake. I didn’t have much trouble with either one of them, and after they were dead, I dragged them a few miles away from our camp so as not to attract scavengers or other predators to where we would be sleeping. Then, I began the short trek back.

However, the moment the building came into view, I knew something was wrong. My first clue was the mook standing out front, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a curiously high-tech light machine gun in his hands.

I crept forward, and as I did, I noticed three others. One was armed with a rifle, and the other had a pair of submachine guns, one in either hand. Which marked him as the stupidest one of the bunch. Likely, he meant to just spray bullets downrange, and he’d probably hit something by virtue of sheer volume.

Cigarette, which was what I’d decided to call him, banged on the building’s wall, shouting, “Just come on out, kid. We ain’t gonna hurt you none. All’s we want is your stuff, see? Ain’t worth your life, is it?”

Patrick responded with a resounding, “Fuck you!” that was punctuated with a gunshot. It missed punching a hole in Cigarette, but the wall wasn’t so lucky.

“What the goddamn fuck, son?!” he roared. “You damn near got me!”

Of course, that had been the point, but I didn’t say as much. Instead, as Cigarette continued to shout at Patrick, I slowly inched forward, activating Stealth as I did. I exchanged my Kicker, which had become increasingly frustrating to use due to my injured wrist, for my nano-bladed sword. Then, when I was right next to Stupid – or the man who fancied himself a dual wielder – I struck. His head detached from his shoulders with surprising ease.

But I didn’t see it, because I was already moving toward Rifle. Just as I came within a couple of yards, he turned to face me. His eyes widened, and he tried to bring his weapon around. But I wasn’t going to allow that. With a quick strike, I knocked his rifle aside. Then, I swept my sword up at an angle, slicing right through his jaw and bisecting his head.

That’s when Cigarette entered the battle.

His light machine gun thundered, but I’d never stopped moving. The earth erupted into a spray of dirt and natural detritus, but he couldn’t move his weapon quickly enough to keep pace with me. However, it also meant that I had to keep going in the same direction because the moment I ran at him, he would fill me full of holes. I’d been there before, and I didn’t want to repeat the experience. So, I dismissed my blade and summoned Ferdinand II.

But before I could take aim, four new gunshots joined the cacophony, and Cigarette’s aim flew wide as he flailed in pain. The light machine gun fell from his grip, and he crashed into the ground, revealing Patrick’s figure behind him.

He held his pistol in shaking hands, but his aim had been true. Cigarette was a goner. Still, I took one-handed aim at the man and put two more rounds in his head. Then, I did the same to the man whose head I’d bisected. The decapitated Stupid, I left alone. There were only a handful of people in the whole world who could survive being decapitated, and I didn’t think I’d met one in the backwoods around Mobile.

But then again…

I walked over to the severed head and put one more bullet in it. Just in case.

Finally, I turned to Patrick, saying, “Never stop shooting until you know they’re dead, okay?”

He nodded, though he looked like he was going to vomit.

“Here. We need to relocate,” I said. “All that blood’s going to attract predators.”

“W-what kind of predators?” he muttered.

“The kind you don’t want to meet in the middle of the night,” was my response. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get moving.”

After that, we set off. Luckily, we found another building a few miles to the east, where we set up for the night. I had to forego my usual scouting of the surroundings, but there was nothing to be done. I was strong, but traipsing through the wilderness at night was a recipe for disaster.

However, I knew it was going to be a long night when I heard something rustling outside. Patrick, who’d already given up on sleep, looked as if he was going to say something, but I held my finger up to my lips and shook my head. I had no idea what was out there, but it didn’t sound good.

And then I heard a sound that sent a chill up my spine.

A guttural barking filled the air, coming from a dozen different sources. I’d heard it before, and I knew precisely what it meant. The wildlings had found us.