The past rolled through, as it had repeatedly for days. At least these thoughts were becoming more linear. Individual items cropped up randomly, but at night it kept a single thread. Maybe I had Muni to thank for that.

This time I was a child again, and my dwelling had been invaded. Three people stood, poking and prodding everything. I could feel each disturbance of desks, shuffling of the tarp and stir of air.

Their talking was harder to understand. One voice was deep, but didn't feel in charge. Another voice registered with sharper tones. A woman whose sounds were bored and edging into annoyed. The man in the middle touched nothing. He stood while his minions went about their disturbing inspection of my home.

I was in an air vent elsewhere in the building—hiding off in a corner and waiting for them to leave. Not that anything up there was of any value. No food, no money, nothing of consequence to normal people, but this was my home.

That only made sense in an abstract way. My thoughts as a small child had been muddled half the time. Almost instinctual instead of reasoned.

Those thoughts had picked up the invaders’ footsteps from outside. Unhurried weights pressing mud and concrete down as the three walked up. Options were weighed and escape routes barely considered before one was chosen. I chose an exit then quickly crawled forearm over forearm down a metal pathway.

"He might be down here," the bored female said. Her words had become more distinct and chased after me. I felt her kneeling before the ventilation duct I'd crawled through.

"Kid!" the deeper male shouted down the tube.

I had to get elsewhere immediately and should have left a long time ago. This den wasn't worth fighting over, and I was too small for a battle on their scale. These three people were all bigger than I, moved with a stable grace.

Danger. Flee.

The voice in my head was back, and useless because I'd already made a move to escape. I slowed to reduce noise while shuffling around a corner. There were twists and turns to the shaft, one combination would lead outside.

"Kid’s going down this way. Over here!" Her words were easiest to pick out. They carried further into the objects about me than the two men.

I hesitated after she yelled. The woman’s tone warbled with a vibration reminding me of someone, but I couldn’t tell who. Was she mad at me or her comrades? Perhaps if it had been just her I might not have run.

Their footsteps were harder to feel as they moved out of the sanctuary I'd worked on. Hearing distorted from layers of metal. Sound echoed in odd ways as I crossed more corners.

Must escape.

I mistakenly turned left instead of right and found myself at a dead end. My arms and legs banged loudly as I worked to back up and go out the right exit. Sunlight greeted me down the correct turn. For a moment I winced as something pounded behind my eyelids. A beat, like my heart was thudding louder than ever before.

Escape was so close, so important, that I missed the large shadow moving. The larger man I'd felt upstairs grabbed me from the tunnel’s exit. His arms struggled to get a lock on my flailing limbs. I snarled, growled, and kicked anything that moved.

Hunters! Dangerous!

"Whoa, this is no malformed pup," the large man said.

"No, he's not," the third person spoke. He stood still back a ways while the other two were too close. "A pity. That would have been easier."

Both feet jerked and my gut clenched, frantically trying to kick my way to freedom.

"This a one oh one?" the man holding me asked.

"Likely. I'm not sure what kind though,” their leader responded.

I struggled, and they talked right over my head. The girl was busy clinking objects.

"He's some sort of fire attribute, and is strong as hell." The large man had me pulled tightly against him. Arms wrapped around mine, legs locked against one side to prevent violent kicking. "Whoa, boy. Calm down," the one holding me said.

I shouted words that made no sense. Garbled half spoken things. The sensation in my mind was creeping up and swallowing vision in its wake. Heat turned up, steaming the air.

"Not going to be able to hold him much longer!" the large man bellowed.

"I got ’im!" she said.

Clinking preceded a pair of cuffs being clamped over my wrists. I jerked my hands and arms trying to break this binding. They persisted through my efforts.

Too weak. Too young.

"They on?" the big one asked.

"Drop ’im," she said.

Suddenly I was flopping on the ground. Both feet struggled to get under me but nothing worked right. My arms jerked over and over struggling to get purchase.

"Not a wolf. Not an elf in disguise. Daylight so not a vampire. Definitely a one oh one," the female judged.

I managed to get my legs in order and tried to bolt between the female and smaller man. The man did something that tripped me up, and like a flash he was pressed over me, pinning my smaller frame to the ground.

The world grew heated but it wasn't enough. There was no fire, only warmth. Inside my head the deeper voice was repeating itself. Giving me impressions of their clothes, listing each twitch of this trios’ muscles as a reason to escape.

"I've got to ask, kid. You're not a wolf, right?"

A what? I huffed with pain, almost squeaking.

"See, wolves have rights, and god knows I can't stand the paperwork nightmare that'd be. If you're a wolf I may just kill you to save myself the headache." The dangerous man held me down and snarled in my ear.

I shuddered, either from pain or his tone of voice. Eventually my head shook. I wasn't one of those fuzzy things.

"Good. You got parents?" their leader asked me.

I shook my head again while trying not to seize up. The man was heavy and he showed no signs of lightening the load. The other two hadn't moved very far from behind us.

"No hopping like that one in Dales," the irritated woman commented.

"No spitting either. God, that thing was gross," the large man who’d captured me said.

The woman jerked my head around and rubbed my temple. "I don’t feel any weird bumps. Nothing on his mop top. Looks like he's just a kid. A filthy one." Her face winced briefly.

"Could be a disguise. Unless filth is a sign." The larger man brushed off his clothes from all the dirt and grime.

"No. Dirt’s just dirt. It doesn’t mean they’re monsters, but the heat, this heat is something else."

"Listen, you two," the man pinning me grunted. He struggled to hold me in place. The way he held me down, twisted just slightly, was nearly gentle despite my squirming.

"Yeah, none of our business. One oh one's are yours."

"Good, now help me get him into the car," the one holding me said.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Christ, you two, do you want me to kill this kid?"

"Not really," the larger man said. "Jo?"

The female stood off to the side. I could make out part of her features from where I was pressed into the ground. My face melded with dirt on one side, the other eye watering.

"Yeah. Let’s get the kid up," she said while fighting back a frown that added years to her features.

As soon as my legs were operational I kicked. They barely flinched, instead braving the damage to grab both legs. I bent one direction, then the other. Nothing got me loose, and with my arms bound by those cuffs it was even harder to make headway. Not to mention they were each at least half again my size. Even the female dwarfed my childish body.

One opened a door into their noisy metal box. The two males wedged me into the back while I struggled and screamed. Not one sane word had popped out of my mouth this entire time. Then they slammed the door shut.

I dashed around the little compartment looking for handles, signs of structural weakness, small places to crawl into and hide. Finally I curled up near the far end, glaring at the other figures who stood outside talking.

Moments passed, then the larger male and female left. The other male, who had pinned me down before, got into the front through another door. The sudden nearness sent me scrambling to the other side of the rear cabin and away from the dangerous man.

Another head popped up from the front. This figure was smaller, red headed and annoyingly cheery. The same boy who'd shown up before was now sitting in the front with no fear of the larger male.

"Hey, Dad, you found my friend!" Daniel said.

"Yeah?" The man raised an eyebrow and turned around to glance at me again. "You sure, little man?"

"Yeah, big man! This is my friend. He smells like brimstone. Only without the cat piss."

"Does he now?" His gaze turned harsh for a moment then slackened as the younger boy looked up. I watched the transformation pass by so smoothly it might have been imagined.

"Only sometimes. Like when he's mad or hungry. He's hungry a lot."

"Most boys are." The older man smiled at Daniel. It looked nothing like the other boy’s too wide grin or the teeth from my memory.

"He's not a monster though, not like the one you told me about!"

"No. I agree, he's not like the others." My belly rumbled and Daniel’s father almost smiled at me. It nearly broke what little sanity I had left to get a look like that. One part pity, part worry.

"So you won't..."

"We'll see how it goes, little man."

I remembered how to speak in proper English. "I want my stuff," I muttered. Daniel’s father gave me a calculating glare, put his car into drive and hit the gas.

That night’s memory recall ended, leaving me sweating in the cot with my hands clamped over my mouth. Nathan’s body lay still, and Leo’s body took slow, deliberately even breaths.

The days went on.

I stood in the cell counting items, trying not to panic. Something was missing from my small stash of items but my thoughts were so scrambled I couldn't figure out exactly what it might be. I'd been unable to sit here safely and keep things guarded.

Going into the yard, doing my work, roaming the area, everything came with risk. It was impossible to stop. I collected gleaming rocks, stole coins from another man’s cell, and even a bar someone had dropped from the workout bench. Not because I needed a weapon but because of the reflection.

My nature had compelled me. I recognized the actions for what they were. The desire to gather these objects coupled with a need for patrol. Like some weird cat bird dog mixture of insanity. It was part of my nature, a giant beast with the leathery wings needed to hoard.

Small treasures were hidden when no one was looking. The bar went above the cell door. Coins and rocks into the unused mattress above me. Nothing clever enough to stop a real search.

This sort of thing had been happening to me since the first day. Find a place to call my own. Start amassing useless belongings. At least I hadn't dug through trash or anything outright filthy. Even the rocks were carefully washed and scrubbed clean.

And like all things I owned, there was a slowly forming connection. Threads of energy and lifeless colors would call me back each night as surely as the guard’s announcements over the speakers.

Nearly three weeks and no one had tried to stab me. No one even approached me for conversation besides Leo. Spike had been out for two days without incident. Simms stopped conversation all together.

He wasn't mine, therefore his problems were his own to deal with. I carefully felt each rock and went about my day. Lost in thought and growing scarily secure in the false peace Atlas Island was offering.

***

The father’s car rattled and bounced across bumps. Divots jerked the vehicle into other lanes. Each jostle made the boy in front frown. He didn't like the car.

I hated it. The movement made me sick. I slid down as far possible and covered as much of my head as I could with bound arms. Between elbows and forearms was a view of crisscrossed lattice.

Home was growing farther away. Too far.

"What are you going to do with my friend?" the boy asked.

"I'm not sure yet, little man."

They spoke about me like I wasn't present. Correcting them was beyond me. My stomach heaved despite the effort to swallow it down.

"You all right back there?"

Nodding was difficult, instead I shivered and swallowed again.

"He looks sick, big man. Can we stop?" the boy said.

"Sure." Noise clicked and the car slowly curved to one side. Noise vibrated through as dirt ground under heavy pressure.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I swallowed again, tasting salt and ash. My arms trembled and vision blurred.

In my head there was an unset growl. Not anger or rage, not fire or distinct words. It unhappily keened until the vehicle fully stopped.

"Is he going to puke?"

"Maybe," the father said.

"Let him out!"

"No can do, little man. I'm not going to risk you to whatever he is. What if he can fly?"

I was too young to do more than glide.

"He's my friend!"

"So you've said." The father’s voice sounded displeased. It barely registered beyond the slow pounding of my heart.

I was so far from home now. Farther than I'd ever dared walk.

How would I find her if I left? What if she showed up needing my help? No one would be there. These people, this father and son who hunted were ruining it all. I fell onto the floor and lay curled between metal and upholstery.

"Why's he upset? Doesn't he want to go home?"

"Lots of these things"—the father paused and almost sounded embarrassed—"I mean non humans, find it hard to leave an area. Some get very violent."

"Like he tried to kick Jo." The child sounded cheery. His voice was closer. I peered up and noticed he'd been staring at me. My arm covered my face and blocked the two out of sight. At least the nausea was easing.

"You will call her Josephine, only her close friends use Jo."

"But Jo—" Daniel paused. "Josephine likes me."

"Until she gives you permission you will use her full name. Or Miss Kallum." Even though Daniel’s father sounded distracted, I sneaked another glance. Both of them had their faces near the metal, watching me for signs of anything.

"Ugh. Motion sickness?" Daniel said. Only a child's voice could twist with that disgust.

"Where did you—" The father sighed. "You're probably right. Kid, you ever been in a car before?"

I jerked my head back and forth once, like I was shaking off something gross.

"Ever been in a vehicle of any sort?"

I was breathing easier. Leaving my space on the ground didn't feel right. Anywhere else back here would put me closer to their peering faces.

"Train, plane, bus, anything?"

"Or a bike."

"Or a bike," the father agreed.

I chose not to respond. My heart hammered fast still, the onset of sickness was replaced by an awkward fear. Their words, the judgment and almost wounded tone.

"What do you think, little guy?"

"Huh?"

"Think about the hints we’ve gotten so far. Your friend has no family and says he’s never been in a car." The older man’s voice stayed low. "Heat, smells like brimstone. He looks like a boy about your age. Not human, not a wolf, not a vampire or elf. So he’ll be one of ours. Think on your lessons, what could he be?"

The father was talking out loud for someone’s benefit. He hadn't talked like this when chasing me or working with the other two. It finally registered he was using me as a lesson.

"Wanted his stuff? And motion sickness?" the boy said.

"All might be signs, or might not be. What fits?"

"I dunno."

"What else is there?" the father asked.

"Uhhh..." There was a pause and sharp intake of breath. "His fingers?"

"Maybe. What do you see?"

"He keeps rubbing the carpet."

I did? A pleasant numbness had crept to my palm. Both eyes shot to my hand in accusation.

"He speaks English,” the boy added another detail.

"And some Greek if I heard right, but what does that mean to us, little man?"

At that age, I had no clue what Greek could be.

"That he's not a demon. Demons are bad and scream a lot. In funny words."

"Demons are bound to speak in Latin. You'll have to start learning soon." The older man sighed. "Right though, not a demon, not any of the long lived races or he probably wouldn't know English. Maybe something that hibernates, but he has no Emerald Isles accent. It could be a protected voice, but there’s no itching, so he’s not psychic. What else?"

"He's super touchy about his belongings too, big man," the boy said. Big man must have been a kind name for his father.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Me and him fought about it. Up there in the warehouse." My nose still hurt from where the boy had kicked me during our fight.

"You told your mother that was from a bike accident."

"Oh, yeah"—the young man then corrected himself—"it was a bike accident. I was biking."

"Is this where your allowance has been going?"

"No… maybe…" He sighed. "Yes. He was starving."

"So the break in, the thefts, and the police reports about a homeless boy were all him? The local pack also reported a possible runaway but they couldn't locate him."

I felt a lot better physically, but not very well mentally. They had just kept right on talking over me this entire time.

"Stop talking like that,” I demanded, and growled.

"Like what?" the boy asked.

"Like I'm not here."

"Say please!" the young boy said.

"What's please?" That wasn't a word I knew. Not from anywhere in my mind, not from the memories imparted by my father. Not from the slow rumblings in the back of my head that had finally died down.

"It's what you say when you want something." A disapproving frown was across Daniel’s slightly freckled face. "Otherwise you don't get it."

There were too many strange words. "What about those other things."

"What other things?"

"Vampires. And those wolves. The elves. Police. A bike. Cars. Trains."

The father looked surprised, then sad, then finally turned away from the rear where I was locked up. "All right, I've made up my mind," he said.

"Don't kill him, Dad!" Daniel squeaked.

"I'm not, he's going to Forges. I don't know anywhere else to put him, and Tal owes me."

"I don't like them."

"You don't like his son, just because he's stronger than you."

"What about my things?" I pressed up against the bars, confident they wouldn't attack me. They were taking me somewhere that might help provide sanity in this strange world. The first real ray of light I'd had since landing.

I may have been ignorant of items like planes and cars, but I was animal enough to know danger and being alone was a huge risk. The only person who’d been vaguely kind so far was the boy in front who’d fed me. The mere thought of a warm meal made my belly rumble.

"Okay, food, then Forges. If he decides to maybe Tal will take you to get your stuff." The father looked at me through the reflective object hanging in front of us.

"Hamburgers!" Daniel shouted, eager for food himself.

"Hamburgers. Please." No one could say I didn't learn quick.

***

Prison moved slowly over the next week. People argued. Wolves and humans kept to different walls in every room. People made calls when allowed, others simply disappeared. Two were stabbed, both human, a wolf was sent to the other side of the island. One lucky person was released for redeeming himself in the eyes of our fine system.

None of it mattered to me. None of it touched me. I'd walked around with a bubble few dared cross. Maybe it was the constantly angry glare I gave everyone. Maybe it was the man I'd slammed into a wall when he ventured into arms’ reach.

Maybe it was because of what I was. As memories started to unfurl, it made sense. There was a vibe about me which scared most people off. Instinct was a powerful drive, and I'd never been the type to get along with others. The mopping and cleaning served me well. It was quiet and beat working the textiles like Simms or pounding out license plates like Leo.

Despite it all, I was strung out mentally. It impacted my rest and left me exhausted each morning. Sometimes I rested against the wall. Other moments found me bracing against the cart while my legs wobbled. Reliving the memories wasn't unpleasant, but made focusing difficult. The capture of my senses, relaying past words and scents, textures, even emotions was making me feel volatile.

It worsened as time passed. Days later I stood out in the yard, unfocused on the skyline. The emptiness and swirling air distracted my senses and calmed me. Water might have been better but swimming activities were frowned upon.

Spike stood on one side, watching everyone. He didn't seem to have any specific malice for me over anyone else. Leo was near me. His stance and attitude felt strangely protective and distant at the same time. Working at Bottom Pit as a bouncer should have helped him learn to be ready for danger, and still be distant enough that people could have a good time. Plus Roy's tribe was both distant and protective of the ladies working there.

The teen’s eyes were closed as his body twisted from one strange posture to another. Those movements stirred memories and reminded me of evenings in Tennison’s park. Other people had tried to haze him the first few times but the hulking teen had ignored them and eventually the taunts died down.

The bell sounded for everyone to hustle inside. Our shift in the yard was ending and another group was being allowed outside to play.

I wasn't even sure what happened exactly. One moment Leo was walking in peacefully just to the front of me. The next he'd shouted, punched a man in the throat, back elbowed another in the face, and finally spun and grabbed another man with his arm locked across the human’s throat.

My side also hurt.

"Down on the ground!" a voice blasted across loudspeakers. Noise bounced off walls, rippled through bodies, and sank into weights. I felt each vibration.

Most people hit the ground fast. A few were simply calm and knelt as if this were a standard day. I stood there, confused. Trying to understand what had happened. My mind had been reliving a mixed mash of moments from Bottom Pit. I pressed one hand against a throbbing pain in my abdomen.

Authoritative voices shouted. Footsteps hustled downstairs, through hallways and across the yard. Heavy objects of metal were leveled and pointed in our direction. Leo had pushed away his victim and backed up, hands in the air, but he refused to lie down.

I slid my shirt to the side and noticed a shallow, barely bleeding wound. On the ground an object glinted.

My brows creased in confusion. I'd been in a daze but hadn't been completely unaware, had I? Somehow I'd missed the hostility and attempted gutting.

Two fellows glared in my direction. One wore an equal amount of confusion on his face. The other looked upset. I recognized him as Spike. I'd thought he was just generally mad at the world, but he hadn't let it go. He had gotten too close.

And both seemed surprised at my resilience. The mean repetitive shouts closed in. Leo was forced onto the ground and two others tried to get me.

My mind had been lost in the clouds and memories of years gone by. Now, far too late, I started to get upset over the attempt to hurt me.

"Silver?" I asked. The shiny metal lay on the ground.

The voices were close enough to understand. "Down now!" a chorus repeated.

"You tried to stab me with silver?!" I struggled to push past the two guards who wedged between me and the other man.

"Down, or that's a strike!" the guard demanded.

"I'm not a fucking wolf!" I broke through and kicked the man on the ground in his side. The brief flare of anger coupled with my abilities sent him rolling across the yard.

Other humans tried to stand but by now there were too many guards. Rifles bashed into heads, cuffs clinked on wrists, and more orders shouted.

By the end of it we were all on the ground while the prison’s medical team examined the man I'd kicked and my wound. I was okay, increasingly so as the minutes passed. My side hardly hurt but my pride was aggravated. He hadn’t been so lucky.

Men with guns cleared the yard quickly. People stood behind one set of bars, nosing into our group’s activities. Bringing up the rear was me and the man I'd kicked. He lay on a stretcher and I was ignored for an hour. Finally the male nurse took a few extra minutes analyzing the hole in my shirt and lack of obvious wound on my side. He shrugged and declared me healthy.

Guards escorted me back to the cell. I tried not to glower but it was hard. Being stabbed, being mistaken for a wolf, poked and prodded while they took my temperature and men who trained their guns on me. Everything was an insult.

They hustled me back to the cage and locked me in. Leo looked slightly worried. I shook my head to clear the latest round of memory induced fuzz. Every moment, every half seen object, triggered more recollections.

The nurse reminded me of the first time I'd been to a doctor at the age of twelve. I'd kicked the man in his balls and snarled at the nurse who tried to draw blood. It hadn’t gone well.

Guns being pointed at me triggered flashbacks of standing in the middle of a downtown gang, one where I held a man by his throat in complete defiance of the ordinance raised against me. He’d owed only four thousand dollars.

Jeers and shouts brought up memories of standing in Bottom Pit, opening night, throwing my hands up against the protests of an electrified crowd. I threw them up again and rattled the cuffs still on my arms.

I looked past the worried face of Roy's son and checked my hiding places for tampering. The urge to canvass my belongings was habit, almost ritual.

"You all right?" the teen asked.

I finished my studying glare around the room and settled on Leo's face. I nodded, then sighed.

"I'm not a wolf,” I said. As if that one statement justified kicking another man so hard he’d been carried off on a stretcher. My mind had devolved to a train wreck.

Leo shrugged. The motion lifted his thick shoulders and I saw his face overlaid with Roy’s. He said, "It happens to all of us. The trinkets fill in certain blanks. My girlfriend keeps, kept, asking to meet my pack."

"My trinket was destroyed." I barely registered the idea that Leo had a girlfriend. He was a teen with a built body. Of course he had someone.

Leo paused and digested the response.

I paced.

"Is that strike two?" he asked.

There were no good answers to that question. I barely registered the first offense, where I’d defied Warden Bennett. "Probably. Not officially."

The silence stretched. We could hear people whispering to each other. Some outright yelled. I struggled to rein in my senses and not feel their noisy vibrations trail through the air.

"Are you getting a new trinket?" Leo asked.

My head shook immediately. "No. Nothing like what I had before. It’s…" Messing with my memories had repercussions. Muni herself had said so.

Leo tilted back and stared at the top bunk. I sat and waited. No one had taken off my cuffs and breaking them would probably be a third strike. I had to retain some options at this point just in case staying here on the friendly side was worthwhile.

Hours later and the cuffs hadn’t been removed. I dared sleep, and the past once again stole my senses.

***

The place Daniel’s father drove to filled the entire corner. This building was tied into a string of rundown places. Had my senses been stable I could have identified the entire row of businesses as deathtraps and near condemnation. It was a step up from the near abandoned train yard I'd been squatting in.

Men were inside. Daniel's father herded us toward the far corner where an older man coached a much younger person. The person punching a giant bag couldn't have been past twelve or thirteen. An age older than me, but still just a child. His shoulders already curved with early muscle. His movements were rigid and disciplined.

The old man watched every swing and punch. His eyes studied the movements while checking for mistakes. He stopped the younger man, corrected a foot, said some disapproving words, and went back to the punching bag.

Other people talked. They were too noisy for me and I tucked my head against a shoulder to block the sound. Vibrations from feet pounded the floor. Weights clinked with a disjointed rhythm. Everything issued forth noisy madness. It was nearly as bad as that pile of metal things had been. Cars, I think.

Words were said that didn't make sense above the hum of background sounds. I couldn’t control my senses enough to separate them out correctly. The lack of understanding set me on edge. I scooted toward a wall and searched for the exits.

Daniel’s father would have none of my attempts at shrinking away. He grabbed me by the shoulder and guided us to the punching bag. The older man looked over, grunted, and stepped away, leaving the younger one on his own. The boy kept punching, barely missing a beat.

"Crumfield,” the old man said. There was displeasure in that greeting. No hands were offered for shaking, no hugs. Their cold attitude and skipping of social pleasantries confused me.

"Forge.” Daniel’s father was equally cold. He used the same gaze upon the old man that he’d used on me. They sized each other up. It felt like watching two creatures get ready for a fight.

I couldn’t remember where I’d seen that sort of tense stance before. I also didn’t understand their glares at that age. But now, decades later, it was easier to see it was a desire to fight. Something between these men screamed battle, the kind ending in blood.

"Who’s the runt?" Forge asked.

"It's complicated. You got somewhere to talk?"

***

Knocking on the bars shattered my recall.

"Warden passed the verdicts down. No strike. You’re headed to solitary instead."

I grunted, unsure if that was good or bad.

"You've got one minute," the guard said. Western Sector agents here weren't overly hostile. I had yet to see any of them get into inmates’ faces, or do much of anything other than give orders and patrol.

The inmates weren’t pushing their luck either. Not with the three strike system. I'd started to realize the brilliance of having capital punishment in a place like this. No matter what the inmates experienced or did, there was a certain amount of care and support given for those who got along.

Those who didn’t would go to the other side of the island, where no one gave a shit about their survival. There would be no nightly safe haven, no interaction with other people. Instead they'd be hunted by feral vampires and wolves or extreme humans.

Why should the guards get upset? Do better and get to go home. Exist in a strange sort of limbo. Or go to the island’s other side in a modern death sentence. Those were our choices as inmates.

The guard sighed as I ambled over. He asked, "You faking a mental disorder to get on the warden’s good side? Because it seems to have worked."

Vampires were notoriously kind hearted to the mentally infirm. To them an unhealthy mind was a thing to be cared for, because it meant a loved one would never be able to join them in eternity.

I shook my head.

"Well it turned your outburst from disregarding orders into self-defense," the guard said.

I shrugged.

It didn't matter. The situation was just proof that even a three strike system wasn't enough to prevent an attempted stabbing in the yard. Murder only counted as a single strike out of three. If that wasn't a measure of this place’s preferences, then what was?

I turned to Leo. He looked unhappy but kept quiet.

Hopefully he'd be okay. His reactions were quick and strong, but he was still half a child. Roy and his kind were tough, but not like me. They didn't heal like a wolf or vampire might. Being stabbed would be deadly to someone like him and that worried me.

"How long?" I asked.

"One week," the guard responded.

That'd put me at five or six weeks since assaulting the order headquarters. Time moved funny with my messed up memories.

The door opened and the guard gestured for me to move on. "Let’s go," he said.

We walked down the row of cells. People from our group were out and doing their tasks. Work hadn't stopped for most of us. Spike glared from a floor above. He'd been locked up too but wasn't going to solitary like me. The human hadn't kicked another man or disobeyed an order to hit the deck.

Farther we traveled, around a security checkpoint, and another.

"Any word on my hearing?" I asked. I hadn't gotten an official sentence yet, or had my charges addressed. The law had shipped me off to Atlas as soon as possible after my bedside confession.

"Not my business," the guard responded.

"Will anything happen while I'm in solitary?" Only a few of Western Sector’s employees were visible. Most stood at the end of our hallway by double doors. There were multiple closed down this walkway with heavy doors and latches on the outside that covered their windows. A few presences walked around in their cells. Some were heavy or agitated; others almost comatose.

"Visitations and hearings are postponed. Your lawyer should know. It's fairly standard for anyone at Atlas."

I didn't have a lawyer.

We traveled for another ten minutes to a different wing. Everything looked the same inside, so visually it was hard to tell. From my muddled senses, we were about a quarter mile away from my original cell, and a few floors down. We were still above ground level.

"In you go," he said.

At least the man acted decently to me.

I stepped inside, taking in the freakishly white coloring. Nearly everything was polished. There was no mirror but in a corner sat a shower stall, sink, and cot. No television or form of entertainment. Some bars ran across the ceiling though, maybe to workout with.

The cell was fifteen feet in length. Just enough room to stand and pace for the next week. The joke would be on them. Solitary was how I liked my life and sleeping away a day was little effort. Hibernating like a bear was one of my many ‘abilities.’

That thought caused Julianne’s face to flash in my mind. The dark skin, amber eyes, and half smile as she joked with me. She’d died in order to help me. She could have been saved. God, I’d fucked up so many times.