Brandon slumped onto the uncomfortable jail cell bed and rubbed his eyes. Just when things were starting to look okay for his life, it had to turn sideways. He should’ve expected it. On top of that, he discovered that he couldn’t just pay a fine to get his way out of jail early. How poetic. In Eredore, money can buy anything except for freedom.

The cell had a single barred window that let in the evening sunlight. The cell across from Brandon’s contained an inmate whose skin was riddled with tattoos. His head was shaven and he wore the typical ugly yellow inmate jumpsuit. He was sitting on his bed with his back and head against the wall.

Brandon looked up from his hands and saw the other inmate was watching him with a glum look. After being stared at for half a minute, Brandon couldn’t hold himself back anymore. “What are you looking at?”

The other inmate huffed a small chuckle and smirked. “You.”

Brandon shook his head and laid down on his bed with his head on the pillow. “Can you look somewhere else, please?”

“Nah,” the man said, “you’re too interesting.”

“Interesting? How am I interesting?”

“How did a big shot like you end up in a place like this?”

Brandon rolled onto his side and faced the wall. “You don’t want to know.”

“Uh, I kinda think I do.”

Brandon sighed. “Reckless driving. Cause of a car accident and two totaled vehicles.”

The man let out a laugh. “I knew it! Why do all you big shots forget how to drive when you get popular?”

Brandon sat bolt upright and shot the man a murderous look. “My son was stabbed and nearly killed! What sane father would not try to get there as soon as possible?”

“Okay, okay,” the man said, raising his hands in a calming motion. He looked in the direction of the other surrounding cells. “Chill. We don’t want to be disturbing the guards. Name’s Strucka by the way. I already know who you are.”

“Okay, Strucka, now you know,” he sank back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m not.” There was no sarcasm in his voice.

Brandon raised an eyebrow, then decided to let it go. It was none of his business. He fiddled with his wristband the officers gave him. It was to make sure he never left the facility perimeter. Every inmate had one.

Just as Brandon was about to drift off to sleep, the door to his cell made a buzzing sound and slid open by itself. He looked up and blinked the sleep away. Strucka’s door had opened as well.

“What’s going on?” Brandon croaked.

“Dinner time,” Strucka said as he hopped off his bed and left his cell.

Brandon got up and followed him and a few others to the mess hall. It was a boring rectangular room with only a row of windows lining the tops of the walls. There was a cafeteria full of mediocre jail food which hardly smelled like anything.

Brandon sat in the farthest corner he could, hoping to avoid attention, but he found he was followed by Strucka who sat opposite of him. He tried to not act annoyed.

“You know how I first heard of you?” Strucka said as he dug into his meatloaf.

“How?” Brandon took a drink of water and made a face as he swallowed. It was metallic.

“I was working at a car wash when one of those new cars rolled in.” He shook his head. “The sounds those engines make is something else. I did some research on the car and found a shit-ton of articles on how the new engines worked, but I couldn’t understand the engineering language. It brought my interest in engineering to a whole new level. I went back to college just to learn the new stuff, but none of it really went into how the engines used the Aether energy.”

“That’s ‘cause any science classes taught in modern school curriculums are at least a decade behind the leading edge,” Brandon said. “It’s something I’m trying to change.”

“Oh?” Strucka rose an eyebrow. “And how are you doing that?”

“Teaching at Murker.”

“Pff,” Strucka scoffed as he leaned back in his chair. “Man, I wish I was half as rich enough to go there. What’s the class called?”

“Aetheric Mechanics.”

“Do any other colleges offer it?”

“Not that I know of.”

Strucka leaned in. “You wanna give me a mini lesson? I mean, it’s not like we’re going anywhere anytime soon.”

Brandon glanced up from his food. Who did this guy think Brandon was, a free information connoisseur? “What engineering did you take?”

“Electrical.”

“How did you do?”

“Uh,” Strucka glanced up and away, looking uncertain. “I think I passed.”

Brandon rolled his eyes and went back to eating. “No.”

“No what?”

“I’m not teaching you anything.”

“Oh, come on. You like teaching, right?”

“I like teaching people who are ready, because if they’re not, then no matter what I say, it’s just food-for-thought rather than practical application. It takes a minimum grade of ninety percent in electrical engineering to become enrolled in my class. Did you have ninety percent?”

Strucka shook his head, dismayed.

“Well, get ninety percent and then we’ll talk.”

Just then, Brandon caught someone approaching him out of the corner of his eye. He was a big guy, didn’t have a food tray, and didn’t look happy. He stopped a foot away from Brandon’s shoulder. “You Brandon Norallis?”

Brandon gave a small nod as he chewed his mashed potatoes. “Mhm.”

The man’s hand curled into a fist in the peripheral of Brandon’s vision. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

Brandon looked up at Strucka, who was equally confused but also intimidated. Brandon thought for a moment. “Uh, no I’m not.”

The man seized Brandon’s right arm with an iron grip, forced him up out of his seat, and shoved him against the wall. Several nearby inmates turned to see the commotion. Strucka had his mouth open in shock with his forkful of food an inch away.

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“Ivan, what are doing, man?” he said.

Ivan wall was bald with a beard and piercing blue eyes. His breath made Brandon cough as he yelled, “My auto shop went out of business because of you! That was the only thing keeping me sane. You ruined my life!”

Brandon gripped the guy’s massive forearm with his other arm, wincing. “So you’re going to beat up the guy who made a difference in the world? Is that going to change things?”

The man tilted his head in mock contemplation, then grinned. “I don’t know, maybe it will?”

Brandon’s eyes widened in panic, then he noticed his right hand was still holding the fork. Just as Ivan brought up his other hand to deliver a punch, Brandon transferred the fork to the other hand and stabbed Ivan’s forearm as hard as he could. His arm pulled away instinctually from the pain, releasing Brandon from the wall. He narrowly avoided the punch as he lunged for the table and grabbed the butterknife.

Ivan was holding his forearm, glaring at Brandon. Brandon backed up a few paces with the fork and knife held up in defense. The fork dripped with wet blood. “Okay, fine! I’m the one who drove your place out of business. That’s how economy and innovation work. But it was your decisions that led you here. You can’t blame me for those. You have to man up enough to own them.”

For a moment, Brandon thought he’d gone too far with the retort. Ivan’s expression softened as he looked down. His shoulders slumped. Brandon glanced at the other inmates who were losing interest in the drama and going back to eating dinner. Why was everyone so calm around this guy?

Ivan’s nose crinkled as he scowled at the floor, then he turned and threw a heavy punch at the stone wall. Brandon flinched at the sight of what should have been a bone-breaking occurrence, but Ivan’s hand wasn’t even bleeding afterward. Good thing he had avoided the punch earlier.

Ivan grabbed his head with both hands as he walked away. “I did it again!”

Brandon lowered his defenses slowly. Security guards had entered the mass hall and were approaching Ivan. He didn’t struggle against them. He just kept his head down and let them escort him out of the room. Brandon sat back down, his heart still racing. He tossed the bloody fork on to the table. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Holy shit, dude,” Strucka said, smiling. “That was awesome. I didn’t know it was possible to reason with Ivan. All the others would either run or lose in the fight.”

Brandon raised his eyebrows, fear setting in again. “He does that often?”

Strucka nodded, digging into the meatloaf. “Almost every day. Doc says he has anger issues. He’s trying to get rid of his anger, but he’s been trying for years. In my opinion, he’s only gotten worse.”

Brandon shook his head and drank the last of his water. “Remind me not to go anywhere near him.”

Strucka chuckled. “You got it, bud.”

After dinner, they both went back to their cells. Brandon washed his face at the mini sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was messed up and he was already starting to grow a beard. He hoped nobody would take a picture of him when he was eventually released.

He had just climbed into bed when a voice spoke from behind him. “Rough day, huh?”

Brandon whirled around and pinned his back against the wall. Someone leaned casually against the opposite wall. He had dark hair and wore a trench coat.

“What the hell?” Brandon shouted. “How did you get in here?”

The intruder waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not.”

“What?” Brandon said, scanning the man suspiciously. “Wait a minute…”

He looked roughly the same age as Domrik and he was average height. Just as Evan had described.

Brandon’s gaze grew dark as he pointed. “Are you...?”

“Yep,” the man confirmed.

“The Phantom Scythe?”

“Yep… wait, what did you just call me?” The man stared incredulously at Brandon.

“The Phantom Scythe.”

The man laughed out loud, leaning more of his weight on the wall. Brandon glanced at Strucka, who was in his bed. How could he not hear the intruder?

“What, do you think I’m a fucking comic book villain?” the man said. He put on an evil smile and twirled an imaginary mustache. He hunched over, rubbed his hands together, and spoke mockingly in an elderly voice. “Mmm, yes, everything is going perfectly according to my evil plan. The heroes will soon fall to my super-ultra-secret weapon, and then I will be the ruler of the world! Bwahahaha!” He kept the evil laugh going for a few more seconds before turning it into a bad cough. He bent over and held up a finger to Brandon. “Sorry, my throat couldn’t take spewing out that much bullshit.”

“You’re the one who stabbed Evan,” Brandon uttered. His body tensed with anger.

The intruder stood up and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am. Zandith’s the name. Pleasure to meet you.”

“You stabbed my son!” Brandon leapt off his bed and swung a fist at the Zandith’s face. He made no attempt to block or dodge. Brandon’s fist passed right through him like he was made of air. Brandon lost his balance and smacked his temple against the wall. He collapsed to the floor holding his bleeding head, not sure about what just happened.

Zandith chuckled to himself as he looked down at Brandon. “To be fair, he took the first swing.”

Brandon stood and clenched his fists. He restrained himself from attacking again. He knew better now. He jabbed a finger at Zandith. “You’ve done enough damage to me and my family already. Just tell me what you want, then get the fuck out of my life before I find you and kick your ass.”

“Oh hah, I’d like to see you try. Also, shame on you for wanting to take the law into your own hands.” He put his hands on his chest. “Remember, I’m the evil criminal, and you’re not a vigilante.”

Brandon scowled. “Not yet.”

“Never. Domrik is far too attached to that role to let you have it.” He clapped his hands together and faced Brandon again. “Anyway, what I want from you is property that has been stolen from me and is currently in your possession. It is very precious to me. So tell me…” He stepped up close to Brandon, so close he made him flinch and avert his gaze. “Where is my beloved crystal?”

“There are plenty of crystals in the world,” Brandon growled. “Go find another one.”

Zandith inhaled through his teeth and made a wincing expression. “That wasn’t the correct answer, my good enemy. Though, I do happen to know the location of your precious crystal, Brandon. Inspira Hospital, Room 407, currently undergoing regenerative treatment that can easily go wrong if just a few nobs are turned and switched flipped. Ooh, that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

Brandon’s stared at Zandith. “How do you know where he is?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. I don’t want to lay on the emotional blackmail that fast. Now, tell me where I can find the crystal, or I can finish what I started like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Brandon looked around the cell as his mind raced. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing else to say. He had only one option.

“It’s in a high-security vault underneath Ridgemire National Laboratory,” he said, lowering his head in defeat. “The door has fingerprint, voice, eye, and DNA authentication. I am one of very few allowed access.”

“Okay, yes! Now we’re getting somewhere. All I gotta do is wait a couple weeks for you to be released and then you get enthusiastic about testing the crystal again. And then it mysteriously disappears!”

Brandon shook his head. “Good luck getting past security.”

“I appreciate it, but I won’t need it, because security won’t know I’m there. You see your new BFF over there?” Zandith pointed at Strucka sound asleep in his cell.

Brandon looked at Strucka then gave Zandith a look. “Yeah?”

“He can’t see me, hear me, smell me, taste me, or feel me.” Zandith contorted his face in disgust. “Actually, forget I said those last two. That sounded weird. My point is, I control who sees me and who doesn’t.”

Brandon gestured to Zandith. “But you’re not really here!”

Zandith folded his arms and smiled at Brandon. “You just met me and you just met Domrik. You might teach Aetheric Mechanics at university, but bitch, you don’t even know half of what the Aether can do.”

“I’m a scientist. I’ll figure it out.” He started to approach Zandith. “In the meantime, after you’re done with your sadistic little plan, I—”

Zandith interrupted him. “Will completely forget about it! You said yourself, you want me out of your life, then you stay out of mine. Deal?” He held out a hand to shake.

Brandon continued to walk until the tips of Zandith’s fingers started phasing through his torso. “I know what you look like. I know what you sound like. I know your name. I might be a humble scientist but we can come up with some pretty dangerous shit when we need to. I will find you, even if the police don’t, and you will pay for what you’ve done to my son!”

Zandith retracted his hand and tilted his head. “But do you know what I look like?”

In the blink of an eye, Zandith was gone. In his place was an old man with a cane. He was hunched over and wore pants and a coat. His hat was worn and the text was barely legible. He gave Brandon a suspicious look. His voice was gravelly. “You don’t know what I sound like.”

The old man looked off to the distance through the cell wall and raised his cane in protest, holding his lower back as he shouted. “Hey, you little twerps! Get off my fuckin’ lawn!”

The man vanished, replaced by a toddler looking ashamed of himself. “Sorry sir, but I don’t think you know as much as you think you do.”

The boy disappeared, replaced again by what looked like a stripper in hardly any clothes. She had a hand on her hip and was smoking a cigarette, eyeing Brandon with a hint of lust.

Brandon backed up, searching with his hands for something to grasp.

The woman took the cigar out of her mouth, winked slowly, and smirked. “See you around, kiddo.”

She blew a breath of smoke at him. He coughed when the smoke hit him. Then he was finally alone again in his cell, the smoke gone in the same instant.

He collapsed on his bed, stunned. He let his vision go unfocused as he let out the breath he had been holding. Out with the breath came the only phrase going through his mind.

“What the actual fuck?”