HangYourSecrets

APEX

Kieran leaned in closely—watching this Aura as she made her way through what seemed to be a somewhat stilted lesson in the game of darts. And if he was being honest, he found it a little hard to focus.

He had remembered that he hadn’t eaten today; something he did rather often during the course of a shift of work. There was so much to do; so much to accomplish, that food had become almost a luxury to him.

But no—not a luxury. That would imply he enjoyed it. Rather, Kieran spent most of his evenings approaching food like one would approach an animal in a hunt. Something to be dealt with quickly as to not prolong the event any longer than was necessary.

All of this came to mind to Kieran as blood rushed to his extremities and his face grew blush. He had drank too much, too quickly, and with too empty a stomach—and was remiss as to admit, at least to himself, that he was a bit of a lightweight. He would have blushed regardless of his sobriety, downed the rest of his glass of rum, and continued to watch.

Aura had a bit of a calm demeanor to her; something disquieting about her approach. She was obvious, of course. But perhaps intentionally. Kieran had grown so used to seeking out people that would have otherwise become a threat to him that he was confident Aura wasn’t trying to be particularly coy. And, now with the drink in him, Kieran thought to himself that perhaps not everything was a game. Perhaps this was just a game of darts. And for a moment, he tried to turn his fight-or-flight reflex off and just enjoy a game of darts.

Kieran watched closely and spoke as little as possible as Aura threw the darts ahead. Fuck, she’s good, he couldn’t help but think, as he watched her effortlessly nail her targets. It was a good amount of precision, and Kieran was sure he would be fucking it up here shortly.

Aura placed the dart into his hand and set him towards the target. He was able to throw two that hit the board—each in places where Kieran was unsure whether or not they counted as earned points—and one which would strike the weakened timber that lined the walls of the tavern.

“Well, shit,” Kieran thought and spoke, essentially simultaneously. He listened to her make the clear observation that he wasn’t from subsection F, and thought for a moment the best way to approach.

“I’m not usually around here, yeah,” he admitted, but dropped the matter entirely as she spoke about the AE enforcer. Soren. He noted the name.

“I wouldn’t call him a friend,” he admitted. He thought again about how much to reveal, in what order, and to what depth.

As fate would have it, though, he wouldn’t need to worry long.

A man burst through the bustling crowd and pulled Aura close to him. They spoke in frightened whispers, and before he knew it, Aura wished him farewell and bolted from the scene as the curfew sirens blared.

Kieran felt less than enthused about the entire evening. He had been exhausted—caught off-guard by this Aura character, now sufficiently buzzed, and left over-analyzing the situation. Everything about today had been off-kilter; wrong from his typical day.

So he quickly moved back into the streets and made his way back to his home. It was only an hour and a half walk, and despite being stopped by AE members a few times, he was able to get past with the flick of his runner’s stamp and general aloofness.

It was near-midnight by the time the thick smell of saltwater and sulfur once again filled his nostrils. He had returned to Port Apex; tired, weak, and ready for some sleep.

His home, or so he thought of it as, was little more than a few shipping containers he was able to pawn off from the port boys some time ago. However, over the years, he had made quite a few modifications to them.

He approached the edge of the port and slipped down the usual causeway that lead to a small isthmus on the edge of the port’s shores. Here, his four shipping containers; arranged in a two-by-two pattern, stood just five feet from the murky waters on two sides.

He unlatched the door and moved inside; locking it quickly behind him.

He thought to himself in the dark momentarily, considering what options the evening had really presented him with.

His first instinct was to drop Atlantic—pay it no mind and refuse any task that crossed its borders. He would lose work, sure, but until he could be sure the time would pass where his appearance drew heads, that could be a good option.

His second thought was a bit more cruel than the first. He could approach this Soren that Aura had spoken of. Ask for more information. But perhaps that would result in yet another summary execution.

And further still did he think about the man he talked to in the tavern today. His instincts driving him to survive. How useless his life had been in the end. Collapsed like a sack of bricks in the street.

Apex was a cruel place. And Kieran could understand disliking it. Rebelling, even. But—

No, he thought to himself. Don’t go down that road.

Kieran headed to bed immediately and had no trouble sleeping this evening. But his last thought was on the man in the street. On Aura. And whether or not he would keep his commitment to stay out of Atlantic for the time being.

Something within him, subconscious or otherwise, knew he wouldn’t be gone for long.

APEX

Kieran couldn’t get out of Atlantic soon enough.

He had moved into a full-fledged march from the scene of the murder, moving quickly and as seamlessly as possible. He had indeed hoped that the AE officer he had paid off wouldn’t have been so trigger-happy, but what could he expect?

Atlantic, or Unity, or subsection F, or however anyone wanted to refer to it was a shithole. And he knew people would look down on him for thinking so, but it was simply what he thought.

There were three types of subsections in Kieran’s minds. The first was the wealthy—the upper class of Apex, who conflated the rest of the city with cockroaches, which made sense, seeing as how they disposed of their hired help with about as much decency as you would show a rotting trash pile. Any time Kieran spent in the more wealthy subsections made him want to vomit. He distinctly remembered one trade he had made in subsection A.

A particularly well-off real estate developer, who specialized in the renovation of retrograde homes, had paid Kieran well to hand off a bribe to local squatters in a property he was hoping to renovate. After Kieran had done so, he could distinctly remember the real estate developed wiping his hands after handing Kieran payment. Even as an official worker, he was seen as scum.

The next type of subsection were subsections like B, which minded their own business. These subsections weren’t always impoverished, but they were filled with people focused on survival over grand ideations of freedom. These people flourished within an unfair system by focusing on doing everything necessary to keep AA out of their business. In essence, Kieran’s people.

Then you had places like Atlantic. Places where people were focused on escaping the system, bucking the government, stuff like that. And while a small part of Kieran respected such a strict focus to ideals, the result of that focus was tyranny. AA and AE officers would flood the place with killings in the street, strict rules on travel and work, anything to keep the whispers of rebellion squashed.

The net result was a place Kieran disliked being in most of all. Because they weren’t shitholes because they were dirty, no, it was because the endless skirmishes between citizens and officials left the subsections more like warzones than homes, with eyes everywhere and Kieran’s type of work impossible to perform.

As Kieran made his way out, he locked eyes with a woman that looked roughly his age.

She was frail, perhaps not starving but simply lighter than she probably ought to be. Her eyes held a beauty to them, which shone through darkened rings that Kieran couldn’t identify as makeup or lethargy. She clutched a litter grabber in her hand. But what made her notable wasn’t that she had locked eyes with him.

She seemed to note him. Size him up from the moment they saw each other. And that alone was enough to make him anxious.

He broke eye contact and made his way to the closest train station he could. As he had thought earlier, he intended never to enter Atlantic again.

***

The rest of the day saw a mostly routine operation. Kieran headed back into subsection B, first stopping in Port Apex since the noon shipment would have long since arrived. The waifish port boys handed Kieran a few packages marked for him.

Inside, he found the usual contraband. Large, ornate swords that a client near the center of Apex had ordered to hang in his home. A few pieces of jewelry likely picked from the corpses of former aristocrats buried on Vashon Island, where Apex sent all of the dead. A disc, likely containing either old movies or pornography, ordered by a particularly neurotic boy in The Square.

He packed up the things and went out to make a few deliveries.

Over the next few hours, Kieran did what he did best; dropping off products, picking up payments, and taking new orders from those who knew and stopped him. By the evening, he had likely racked up a few hundred dollars all to himself. Perhaps this day was going his way after all.

As he was making his way to Port Apex to take a shower and finally sleep, he was stopped by a familiar face; a repeat customer of his that went by Cale.

“Yo, Key!” He called out to Kieran. When he turned, he saw the younger man approach. Cale had been a port boy up until about a year ago when he enlisted as an AE junior officer. Or, in other words, an informant.

“What’s up, Cale?” Kieran asked. “I was just heading back home.” He hoped Cale would take his polite hint and leave him be.

He did not.

“I’ve got a really easy job for you. Pays as well as I can manage, but…it has to be done now.”

“Sorry, Cale,” Kieran apologized, already turning away from the young man, “I’m done for the day. But tomorrow—”

“This can’t wait,” Cale interrupted, his tone sharper than before, which stopped Kieran flat.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Cale started, then stopped. His words came in short, pained bursts. “Just one message, delivered verbally, tonight.” He pulled a sizable sum from his pocket. “I’ll pay you three hundred, flat, right now.”

“Excuse me?” Kieran asked. He tried to stop himself, but he simply couldn’t. Cale was offering to double his nightly income. There had to be a catch.

“You just gotta head to a tavern out in Atlantic for me.”

…and there’s the catch.

“Shit,” Kieran muttered. “What’s the message?”

Cale straightened up. “You gotta promise to deliver it, and tell no one else, okay? Then I’ll tell you.”

Kieran rolled his eyes. “I’m a Runner, Cale. I’m not going to go around spilling your secrets.”

“…and promise not to laugh.”

“Okay,” Kieran said. “I promise. On my life, sure, just tell me!”

Cale took a moment, then leaned in. “You’ll head to the tavern on Bayview and Rainier. Look for a bartender by the name of Teegan. Make sure it’s her, then tell her…” Cale’s cheeks turned beet red. “Tell her Cale needs his leather next time we play.”

Now Kieran’s cheeked turned red.

“You swore you wouldn’t laugh,” Cale muttered.

Kieran stifled himself as best he could. “Cale, buddy, You couldn’t have told her yourself?”

“We don’t see each other often, okay?” Cale defended. He started to walk away.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Kieran started, “You guys can do whatever you’d like together. I’m just saying—”

“Just go, okay!” Cale called back as he left. “Atlantic has a curfew, you know!”

***

Sitting in the corner of the train to Atlantic, Kieran couldn’t help but think about the lunacy of today.

He had started out contributing to a man’s murder, swearing off Atlantic and thinking he’d never return…only to be back before the end of the day. Passing on what was no doubt some sexual request between two lovers. Or what was assumedly two lovers. Kieran couldn’t help but wonder the specifics there.

Still, money was money, and money didn’t discriminate or dabble in morality, and by extension, neither did Kieran.

He found the tavern with little incident, asking for directions once or twice. He was much calmer this time around, as he had left his bag home and could easily pretend he was out for pleasure, not business. While the Runners in this subsection may not like it, he was free to travel as he pleased.

And, once he found this Teegan person and he was sure no one suspected a thing, he could discreetly pass along the message, have a drink, and head home on the last train before curfew—quite a simple task.

Inside, Kieran found a different size of Atlantic than he had seen before. Here, people played darts and board games on desks along the walls. They talked and joked and laughed. There was even a guitarist and vocalist in the corner, adding to the cacophony of noise being generated inside.

Kieran had hoped this was a part of town a lot more like subsection B than the rest of Atlantic. A place where people lived, played, and mostly avoided confrontation.

He picked a spot at the end of the bar, ensuring to nod to the people he had eye contact with. For a visit such as this, he needed to blend in by being just another friendly patron.

As the bartender approached, Kieran waved her down.

“Rum and simple syrup if you don’t mind,” he asked her. Before he turned, he continued. “And do you know if Teegan is on shift today?”

“You’re speaking to her,” Teegan replied.

“Awesome,” he casually continued. He tried to think of a polite way to phrase the message but wasn’t sure if it were even possible. “I’ve got a friend that wants you to bring leather next time you guys meet. Goes by Cale? Any of that ring a bell?”

Teegan straightened up a bit and blushed. She nodded, momentarily speechless.

“And I really do want that drink, by the way,” he said. She snapped out of her momentary embarrassment and nodded.

“Thanks for the, uh…message,” she managed to say. “I’ll get you that drink.”

And with that, Kieran turned to face the center of the tavern and leaned with his back to the bar. An easy job. Kieran might have even thought the day had ended perfectly if it hadn’t been for the ale that just splashed at his side and front.

“Wow, I am so sorry,” a voice came.

“Woah, shit,” Kieran let out. “You’re good. You just caught me off-guard. You okay--?”

His question was stopped suddenly as he saw who had spilled the drink.

Those same eyes, that same frame. It was the girl from earlier.

Fuck.

His mind raced to think of his options as she hastily apologized and tried to clean his shirt. But before he could come up with something, she continued.

”I saw you earlier! At the other tavern. I’m Aura.”

Kieran thought hard about if he had met any Aura’s before, but he drew a blank in this moment. He had been caught completely off-guard, completely expecting to have the evening to himself. Now he had to figure out what this Aura girl wanted, why she had so clearly sought him out, and what it all meant. God, he hoped she wasn’t another Runner. He didn’t need another dispute on his hands.

“You like darts?”

‘Real subtle,’ Kieran thought to himself. He thought for a moment, then saw Teegan return with his drink. He slipped out a few dollars (plus a tip for her embarrassment) and handed it to her.

“I haven’t played much,” Kieran answered truthfully. He was no doubt going to have to lie over the course of this conversation, so the more truth he gave her, the easier it would be for him to remember. He took and shook her hand briefly. “And yeah, I did see you earlier.”

If this Aura person was hoping he would volunteer precisely why Kieran had been in town and involved in that shooting or even his name, she had another thing coming. She was going to have to ask for herself. And he was going to have to figure out how to handle this situation, and fast.

“I am down to learn, though,” he continued, hoping to be invited to a game. A game meant he could easily think. Easily focus. And hopefully stall until curfew, when Aura would likely have to head home, and Kieran could easily travel freely with his Runner’s Stamp and ID.

He took a large swig of the rum he had ordered, downing almost half of it at once. He figured he’d need it.

APEX

Kieran followed his contacts instructions carefully, which led him toward the edge of the subsection—a particularly seedy part of Apex known as The Stacks.

This section of town used to be a sprawling roadway network; connecting hundreds of vehicles heading into town from all directions. It was said that the average citizen usually had their own car; taking these vast concrete networks for hundreds or thousands of miles.

These days, The Stacks look much more like labyrinth than a network.

Appearing as a garbled concrete mess, with half destroyed and collapsed bridges littering the ground, the only vehicles using the network ahead (or rather, what as left of it) were AA and AE vehicles. Underneath, the space between the ground and the concrete above was filled with vast stacks of shipping containers, old vehicles, garbage, and whatever else others could get their hands on.

His entire subsection was nowhere near wealthy, but this might have been the most desolate of all of the neighborhoods he frequented. On the other side of these stacks was Atlantic, so he was thankful for this journey leading towards his destination rather than away from it.

He went through the information he had in his head concerning the day’s orders. His mark was named Aren Wrey. He had a sister named Anna. Anna lived in the stacks. Aren was wanted for Suspected Public Endangerment—the AE’s blanket-term for troublemakers. Anna would likely not cooperate easily.

Kieran hated himself on some small level for having to enact the bidding of the AE. Runners strived for neutrality; working as an equally uninterested and uncaring aspect of the battle between the lower classes and the upper echelons of society itself. Runners worked in this manor because they knew if they didn’t tow the line, they would just as easily be replaced, subjugated, or much worse.

Many of the poorer subsections in town worked on a “three-times forgiveness” system. It ensured the illusion of mercy was stronger in the lower classes. Runners didn’t have such luxuries. If Kieran was caught even so much as associated with suspected rebel leaders, it was an instant execution.

Still, while this remained public knowledge, it didn’t stop the animosity many people had towards Runners. There would always be conflict, and frankly, Kieran was used to leveraging his position to keep moving forward.

It wasn’t about kindness. Not in Apex. It was always about survival.

Kieran wandered the dark, damp bottom floor of The Stacks in search of his contact; a waifish boy no older than fourteen. He didn’t charge much for being a Runner Contact, but he certainly made it clear he took no joy in assisting Runners. Not that it mattered to Kieran. This was survival, and it was never personal.

“Behind you,” the contact called out in a high, echoey voice. Kieran turned to see the boy protruding from the side of a residence. As with most people in The Stacks, the boys legs were matted up with gray mud from the knees down. No amount of washing would get rid of the color.

“I’ll make it quick,” Kieran said.

“Please do,” the contact replied, “I can’t promise people like seeing your lot around here these days.”

“Oh?” Kieran asked. “So I take it you don’t have any new work for me?”

The contact shook his head. “Runners are always trouble in The Stacks. Speaking of, what trouble do you have for me?”

Kieran leaned in. “Looking for an Anna Wrey,” he said, quieter now. The contact seemed to have no reaction to the name, which was good in Kieran’s mind. The boy pointed a bony finger to a deep green shipping container about five floors off the ground.

“You arresting her?” The boy asked.

“No,” Kieran replied, already moving away. “Not her at least.”

--

Kieran knocked three times on the door, and rattled off the usual required summons: “Anna Wrey? This is Transportation Technician #3B149. As per the authority invested in me by Apex Enforcement, I am requesting entry to ask you a few questions—”

The door opened before Kieran could get the last few words out. From the darkness, a voice:

“Make it quick.”

Kieran nodded, and entered the home.

In here, the only light that seemed to come through was a small gash in the top of the shipping container. The asymmetric light lit up the back-left of the container, which contained a small, dusty bed. Trash and debris seemed to cover the rest of the area, and Anna-or whom he assumed to be Anna-had made her way back to a small patch of bare floor on which she had been sitting.

“I was expecting a Runner sooner or later,” she spoke, face angled downward so as to keep what remained of her identity a secret. All that Kieran could tell at this point was her age—which seemed to be somewhere in the mid-40s. He kept himself next to the door in case a quick escape was needed.

“You want Aren, I know.”

Kieran cleared his throat. “He’s been requested for questioning, and I’ve been asked to locate him.” He figured being honest may be the best move here.

“He’s on his second strike, you know,” Anna said, eyes still to the floor. “Something tells me they have more than questions for him.”

“I would not know,” Kieran said, keeping his cards ever-closer to his chest. In actually, yes; the phrasing on Aren’s summons was standard for a summary execution. His body would likely be tossed on top of the other bodies on Mercer Island by the end of the week.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Unity,” Anna said, using the unofficial and banned name for the Atlantic subsection. Not that Kieran was interested in correcting her. “Look for a tavern in the innermost square, ran by a couple a bit older than me. He told me he’d be there this morning if I wanted to come by.”

“This morning?” Kieran asked. When’d he tell you this?

“A month, maybe,” Anna said. She coughed twice, then took a swig from a nearby bottle. “Said it’d be the last opportunity for us to meet before he skipped down.”

“So why aren’t you there now?” Kieran asked. Normally he wouldn’t, but considering the strange circumstances here, he was curious.

“The same reason I’m ratting him out to you,” Anna replied. “He took every dollar we had with him when he left. All because he was out fucking around and making a bad rap for himself.” She stood and leaned in closer to Kieran. “Whatever comes his way, he deserves it.”

Kieran thought for a moment. On one hand, this meeting had gone smoothly. Too smoothly. Yet on the other, these situations weren’t entirely uncommon. Dire financial situations often meant family sharing resources to survive. Mix money and family, and these sorts of things could happen easily.

These were some of the few moments that Kieran found himself thankful for his lack of ties. No family and very few friends meant no enemies. Kieran remained invisible; invulnerable to the sorts of familial betrayal he had found himself a part of on this day.

Kieran thanked her for the information, handed her a small payment for the trouble, and set off once more. He was thankful this mission just got a whole lot easier; in fact, he likely wouldn’t even need to find a Runner for Atlantic. To pay off. From here, it was just a simple payment to the AE officer in the area to write down a different subsection, and it was smooth sailing from there in out. Hell, he might even have time for his other goals for the day after all.

--

Kieran crossed into Atlantic without too much trouble.

Subsections often had checkpoints to keep track of the people heading into and out of certain areas. This was often stated as a means to keep people safe, but more often than not, it made it much easier for AA to track down whoever they needed to.

As a Runner, these crossing simply involved showing the officers on guard his paperwork and Runner’s Stamp. During today’s crossing, he essentially breezed past the checkpoint.

Atlantic was one of the many subsections to have an assigned work schedule. Most people here woke up, received their orders, and went about their day. As such, Kieran kept a low profile and slipped past the Sanitation and Maintenance workers that were making their daily routes.

He slipped his bag onto a clip on his back and covered it with a longer jacket. It was his hope that most people saw him more as a random stranger than a Runner. God knew the trouble he’d be in if other Runners knew what he was up to.

Kieran observed the street clean up crews carefully. A boy here. A older man there. A thin woman about his age down a side street. These were often the silent watchers of Atlantic, and all of Apex for that matter. The people out all day; seeing passers-by, taking mental notes. Kieran knew he was walking into one of the most antagonistic subsections against Apex Authority today, and by proxy, antagonistic towards himself. Antagonism that had only grown worse since the recent shortages had began.

Looking up once more from his thoughts, he spotted the old tavern Anna had told him about a few buildings down from where he was. He was just about to head that way when a large arm blocked his path.

“Finished with your daily duties already, are ya?” the boorish AE officer said. He shoved Kieran for good measure. “I haven’t seen your type around here. You’re dressed too well for this.”

Kieran didn’t hide his distain. He had no time for this. “Runner #3B149, official business, so do you mind?”

The officer gave Kieran an incredulous look, as if he had been offended by Kieran’s tone. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he muttered out. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re in 3F, not 3B.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware,” Kieran said. His eyes looked to the left and the right. This was not the sort of conversation he wanted to have in public. “And if you leave me alone I can make that discrepancy worth your while.”

The officer frowned. “Show me your stamp and papers then, Runner boy.”

Kieran had just about had it with this officer. He angled himself against a wall, as to ensure no one but this asshole would see his paperwork. He handed the stamp and papers to the officer, who gawked up and down at them before throwing them back at Kieran. “Shit,” he said, “Guess you are a Runner.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Kieran snapped back. AE officers liked to talk a big game, but AA looked at the officers and the Runners as equal under their jurisdiction. And as much as it probably pissed off this particular officer, Kieran was sure the brute in front of him now knew that and wouldn’t push too hard at Kieran’s rudeness. Disputes between AE workers were often resolved by the cleanliness of one’s record, and Kieran’s was spotless. “So do you want to make some money today or not?”

The officer grunted, “just hurry it up, would you?” and stepped out of the way.

As he did, Kieran couldn’t help but notice the three or four street cleaners in the area that had seen the altercation and how easily Kieran had got the officer to stand down. And judging by their looks, he was sure he had already made too much of a reputation for himself here already.

“If a man runs out of the tavern I’m about to enter,” Kieran said in a low voice to the officer, “do me a favor and arrest him. Alive, preferably.” Kieran waited for the officer’s nod of understanding, and walked off.

Making a mental note never to come back to Atlantic after today, he stepped into the tavern.

Inside, aside from the couple behind the counter, there was only one man; sullen and looking downward at his drink. He looked up quickly after hearing Kieran approach, but quickly looked down again.

Expecting to see Anna, no doubt.

Kieran took a seat next to the man. He hated this part particularly. He shot a glance up to the couple behind the counter which screamed ‘you don’t want to see this.’

They seemed to take a hint, and slipped away.

“Aren, I presume,” Kieran said to the man, looking forward instead of at him.

“Please,” Aren stammered. “I have money, I have information. There was a woman here a short while ago. She said something about a meeting tonight. Maybe that could—”

“Aren,” Kieran said again, and the dire tone he struck seemed to shut Aren up. “This isn’t something you can talk your way out of.”

“Please man,” Aren continued. Kieran could hear his voice quiver as he spoke. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Did you take all of Anna’s money?” Kieran asked. The man’s silence answered his question, and cleared Kieran’s revolve of the situation. At least Kieran could sleep better at night knowing at the very least, this guy had stolen money.

Finally, the man spoke. “That money wasn’t just hers, you know.” He looked to Kieran. “It was mine, too.”

“This is how this is going to go,” Kieran said, changing the subject. “I’m going to leave, and the officer outside is going to bring you in for questioning.”

“Bullshit,” Aren shot back. “They’ll shoot me in some back alley for my third strike.”

“Or,” Kieran said, continuing his earlier thought, “You can run, in which case, they’ll shoot you right here in the center of town.”

“My own sister,” Aren said to himself. “Fucking bitch.”

Any empathy Kieran had for this man was gone by this point. “Which way are we doing this, Aren?”

Judging by the glass smacked into Kieran’s head the next second, it seemed like this was going to go the hard way.

Aren had bolted from the tavern before Kieran had hit the ground. His head rung with pain immediately, but judging by the fact that the bottle Aren had hit him with remained intact, he was immediately sure the worst injury he had sustained was a mild concussion. Not so bad.

As for Aren? He took three steps outside the taven before the AE officer blew his brains out right there in the streets.

Kieran was more than finished with this task. He stepped outside and approached the officer—slipping him a hundred dollar bill.

“You will write this incident as occurring in #3B, not #3F. Understand?”

The officer looked to the money, then to Kieran, then nodded.

With that, Kieran marched away from Aren’s still-bleeding corpse, hoping to be out of Atlantic within the hour.

He wasn’t sure who or what had marked him, but he was sure he was a marked man by this point. And he didn’t care to stick around and find out the consequences of that.

APEX

It wasn’t particularly easy for Kieran to pay attention during his daily AE briefing. Particularly when his daily task was a low-stakes sting operation like the one Honeyman was delivering this morning.

Well, the hangover didn’t help either.

Honeyman slipped the crude, jagged-edged orders across his desk towards Kieran with his usual flourish. The page would flip and twirl out in the air as he passed it on. It was as if Honeyman was Kieran’s student; turning in an assignment he was particularly proud of completing.

Kieran probably took a full second before slowly dragging his eyes from Honeyman’s thick, spindly eyebrows down to the page. The words SUSPECTED PUBLIC ENDANGERMENT and REQUESTED FOR QUESTIONING rang out in thick bureaucratic ink on the page. Code for ‘this one is rocking the boat, and we’re going to fix it.’

“…shouldn’t be too hard, now,” Honeyman continued. Goddamn, those eyebrows nearly connect to his hairline. “Right, Key?”

Kieran gave a slow nod as if to say, 'Hey, fuckface, I’ve done this daily for the past decade. Do you really need my positive reinforcement right now?' However, not wanting to stir the pot and listen to the man drone on another twenty minutes about mutual respect, Kieran conceded. “It’s not a problem.”

“You really need to lay off that stuff, Key,” Honeyman said. He had really picked up on calling him ‘Key,’ recently, hadn’t he? He’d heard the port boys call him that one time about a month ago on the way up for the daily briefing, and now he couldn’t go three sentences without inserting it in there. “You can see it in your eyes. At least drink some water.”

“Water’s bad here, you know that,” Kieran replied. Which really wasn’t a lie. Trying to get anything decent in Port Apex in terms of water was a shitshow. He usually had to travel upwards to The Square to get some and cart it back like a mule. An unpleasant task he reserved for the day of the week Honeyman left him the fuck alone.

Honeyman nodded. A rotund man of who-knows-how-old, he had always acted as paternally as he could during these meetings. Like a jaunty, filthy Santa Claus, or so Kieran figured. All he knew about that character was through the decaying kid's books the port boys had given him as a child.

In any case, Honeyman had been his AE rep for as long as he could remember. Retired from working the sectors, Honeyman had set himself up a cushy, warm desk job only interrupted by his routine visits to the Runners. So far as Kieran knew, there was him, some older gentleman who needed to retire soon before snapping his back mid-route, and a new girl Kieran hadn’t gotten to meet yet. Whenever the older Runner finally gave up the ghost, Honeyman would have to find a new Runner to fill his required three slots. Though Kieran was sure Honeyman would be perfectly fit to find a way to lie to his own bosses.

That’s typically the way it went with the Runner system. Good old Apex Enforcement would send a representative out into the field six times a week to meet with the three appointed Runners for the subsection. Traditionally, these AE reps would give whatever tasks came in from their higher-ups, the Runners would finish the jobs, plus whatever work they could scrounge up themselves, and the reps would collect a flat twenty percent of the profits.

But Honeyman didn’t like doing it that way. Instead, he and Kieran devised a system that better suited them both. Honeyman came in for his daily briefing as 8am sharp. He’d give whatever tasks came down from the higher-ups off, and send Kieran on his way. Kieran would complete the task and all of the work he could find otherwise, and the next day, hand over the entire amount from the tasks given to him by Honeyman. That way, Kieran kept all of his profits from the non-AE work, Honeyman would skim off some for himself, and the remaining amount still looked like twenty percent of a hard day’s work for Kieran. On paper, and according to AE management, Kieran was one of the fastest runners in the city. In reality…well, he was still pretty damn good.

Honeyman (or Mike, as Kieran saw his boss call him once) liked to run this racket with all of his Runners, and to be fair to him, Kieran really preferred this method. He got to keep eyes off of Honeyman, keep eyes off of himself, and make more than he could have otherwise. The only real problem was Honeyman’s incessant nice-guy approach to Kieran. Any empathy Honeyman showed to Kieran was fake, and both of them knew it.

“Maybe I can talk to my guys in Public Works,” Honeyman continued. Kieran's eyes darted from his hairy face to the puff of curls poking out of his shirt. God, did the man own shears? “Water’s pretty short, but if I pitch it as a necessity for the port boys, then maybe it’ll pan out.”

“Yeah, we’d certainly appreciate it,” Kieran said, barely hiding his disinterest. “So just the one?” he asked, looking down to the standard Suspected Public Endangerment notice.

“Yup,” Honeyman said, clipped and short. He clearly wanted to discuss water infrastructure further, for some reason. “They told me he was a tricky ‘un to get, so be careful on your hunt, ya know?”

“Yeah, I will be,” Kieran said. He snagged the paper and rose, perhaps a bit too quickly, and smashed his head pretty hard on the low ceiling. Shit, he wondered to himself, 'Am I still drunk?'

“Take care, Key,” Honeyman said. He rose slowly and offered a hand. Kieran grabbed it and offered a curt shake. He then led Honeyman out of the room. He was sure the others needed it.

As a makeshift office, Kieran and the port boys turned one of the old rotting shipping containers into a glorified meeting space. There were basic lights, a desk, some chairs, and even a massive barrel of some terrible substance one could easily get drunk on. Typically the space was needed for important business planning for Port Apex. Or, in other words, a place for the boys to get drunk secretly, and without pissing off the random patrollers in AE.

As predicted, Kieran saw two teenage boys hanging out on the perimeter, patiently awaiting their turn. Kieran gave a slight nod, which instantly triggered the boys into a full-on sprint to the shipping container.

It was still weird, to see people younger than him looking up at him as an authority figure. Just a few years ago, Kieran was like them—a wandering boy, hanging around the port, looking to feed off scraps and make a decent buck helping get the shipments in town.

Thank god he became a Runner and got past that life.

--

It took Kieran a solid hour to cross town on foot from Port Apex to The Square, where his mark lived. The pathway was rough, but not exactly hard to traverse. Straight roads went from muddy to dirty over the course of the walk, as Kieran slowly shook the mud off his boots from Port Apex and managed to cross into civilization. He had once heard that Port Apex, long ago, was built on top of landfill taken from hills destroyed in the main hub of the city. Funny, Kieran though, how things must have been back then.

Entering The Square, Kieran was always surprised at the number of original buildings still standing. ‘Retrograde Construction,’ was what Apex Authority often used to refer to the buildings built before the Blight. Most people just called them retrograde buildings.

Regardless, Apex Authority was slowly were working their way through each; either attempting to fix up the dilapidated buildings or condemn them. There weren’t many working machines big enough to take the buildings down, so condemned retrograde buildings usually became a hive for illicit activity.

In other words, became promising prospects.

Kieran knew a good contact to start with for finding his mark this morning; a butcher on the street corner of 2nd and Main. He was glad his mark was in The Square, which was one of the few areas in his subsection with street names. The others were often so dense and so crowded, the buildings would rise on one side of the street and connect overhead to the other. Giving proper direction to a shop you have to climb through a building like a fucking labyrinth to get to is not exactly feasible. And his subsection was considered one of the nicer ones.

“Hey, a surfperch needs a hole in its fin,” Kieran said next to his contact. Recognizing the coded message, his contact gave him a curt nod before turning back to the customers. He was particularly busy today.

Once he cleared out the crowd of people, the contact turned to him.

“Hey, Key, long time no see.”

“Don’t act happy to see me,” Kieran shot back, to the bemusement of the contact. Kieran knew his name, but it was easier to think of him as a means to an end. Neutrality was crucial when working as a Runner. Gangs, factions…each wanted loyalty, but a Runners to work above the fray. Pick no side. Simply continue to work for both.

“What can I do you for?” the contact said.

Kieran slipped the paper Honeyman gave him over to the contact, who glanced over it for a moment.

“Yeah,” the contact muttered, “I know this one. Lives over in Atlantic.”

”Atlantic?!”

Atlantic was a real piece of work. Lots of feuding families, fighting to be King of the Hill. What made it wore was Atlantic wasn’t in his subsection. Which was a big fucking problem for him.

“Yeah, just moved last month,” the contact continued. “Said AE was hot on his tail.”

“They are,” Kieran noted. “Know what he was up to?”

The contact shrugged. “Beats me. Be bought a five-pound trout every week for years. Came up a month ago, mentioned I wouldn’t be seeing him anymore, and then scattered off. I found out he moved to Atlantic from his sister. She’s the one buying the trout now.”

“Where does she live?”

The contact rattled off the directions, and Kieran nodded. He slipped twenty dollars to the man and made way for the sister.

He scrambled his brain to remember which Runners ran that subsection, but he couldn’t recall. But in reality, it didn’t really matter. Runners were fiercely territorial, and if he got caught operating in that subsection, the Runners there would wage war. Most likely, Kieran would need to find one of the Runners in that subsection and cut them a part of the profit for completing the task. He couldn’t (or wouldn’t) tell Honeyman, and he’d had to pay off the AE he tipped off for the pickup to report it as District B, Subsection 3, instead of whatever district Atlantic was in.

Essentially, this job just got more complicated, would pay less, and would probably take all morning. Which really pissed Kieran off, because he had a lot of jobs lined up for today; some of them paying better than he’s made in the past month. Most of them delivering smaller contraband items fresh off the boats, too. Easy transports that sat waiting in his satchel, ready for delivery.

It may have been morning, and Kieran may have still been hungover, but he snagged a drink on the way to the sister’s home anyway.

Lord knew he needed it.

APEX

KIERAN

Nickname(s)

“Key,” mostly, in work. Sometimes “K.” In the eyes of Apex Authority, he is known as “Transportation Technician #3B149,” which is the closest thing he has had to a legal name. He is mononymous.

Age

25 (Estimated)

Appearance

Physically athletic and fairly intimidating at six foot-two, Kieran is a little on the leaner side. Both his hair and his beard have a tendency to go on the fritz, as work overtakes time for him to take shears to them. He has several scars on both legs and arms from moving in and out of tight, sometimes sharp spots throughout Apex. He’s often dressed in a very simple, muted color palette, and almost always has a satchel with him—containing various documents and necessary paperwork.

Job Duty

Kieran works as a Runner. Technically a “transportation technician,” Runners work with the approval of Apex Authority to facilitate a wide variety of essential tasks. While Apex Authority often uses the service themselves, the service is primarily utilized by the middle and lower classes of Apex. Runners facilitate transit for letters, legal documents, cargo, and even people. Off-the-record, runners are also notoriously paid to pass verbal messages between factions, or from Apex Authority to others within Apex. Runners enjoy a few benefits of working for Apex Authority, such as their Runner’s Stamp for official messages (which operates as a sort of notary service), and general protection. That is, Apex Enforcement members (“AEs”) will investigate the disappearance/murder of a Runner. It is more than AEs offer to regular citizens, but more often than not, Runners that disappear are never recovered.

Faction Information

Runners often keep a distance from each other—working in agreed-upon sectors to keep competition light—so Kieran is more often than not, alone. He lives in District 3, subsection B, and associates most often with Port Apex. While officially, grains, produce, and other materials are brought in from nearby fields via these vessels, unofficially, a host of contraband makes its way to the shores of Apex. This contraband, ordered by the higher and lower classes alike, constitutes most of Kieran’s work.

History

Kieran was found aboard one of the many farming ships that travel to Port Apex as an infant. As an unclaimed child, it was suspected that his parents were farmers who either could not afford to keep him or did not want to. Otherwise, he was passed from port worker to port worker until he finally earned his stamp at around age 15, and has been living on his own and working as a runner ever since. His age is self-given, and an estimate.

APEX

APEX

---

AN UNKNOWN PATHOGEN RISES FROM THE GLOBAL WATER SUPPLY

HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS, THIS PATHOGEN CRIPPLES HUMANITY TO THE BRINK OF EXTINCTION

FROM THE ASHES, HIGHLY DENSE CITY-STATES ARISE FROM THE IMMUNE

ONE SUCH CITY DRAINS LIFE FROM THE SURROUNDING EARTH, MAINTAINING A FIERCE AND CRUEL PLUTOCRACY

AS THE FIELDS AND LIVESTOCK BEGIN TO ATROPHY, THOSE BENEATH THE HEEL OF TYRANNY ARE PUSHED TO THE BRINK

AND THE WHISPERS OF REBELLION HAVE ALREADY BEGUN

APEX

--

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob’s eyes could see little more than the blurred abstraction of the morning haze. The bright lights shining down on him from the windows was so much to take in. And in this moment as he tried to come back to reality, he wasn’t sure if it had been hours or days or even weeks since last he had spoken to Jane.

She permeated his mind even still. In this first moment of waking up, even now, she entered into his thoughts. And as his vision corrected to morning night, as he saw her small form across from him in the chair beside the bed, he was unsure if she was more than an abstraction. If any of this was still truly happening.

She spoke with a deep hesitance in her voice. She seemed to croak with the voice she held after long shows, or soon after she had woken up and said her first words to him in the morning. Rob blinked a few times to try and clear the last of the haze from his mind. What was happening to him? How could everything he ever felt and believed about Jane these past few weeks fade so fast? Why was he feeling so desperate for her again?

His thoughts and his logic failed him again, and he felt, for once in his life, simply in the moment with the woman in front of him.

She confessed her pregnancy next. Something Rob couldn’t truly process as it struck him. The concept of a life within Jane in this moment made so little sense. He would feel so cruel bringing new life into their torn little lives. But the emotions he was feeling in this moment couldn’t be described has he had done so many times before. He couldn’t find a way to process Jane as she spoke as he normally had in the past.

In fact, it had felt like they had become anagrams of each other. Jane was here, acting against her common code—trying desperately to show care through her words. And here was Rob opposite her, simply wanting to hold her. To pull her in close in bed and intertwine their bodies. To make her happy.

And as she admitted her love again, Rob could feel little more than regret for all the pain that had been caused between them. All of the struggles they faced after his rooftop confession. The ephemeral moment they shared as a couple soon afterwards. The complications of so many other variables, the press, the European Tour, Vicarious…the sum total of their tour. His epiphany that he had loved her had fallen so subtly by the wayside in such recent times. And he had tried so recently to fix them—oh had he tried—and in this trying, he had done nothing but push them apart. Push Jane away.

“Jane,” he said, speaking for the first time in the new day. There were a lifetime of words he could say in this moment. Eloquent speeches about how sorry he could be. Long digressions about everything that had come before and everything that could be.

But none of it could ever be necessary in this moment.

“Jane,” he said again, with just a shade of more confidence. He climbed out of the bed and approached her.

She had done what he would have. She had spoken to him in his own language. Now it was his turn to speak hers.

He approached carefully and brushed the hair from her eyes. He pulled her in close and gently pressed his lips into hers. He felt overcome in this moment. And for several seconds, not a single thought passed through his mind. Just feeling her in this moment. The touch. The taste. The sound.

He pulled away—conscious of how forward he had been.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shrinking back just a bit. He perched himself close to her, on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know how for a second, but…I lost myself.”

He could think of little else to say, so he reached his hand out and took hers within it. He rubbed gently at them—-her soft skin against his cracked hands.

“I pushed you away,” he admitted to himself. “I don’t have the right to ask for you back. And I’m probably confusing you by seemingly changing my mind so quickly. I think, even when I said we should break I tried to phrase it some other way. A part of me knew I couldn’t just walk away from this. And I don’t want to.”

He stopped for a moment, looking down.

“I thought because I loved you we needed distance. And maybe we’re supposed to. Maybe that would be the smart choice. But honestly, Jane, fuck it. I just want you.”

His eyes lifted back to hers.

“I don’t want what’s smart or what makes sense. I miss just holding you and knowing that no matter what was happening away from us, it was going to be okay.”

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob peeled his face from the glass table that lay on the balcony. Out here, the sun had long since fallen.

He shook his head and gathered his bearings. What time was it?

Down below, the bright shining lights of the cars and street lamps below all blurred together into brilliant, bleary flares. Rob felt as if he was in some sort of strange trance, that he had woken up now, as the night was simply beginning for so many other people.

Rob zipped up his hoodie and pulled himself from the chair. Within moments he was in the bedroom of the apartment building—his body limply tossing itself onto the mattress.

He felt terrible.

He wasn’t sure what had brought on this new case of depression. Thinking back on all of the experiences that he had been through this past tour, perhaps it could have been a whole slew of things. So many things to pick and choose from. Maybe it was all of it. Or maybe even none.

Rob stared slowly off to the walls of his room. Here, the fervent mixture of moonlight and street light alike illuminated his room into a warm tone. He could here the ambience of the people below him on the street—the movements of the oblivious and the happy. He wondered if they were going to be interested in going to their concert. Or maybe they had cancelled their tickets once they had heard that Vicarious was not going to show.

He was not the leader In Bloom thought he could be.

Or so he thought. Maybe it was too pretentious of him to even assume he had ever led them in the first place.

Here was Rob, or so he imagined them saying. The straight arrow. The responsible one. And in times he had felt that way. It was so easy a switch for him to turn to become someone he wasn’t truly. And while this recent strain of ability and confidence had been convincing to them or so it seemed, the only person who truly knew the truth, was none other than himself.

And he was miserable.

Half a world away from the town he knew and was growing each day to miss. Stretched out on a tour that seemed more and more like a prison each day. Beating down the things he once loved until he loathed the stage and the drums before him. At what point was the magic taken away from him? At what point did he stop wanting to do this? Had it become a slow fade or did it all happen at once. And could he ever find that again?

Rob’s eyes closed tightly and he took in a deep breath. It slowly released.

At some point this moment would need to end. At some point he would need to rise from this bed and return to the life he had already set out ahead for himself. There was no escaping the responsibility of the world beyond these walls. Beyond this solitary prison he had set himself into for the night.

And now as he lay, he lay alone. Here separated from the one person who cared deeply about him. The one person he pushed away.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

—

A low thud reverberated from the front of the apartment over to the open room Rob lay in. The sound jolted him slightly from his pseudo-fugue state. His arms pulled his body from the bed, and his legs strained to work under the weight they had not expected to hold.

He did not bother to look through the peephole. Whatever lay beyond this door had come to him. It was best if he tried to face that fact. If he tried to take any responsibility and live up to those great expectations. He tried on a weak smile as he opened the door.

And outside was Jane.

Her body was nestled against itself—uncomfortable yet at ease on the floor below them. Her facial expression was loose and weak—even in this state Rob could see the strong effects of alcohol on her. Even the way her saw her gently breathing. In and out. In and out.

Without instruction his body moved to her. His arms slipped around her back and her legs and picked her up. He carried her closely to him and set her down upon his bed.

And here she continued to sleep. Loose blonde tendrils streaked across her clear face. Her eyes fluttered beneath their lids in dreamlike sleep. From her face down across her body she looked so tortured and beautiful.

And God, was she beautiful.

Rob felt so desperate to awaken her in this moment. How was she feeling? What was she thinking? What does she want?

It was like the past indiscretion on his part had never happened. He wanted her now. He finally could truly see it. He wanted her so terribly, so passionately, but why?

After all this time and all across this tour, why?

He did not know. He could not think. The call to sleep came quickly after he had moved her into this bed. And while the decisions he had made forced him not to hold her close, it took all of his energy that night to crawl into bed next to her, and feel her warmth from a distance.

She was what he had given up. Only she could allow him back.

Because, at least in this moment, he felt the strongest duality he had ever felt. So in awe at what he had had, and so ashamed of what he had given up.

Whatever happened when next they woke, he would have to tell her. He would have to apologize for what he had done. Up here in this small apartment—this little hideaway from the rest of it all—he would have to find a way to fix all of this. And become what the others had expected.

Maybe that’s what Jane did to him.

She made him want to be better.

And as the night faded later and Rob curled up into himself, he watched Jane’s body slowly breathe just inches away from him. And as he gently traced the tips of his fingers across her back, he wanted so desperately to have her back in his arms.

But only she could decide that.

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

After the mental and physical exhaustion of the day, adderall and alcohol were the only things that got Rob through the set.

He had a typical habit about him that proved more than reliable on this night—that, if asked to perform, he would perform his heart out, no matter the consequences to his body.

By the single’s song, the weak wound upon his arm tore once again at the stitches, letting blood pour out again. The blisters on his fingers ripped once more, and none of the sedation in him could prevent him from grimacing at the pain. It was as if he was literally falling apart at the seams.

In front of him, Jane seemed to be suffering in a similar manner. He could only see little more than her silhouette and his own hoodie she wore. For some reason he found it odd she had chosen to wear it. If he had been more sober he might have worried about missing some sort of signal—in the state he was in, he could merely register it.

After the final song ended, Rob tossed the bloody sticks into the crowd and moved up to the mic.

“I don’t know if I’d touch those if I were you,” he said, with just a hint of a slur. The couple that caught the sticks seemed to pay it no mind, thrusting them in the air as if it were a grand prize.

Hey; at least someone was having fun on this tour.

Rob moved off to the side of the stage and made for the green room, grabbing the record and moving outside of the venue to meet his hosts in the agreed-upon spot. He found them soon after, and thanked them for coming. Luckily, he had managed not to bleed upon what was probably a prized possession for the hosts.

On he way back into the venue, he caught a glimpse of a sulking shadow many feet away. He turned his head to look.

In the bitter cold, Jane looked down—her face buried within herself, her small body softly shaking.

He felt himself desperately wanted to move over to her. To hold her close and tell her how sorry he was for what he had done. He had never wanted to ask for distance from her—not truly. But after the wake of what had come out into the press, everyone needed some time to get their own heads on straight. But…maybe he didn’t have to be so cold. Maybe he didn’t have to do this.

But there was no turning back. No reclaiming what he had said. No revoking what had already been done.

He entered the venue and mindlessly helped the band pack up. And luckily, the pills kept him focused enough to remain composed, if only for the night.

—

Rob was deliberately the last of the entourage to board the bus—having taken an hour to bandage his new wounds. Each other member seemed to have gone to bed in exhaustion, with no one member seeming to want to deal with or talk with the others. Save for Lyla, who sat quietly on the couch—legs crossed under her, hands spread across a keyboard.

Rob grabbed a beer and sat down on the floor across from her—not wanting to encroach on her space. He leaned against the cabinets behind and sighed.

“How’ve you been?” Rob tossed out into the air. He wasn’t too sure how else to begin. Not after all that lay before.

Lyla put on a weak smile. “Alright. I’ve got a lot of folks back home concerned about me, but I don’t think they quite understand what’s gone on.”

“I don’t think anyone has,” Rob joked. “If anyone has, then….well they better tell me. I’d like to know.”

Lyla had an odd air of calmness about her. Unlike talking to Austin or Aaron, she was little more than a stranger to Rob—someone that’s comfortable enough for him to talk to more as a confessional than as a friend, while still feeling solace in knowing that they understood where you were coming from.

How often did Jane talk to her?

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Lyla said. “I didn’t think we’d have tomorrow off.”

“Me either,” Rob admitted. He looked over to Grant, who had just pulled the bus out of the venue—the deep rumble of the road fading back in underneath them. A feeling he felt empty without. “Where to, Grant?”

Grant spoke without looking back. “I was going to head straight to Naples. Unless you two had another idea.”

Rob looked up to Lyla, who seemed to be ambivalent. “What would you recommend?” Rob finally asked Grant.

Grant thought for a moment, then spoke: “Florence is a beautiful city. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to say, but I have an uncle that lives there. There’s not many concerts in Florence, so I rarely see him through work.”

“You deserve a break as much as any of us, Grant,” Rob said. “I don’t see any harm in spending the day off in Florence.”

Grant nodded, making a left turn. “I appreciate it.”

Rob’s eyes swerved back to Lyla’s. “Have any relatives in Florence?” He asked lightly.

Lyla shook her head. Rob tried to offer another smile, but could only close his eyes and lean back once more. The adderall was starting to wean away.

“Play something nice, would you?” He asked softly. Even through closed eyes, Rob could tell Lyla moved to dim the lights, then pulled up a Youtube video: it was Pyramid Song by Radiohead—an old favorite of his. He stifled a laugh and turned his head. From his vantage point, he could see the world swirling past in angled, blurred hues.

He let his mind float away with the song’s hypnotic, unconventional tones. And soon he was lulled away to sleep.

There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.
There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.
There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.

—

Morning caught him unconventionally—his back was the first to wake up, seemingly in quiet agony.

His eyes opened to find himself still laying on the floor near the door—his body laying belly-down, his arms and legs blocking the exit of the door from the passengers that had most-likely left.

The low rumble of the bus had faded away. On the couch, no one sat. In the air, all was silent.

Rob couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at his position. The thought of his bandmates finding him like this, essentially having to step over him and hope he was alright—was agonizing enough. Rob didn’t ever want public sympathy. And now, after what had happened between he and Jane, all he wanted was privacy.

He slipped his phone towards his face, and turned on the screen.

One Missed Call From: Zoe

Was it worth calling her back? Why did she call? How was she feeling? Was was Jane feeling, for that matter? The world flooded back into him like air to his lungs.

No. Not today. It was too complicated—too much to think of.

In he end, he decided not to find out if anyone was awake—if it were simply the early morning hours or later in the day. Rob simply pulled himself from the floor, left his cell phone on the table, and walked out of the bus.

—

Florence was nicer that Rob had expected—even after Grant’s friendly words to him. The city here was quiet, and Rob felt no need to find a way to block out the city’s ambience—nor the feeling of being watched. Things were quiet out here.

Rob took the opportunity to slip into a nearby shop and order a coffee—a much-needed pick me up after the night’s vices. He sipped on it absentmindedly until he approached a park.

Rob moved inside and found a nice bench. Here, the leaves of fall were truly into their full swing—the world was moving to the quiet cold of winter, and the last of summer needed to be shaved off. Fallen away.

Rob thought next then of Harold. If he would be worried that Rob had disappeared with no way to contact him. He had probably wanted them to interview at some point today. But at this rate? With he and Jane waiting in the wake of what had just happened? That wouldn’t happen today.

Rob next moved out to a nearby hotel; checking in with the company’s card. After talking with the woman through broken sentences and thick accents, he managed to get a room high above the streets—on the highest floor.

He entered the room soon after—enjoying the clean coziness of it, rather than the sterile cold feeling the last few hotel rooms he had gotten seemed to feel like. Here, the room was decorated with knitted fabrics and green plants. The air seemed scented with a more natural hue. The place felt foreign without so much as feeling too distant. It was perfect.

He moved to the bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and slept.

—

He awoke to the sun beating down upon his face through white curtained windows. His sore body from earlier this morning (or afternoon, he still was not sure) seemed a bit more quelled by the nap he had just taken. He was as close to enjoying this day as he felt he could ever be, given the circumstances. He had been lucky as to not be as plagued with anxiety as he had just hours ago.

He was filled instead with shame and distance. A feeling that he didn’t really want to be with anyone back on the bus. That he just needed this day to himself. To be alone.

And yet, simultaneously, in this loneliness, Rob wanted someone.

No, not someone.

He wanted Jane.

But no.

He couldn’t have her.

Not now.

Not after.

It wasn’t right.

He hesitated for another few moments, before moving to the telephone in the room and dialing a familiar number.

After only two rings, Austin answered: “This better be fucking Rob.”

“I’m alright,” Rob said, cold. “I just needed to get out.”

“Oh my fucking—“ Austin said, seeming to cut himself off. He re-composed. “Look, I get it, we all need some ‘us time.’ But we travel together on the bus for a fucking living. Do you want to go back to working at coffee shops? Do you want your life to be that again?”

“Honestly, Austin,” Rob said, “I don’t really give a shit. Because from right here, right now…it doesn’t really feel like anything will be normal again.”

“Whatever man,” Austin came back cold. “You can go off and have your transient experience but you were face down and shit-faced on the floor this morning. Don’t forget that.”

For a moment, the two were silent. Perhaps Austin regretted being so harsh so suddenly, or maybe Rob was just considering hanging up all together, but either way, Austin cut the silence short.

“Where are you at least?”

“The Convitta Della Calza. Room 208.”

“You mind if anyone visits you while you sulk? You think I should tell Jane?”

Hearing her name out loud stung, in a way. And not because he didn’t want to see her. The opposite was true. But knowing that others knew about what had happened…it wasn’t something he liked to think about.

In fact, he didn’t want to think at all. He wanted Jane over. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to walk around the city, visit odd places, enjoy every moment, fuck in odd places…all of it.

That evening at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame…how long ago it had been. How much he wanted it.

Even knowing the logical thing to do was to stay away. To not contact her romantically anymore. To solve the problem of their media image before going for the clusterfuck that seemed to be their relationship. Just…ever-growing shards of confusion and miscommunication. Beauty and rage.

“I don’t care,” Rob finally said, answering Austin’s question. How long had he been waiting? How long had he been thinking? “No one come. All of you come. Whatever you want to do, man.”

Rob set the phone down soon after and moved for the balcony in the hotel. A pack of cigarettes clid from his jacket pocket, and he filled the clear air with tar and smoke.

As he had always done.