Fodder Chapters 1-6 (Patreon)

So - it seems that Vella has gone live - sort of - after totally imploding Amazon's platform and delaying itself by a day. Thus - here are the first 6 episodes of Fodder (Note: They will appear as 3 chapters below - because each scene is an episode on Vella)

Patreon will have access to weekly chapters before Vella. I will post both episodes due to release each week by Sunday evening at the latest the Sunday before they release on Vella.

I hope that makes sense. I'm currently on vacation and sort of exhausted lol.

Anyway. I hope you enjoy this book as much as I adored writing it.

~~

CHAPTER ONE

Malfunction

JeffersonHospital looks so safe from the outside, so welcoming and nurturing, where people go to get well, but it's where I died. Where my parents abandoned the daughter they thought deceased and I never saw them again, not even when I woke up in a room full of corpses like me, an IV dripping some strange liquid into my arm. Not even when I saw the people behind the coats for what they were -- monsters with liquid silver for limbs. And my parents didn't come when I ran for days until Charlie found me.

I want to save those who are like me so they don't have to run half naked through the streets, falling into sewage tunnels and tripping over rats as they scurry and hope someone else finds them before the monsters do. Not everyone who escapes finds refuge in Reboot.

Watching the hospital exits and entrances is a full-time, self-imposed job and -- since I haven't learned to clone myself yet -- one I do alone. No one else will come with me.

If the other people at Reboot's base would just talk to me I wouldn't have to lament all this crap in my own head, but it's like this second chance, this reboot of their existence and free will, robbed them of any thirst for life. The...

There's movement off to the corner, near the side entrance, blessedly interrupting yet another downward spiral of thoughts. I shrug up my hoodie to make sure my black wiry curls are under wraps as I put down my coffee and venture out to trail it. Following them is second nature now, because I need to. If they've made it out of the hospital proper, then they're bewildered, sometimes injured and probably don't yet realize they're running for their life.

This one seems so much more alert than usual. The telltale drops of blood pool at the base of his scalp, visible because his hair is freshly shaven, visible because he found a shirt somewhere that isn't the knot tie of a hospital gown. Still, I'll follow until I can be completely certain they're not doubling back. The last time I didn't, I think they almost caught me. I'm not sure what they'd do to me, but I know it won't be pretty. Maybe it'll be sleep. I get sleep so rarely. Ever. Probably something more sinister though.

I shake my head at his route, at the limp to his gait, and the gauze still partially covering the side of his head. He's clearly never hung around this area of town before, but then again, not many people hang around hospitals. Except me. I don't count.

He stumbles into some bushes on the side of the road and I watch for several minutes as the different stages of panic cross his face. As the realization hits him that what he just escaped from wasn't quite human, and as he begins to question his perception of everything he's ever known.

The last always brings a smile to my face. I can't help it.

They killed me when I was eight, put me in stasis and left me for harvest. I've been skulking around this hospital ever since, trying to work up the courage to go in, trying to work up the know how to blow them up, trying to do anything I can to get revenge for what they took from me. But somehow I always end up back here. Back with another escapee, sitting in the same place they always sit to take stock and recap on what may or may not have just happened.

Some even convince themselves it's all in their heads and so they head back to the hellhole, to the hospital that pretends to heal, that pretends to care and then proceeds to put you on ice. And when they re-enter it, they never emerge again. It's why I haven't gone back to find the steel room again. No one else knows of a steel room, they all assume I made it up like it was some childhood fantasy. I'm scared of the hospital gobbling me up.

So I wait him out to see which one he is. Will he grasp the chance this twist of fate has given him? Or will he be someone I can't salvage?

He's alert, aware, not only of himself, but of everything around him and I can see the shock giving way to an odd sort of curiosity. Instead of moving toward Jefferson, he begins to move away, giving me my cue.

I step up behind him as he crosses near the steam vent where I am and pull him to the side with me, fingers motioned across my lips to silence him. His eyes are wild, a fist cocked at the ready. Even I, with all of my lack of martial arts training, can tell he's doing it wrong. Did he never watch a Bruce Lee movie?

"It's not me you want to punch." I say, digging in my backpack to pull out the generic pants and t-shirt I always bring with me, just in case. He can't wear that business shirt. It's far too large and rather orange. Orange is a bad color on ninety percent of people, they just don't realize it unless you tell them, and even then they ignore the advice - or maybe it's part of their programming to ignore it. Trust me, there are worse things than a man changing going on in downtown Philly.

"How do you know?"

His voice surprises me. It's more guttural than he appears, a strange timber to it. Maybe he's just scared. If he is, he's smarter than most of the people who escape.

"Because I know why your head won't stop pounding. I know what you're running from, and if you come with me, you'll be safe." Now is the time to watch them, to make one hundred percent sure I'm not saving the wrong person, that this isn't some sort of trap.

Disbelief crosses his face first, you can see it in the way his eyebrows pinch together before widening.They never believe what they've seen is real. I've lost a few at this juncture before. But he reaches acceptance far quicker than I thought he would. Maybe he believes in monsters too.

"Okay." He nods and takes the clothes from me, pulling them on over his makeshift gear with practiced ease that makes me wonder at his profession. He looks far too young to be anything other than a student, but I've been wrong about that before too. Dying at eight made me miss out on being raised around real people. Everything I know about social interaction came from American TV -- and most of the more educational stuff from BBC documentaries. I'd call David Attenborough dad if I could. I like his shows the best, and everyone loves a British accent. Me and the BBC, besties all the way.

With fresh clothes on and a cap covering his bandaged wound, it's far easier to weave in and out of people and duck through crowds, even with his limp slowing us marginally. I can hear his breath hitch several times as we pass close by those that are obviously not human.

"What are they?" he whispers, as if afraid they can hear him.

I glance at him. With twenty feet between us and them, they've got very little possibility of hearing us. "They're Chaos."

"No, seriously."

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. I wonder who the first person was to raise an eyebrow - maybe he should have patented it like they do everything these days, but they probably lived before they had patent offices.

I scowl, and I don't mean to do it to him, but realize he takes it the wrong way. Sometimes my thoughts are my own worst enemy. "We call them The Chaos, or Chaos. Not sure what they are - primeval beings, aliens, monsters... They've always been here, but you saw them as human because they wanted you to. Now you see them as they truly are because your implant fizzed.

He clutches the back of his head as we walk along a street full of little shops and the occasional cafe. I can't blame him for his obvious confusion, but I feel good that I didn't just leave him to die or wander through sewers. Sewers are even nastier than they're made out to be on television. No happy turtles and you better hope the rats don't talk to you down there. He looks like he's in pain, like his head is pounding more than it usually does. Probably why it's covered in gauze.

Then I remember my manners. "Dane." I'd hold out my hand if I might not need it quickly.

He only hesitates a moment before nodding to me. "Ravel."

That's an odd name. "I'd say nice to meet you but we need to get you to safety first. You can decide how nice you think I am after that."

He glances at me, a strange frown on his face and just for a moment, for a split second I worry that I misjudged him, that I missed a tell tale sign, that the Chaos have become far better at camouflage than we originally thought and that they're trying to find those of us they lost.

But then he nods again and I realize that was his thinking face and slot it away for potential future use.

I guide him through the city and toward the subway, only to catch him looking wistfully at a coffee shop chain that we pass.

"Can everyone else see them if they try?" He pauses and looks straight at me, almost through me.

I shrug and answer him with a question. "Did you ever see them before now?"

He glares at me.

Being cryptic is fun.

#

He seems quiet as he follows me down into the subway and through to the tunnels. The humidity of the recent rush of steam lingers in the air, more obvious as we reach the confined space. Some of the walkways are narrow and the red metal railings flake here and there, adding to the prison-like feeling it gives me. If only they knew.

I weave in and out of the people and the oblivious way they clutter the slim platforms, waiting for a subway train to empty so I can lose our scent in the crowd. The odor in the subway may be enough if the musky sour smell of stale urine is anything to go by. Of course, I have no way of knowing whether or not Chaos have any clue about scent. For all I know they have infrared imaging in their weirdly glass-like bulging eyes.

It never takes long for a subway car to arrive during the day. Never takes long for the stream of human automatons to pour from the doors, headphones in their ears oblivious to everything and everyone around them. Sometimes I wonder if they'd listen, but I've heard tales of how that goes down and so I walk past them, hoping one day their implant will fizz too.

I hide myself as best I can, and by extension anyone with me. Ravel keeps glancing at his fingers and though I'm tempted to ask why, I'm also not sure I want to know. Was he a surgeon, a prodigy, an amazing musician in the life he's been banished from?

"Not long to go now." I say in lieu of asking something more interesting.

He glances at me, lips pursed, nods once.

And I thought I didn't talk much. At least not out loud, only to myself. He doesn't need to know that. The only person in Reboot who knows that is Charlie anyway, and he's his own special brand of crazy. We all are. Everyone is. Aren't they?

Ravel stops short a little ways in. "Beneath City Hall?" He seems surprised.

Where else would we go? There's not enough room for us all anywhere else. Four acres of City Hall land is nothing to scoff at. Those tunnels under the basement? Perfect for us. Maybe he just thinks we're stupid for holing up down there. Maybe I should ask him that. Some day, when it feels more important to know him.

I shrug instead and continue leading him toward our destination. I itch to be back there. Every time someone escapes, a few more Chaos come out of their nest to search and hunt for the patient they've lost. I wonder what Ravel will think when I tell him, when I explain it all to him. No one believes at first; no one believes until they see it with their own eyes.

And then they all give up.

I'm scowling by the time we reach the next wall, but I didn't mean to. I can only tell by the ache in my jaw and cheeks I get every time I do that. It also makes me clench my teeth and considering my dental coverage is worse than your average American's that's probably not my best course of action.

Motioning him inside, I step in after him, just one more small tunnel before we get there, but I hesitate. Maybe he should be more prepared. Reaching out a hand, I stop him and shake my head in the dim emergency lighting.

He looks at me and, for a moment, I see more than the bravado he's been showing me so far, more than the shock he exhibited and more than the strange acceptance I thought he'd come to have. Not only is he in pain, Ravel is scared. I think I like him more.

"These people know more than you, but have already lost everything they might have had."

He watches me for a moment and there's this purse to his lips that confuses me. I wonder if I'm making sense. I don't often get to talk to people around my age. Strike that. I never get to talk to people around my age. Apart from the television, I have no idea what sort of lingo he uses to communicate. Suddenly, I'm not sure I should be rescuing people my age. Because if I'm not mistaken he isn't much older than me.

"You speak sort of odd for a kid."

A kid. Really? That momentary pity I felt for dumping him on top of a load of apathetic losers is gone and I cross my arms. "I've technically been dead for nine years. David Attenborough and the rest of cable television have done their best to raise me. Call me a kid when you understand what that's like." I shoulder past him and enter the door, not caring if he follows, gets hit by a train or snatched by the Chaos.

What I don't expect is his hand on my shoulder. I twist and slap it away, oddly noticing the stark contrast of his so-pale-it-glows skin against my own caramel tones. Touching is not acceptable. They touched me. They inserted those horrible fingers - silver, liquid silver, like a needle but not, extracting things I can't even begin to fathom. Experimenting. Vivid images flash through my mind threatening to take away the minor equilibrium I've been clinging to solidly for the last few months.

"Don't touch me." I grind out, breath coming in shallow gasps as I reach for the wall to steady myself.

"I'm sorry." The emotion is genuinely there in his voice, as is the alarm on his face and the apology in his stance.

I shake my head. It's not his fault. He didn't know, and I didn't realize how close I've come to the edge this last while. The monsters are real, more real to me than the air I breathe or the food I eat. That snake-like cold they exude, the shininess of scales that is smooth silver skin instead. It all leaks over from my old memories, eagerly clamoring for my current attention.

Calming myself is difficult, but he waits and his eyes don't judge and his head hangs just that little bit, shame lighting his cheeks a pale pink in the dim light. And for a few moments, I can't help but feel that tinge of pity for him again.

"I'm not a child. I never had that chance." Where I meant those words to come out as an admonishment to him, they come out lost, bewildered and tired. Oh well, one day my words will do what I intend. Maybe.

"I'm sorry." He repeats the word as if flogging it enough will make it run. That whole dead horse thing. I've never understood it. Why would you flog a dead horse? And he says something else but my tangent lost it in the mix.

"Be respectful in there." I tell him instead of enquiring what he said. It probably wasn't important anyway, but he's still looking at me so I sigh. "What?"

"Am I dead?" he whispers the words, the pink tinge gone and pale skin in its place.

"No." I whisper back at him. And I don't have the heart to tell him that he'll probably wish he was.

CHAPTER TWO

Reboot

Reboot's base is located directly under City Hall - a myriad of tunnels you can get lost in if you're not careful. I should know, I think I've been lost in them more than anyone else, ever. Except maybe Marlene. They took a lot more of her mind than they did of mine. She's so fragile. One day we'll wake and she'll be gone.

Ravel's eyes open wide as I lead him through the cavern. Rocks mix with brick foundations, melting into the earth like it's supposed to be here. It's the largest area where most of us hang out during the day. And that's just what it is - a hang out. We tap in to get electricity from alternating places so as not to become too obvious. And then there's cable. Just because we have to live cut off from society doesn't mean we're uncivilized.

Denton chooses that moment to run screaming across the main hall, his clothing optional. His off days are starting to outnumber his good ones. Maybe I need to stop thinking today, I seem to be triggering all sort of opposites.

"Interesting." Ravel's lips tug up in a smile and I decide he's probably not a bad person. Interesting would have been my choice as well.

"Not everyone escapes unscathed." And again I can hear that pity in my voice and if I'm not careful I'll direct it at myself. Since I've been down that road too many times before, it's time for me to move on. Nothing like showing a newbie around to make me feel better, to make me think of different things that might involve finally finding someone else who isn't happy with riding life out apathetically until death.

"Escapes what exactly?"

I knew the question would come. He was waiting until we were somewhere he thought we were safe, or I acted like we were safe. I'm not sure which it is, but both make sense. Charlie isn't here, and for a moment I'm close to despair, but it doesn't matter, I've introduced people here before. I can do it again, and I've heard Charlie do it dozens of times.

I grab a motley apple and a bottle of water and sit down at a table toward the back of the gathering area. Maybe the Chaos created this as a holding pen for us because they've always been here. Maybe that's why the foundations here have an ancient and permanent seamlessness with the earth.

And I need to stop thinking like that if I'm to have any hope of explaining the situation to Ravel.

"Dane?" Ravel's voice pulls me back from the brink of a tangent. Concentration is difficult for me, and no one here is qualified enough to tell me why.

"Dane?" he says my name again, and I'm not so used to people speaking to me, even here, even now. I think I like the way it sounds in his voice, that sort of guttural juxtaposition to his pretty boy face. His hair looks like he dyes it a coppery red but it's obvious from the roots it's not a dye job and anyway - his eyebrows match.

"Sit." I motion belatedly, just when I'm pretty sure he's about to yell my name instead of saying it with that odd note of concern. So concerned for a stranger. Maybe I misjudged his pretty boy origins. Charlie would be angry with me, being all judgey again.

The mottle on my apple makes patterns, sort of like clouds in the sky except this is an apple with bruises. Imperfections, like me, like all of us. Ravel included. I watch him as he waits wondering just how broken he is.

"Everyone has an implant. Your implant fizzed." I shrug at him. "You were dying, or about to die correct?"

He blinks at me and for a moment I get angry at him for it.

"I was hit by a car five days ago. Almost dodged it, but it still nicked me and smashed my head into the pavement." The grimace on his face as he brushes up a hand and removes the gauze that covered his abrasion reinforces his story.

"Coma patient?"

He nods at me, surprised, and I gesture to Marlene who sits in a corner building a house out of cards before knocking it down and giggling like a school girl. We think she's in her late fifties, but we're not entirely sure. "She was a coma patient too. We're still not certain how she got out."

Ravel blanches. Maybe I'm sadistic, but I've always loved the reactions. "I'm afraid I'm not understanding." He pauses, glancing around. I know why. He's not sure he can trust anyone, not even me. Of course, I'm the only choice any escapee has. No one else has the energy to get up off their asses and find people.

Then comes the question I'm waiting for.

"Are they real?"

He phrases it differently, and I like that too.

I nod. "Very real. When your implant fizzed, it took the filter off your eyes. Now, you see what's truly there, and you hear what they really sound like. And maybe you'll understand more than you want to."

This time he glares at me. "I want to know more. Why did I malfunction? Was I dying? What does it mean... If I hadn't, would I be dead? Shouldn't I be dead?"

Ah, there they were. All the questions. I should have known. No one is perfect.

"Every single person has a chip as far as we can tell. It's not something we can find or detect even though we're fairly sure it sits in the base of the brainstem. You know, from the bleeding when it fails." I gesture to the base of his skull and wait while he fingers it thoughtfully.

"We think this chip or implant determines and enforces the manner of our deaths. Every person we know of whose chip has failed, has been declared dead or waiting for death."

"Why?"

This time I blink because out of the dozens of people I've seen come through here, no one really asks why. "I'm not sure. We can..."

"We can?"

He makes me unsure of myself, of us and what we are. It's not Reboot, it's me and my irritability that makes me research and try and figure things out. Because I want to know why I died but didn't. Why I woke up on that slab after feeling like I was awake through hell. So, I straighten my posture and jut my chin out, one of the things I remember my mother absolutely hating and I answer him.

"I. Me."

He nods. "Then you...what can you?" I realize there's something in his past, something I want to know about because it's defined him, the way my death defined me.

"Well, I can only assume their experiments have to do with us dying different deaths, or seeming to die. I think they perform research."

He's the first person I've met who hasn't dismissed my thoughts as the hysterical ramblings of a child.

"Why do you think that?" And he pauses for just a moment, but before I can answer him he gasps softly and looks at me with a look I can't read. I hate not reading looks, but with TV as my guide I'm usually wrong anyway.

"You watch the hospital for people?"

I shrug. He makes it sound grander than it is. I only watch the place because I don't have the guts to go in and blow it up or figure out exactly what they are and why they experiment on us. Well, I haven't Googled how to make a bomb either. There are innocent people in there after all, and I have the distinct feeling blowing up some of the monsters isn't going to change anything. So I answer as nonchalantly as possible. "Yeah, I watch it, just in case I can help people come here."

He watches me a moment. "I woke up. My head was killing me. It took me a good twenty minutes between waking, reading my chart, and seeing three Chaos before I realized I needed to run. Why don't they notice straight away?"

I shrug helplessly, because I don't know the answer. "I only know that some make it out, and I try to help them get here."

Ravel looks around, as if he sees it for the first time and truly takes it in. There are dozens of people in this common area right now. The large space has a mostly dirt mixed with rock floor. Crumbling brick walls, made once and forgotten for reasons I don't know, mark off different sections. Scattered around the rest of the space are odd chairs and benches, tables and makeshift coolers and stoves. Though we're careful of the aromas we create, we still like some warm food.

Some members feebly barter with each other, some are sitting and chatting, while others look at nothing and people like Marlene play with their cards.

"They don't care, do they?" There's a strange sound in his voice, disbelief I think and I couldn't agree with him more.

"Not at all. They keep waiting until there are more of us, more people to rely on, more people to make a difference, but if they keep waiting..."

He picks up the trail of my words easily and I realize he's definitely not stupid. "If they keep waiting, they'll die here."

"They'll be notifying authorities over the next few days."

"Who?" He looks up at me, eyes wide. I've startled him.

"Them. The Chaos." Silly boy, not us.

"Of?"

"Something, anything to get the police to bring you in or shoot you on sight. You only avoid this if your family knew you were already dead and they've had a funeral."

He watches me, lips pursed again. I can almost see those gears turning.

"You can't go home." I whisper, just in case he's thinking of it. I know I thought about it, but Charlie made me realize how difficult that would be. He found my obituary from weeks past, that my parents had an open casket funeral... They said their goodbyes to whatever they buried instead of me. To surprise them would be cruel. And so I stayed, just like everyone else does.

"I don't want to go home." There's a stubborn set to his jaw, a glint in his eye that tells me it's something I really don't want to get into. I have enough to do, enough people to save.

This introductory chat has become way too heavy. Ravel needs quarters and some gear. A less derelict wall leads to our bedroom quarters, but he hasn't seen them yet. But he stands and shakes his head. "I need to get home."

Some people don't listen. "I just told you, you can't."

He leans forward, already far too close for comfort, pleading with his eyes, something my puppy dog used to do admirably well. "I need to get back there before the lies hit the airwaves. Get supplies that might help figure things out."

My ears perk up, also like my old dog. No one has ever suggested anything like this before. "And?"

"Get clothes, get money and supplies. Simple."

It sounds so tempting to me. To have someone who actually wants to fight for their life, to get revenge on the monsters that put us here. But my common sense takes over. "No. You're not allowed to do that."

"Says who?" He juts out that chin, a sudden different sheen in his eyes. The previous confusion is gone.

"Reboot. All the people before you. The way it's always been done."

He crosses his arms and scowls at me. "Didn't you say it takes time for them to get the information to our channels? To have detention orders for us?"

I think he's treating all of this a little lightly, and I frown at him. "Yes, it will..."

"So they won't have it now, straight away?"

I can already see where his logic is heading. "Well, no," I respond, because I can't really lie about it, even if I might want to, although a part of me really doesn't want to.

"Then it's the only time I can go. Any later, and I'll get caught."

Well, when he puts it that way... I can feel my shoulders sag in defeat before I fully acknowledge it myself. "Okay." I nod. "But I'll come with you so they don't find you."

Maybe this will be a good thing.

#

Of course, he never told me that he lived at Walnut Street Condominiums. I'd have left him to fend for himself if I'd known. Spoiled rich brat. The things you learn from watching the local news.

"You're kidding me?" I mutter the words, not sure if he can hear me and not really caring. His shrug indicates that his hearing is good though.

"Not my choice." Is all he says to me as the doorman ushers us through. I can feel the man's eyes following me, hostility barely restrained. He probably thinks I'm going to try and stow one of those vases underneath my hoodie.

The sheer size of the living space as we walk in blows me away. I don't know how he's ever going to adapt to living below the streets where we have none of these luxuries. No sleek, beautifully appointed kitchens. Our makeshift living areas aren't even as big as one of the bedrooms, and we have jimmy rigged showers. No more lounging in those pool-like bath tubs.

I catch him watching me and cross my arms. The place is immaculate. From the scrubbed floors to the polished wood, spotless mirrors and the shiny stainless steel in the kitchen. A faint smell of pine and lemon lingers in the air. Cleanliness taken that step too obsessive. The silver makes me shiver. I've come to hate all things steel, silvery and cold.

He returns to the kitchen in a set of his own clothes and hands me a backpack, already laden full with things I didn't watch him pack, so wary of the excess surrounding us. I shrug my shoulders into it, testing the weight. I can still run if need be. Running is the only thing I can do, only thing I'm good at. If I could attend school I'd probably be on a track team, but then I'd run and never come back, so it's probably good that I'm not.

"Dane?"

He says my name a lot and I can't be bothered answering so I hope the long-suffering look I give him is adequate expression enough.

"How long do I have before everyone knows?"

I blink at him. It's an odd question because usually people are going through many different stages of panic, including complete and utter denial. Yet here we are and all he wants to know is how much time he has. "Tomorrow, maybe the day after, depending on how bad they want you back."

"How bad who want you back?"

I whirl around, noticing Ravel's skin pale.

"Grieg. Shouldn't you be at tutoring?" Ravel barely misses a beat, but even I can hear the strain in his voice.

This Grieg smirks. "Shouldn't you be dead or something?"

I want to caution Ravel from speaking, warn him that saying too much isn't a good thing. His brother is on their radar anyway. We all are. But Ravel speaks before I can intervene.

"Mistake. I'm fine." Ravel hoists his backpack. "I just needed a few things."

Grieg raises an eyebrow and I can only assume they're brothers. "Love the new hair" He laughs and the sound is a cruel one. "You should let Dad know. He was actually upset about that whole injuring yourself thing."

Ravel's hand flies to his head and I can visibly see him gulp.

It's like Grieg sees me for the first time. "Who's this? You finally letting Amily back on the open market?" This grin isn't nice either. Not nice at all. Slimy.

I notice the color finally enter Ravel's cheeks again, and I wonder at this Amily. "No. It's not like that."

"Sure it's not." Grieg waves a hand in dismissal. "Look. I don't care what you do with your spare time, but I'm late." He pushes past us, deliberately ramming against Ravel's shoulder. At least I think it's deliberate considering there are two feet of clearance on the other side.

But Ravel stretches out a hand and stops his brother, gripping his shoulder. "Look. Just promise me you'll be careful."

Grieg laughs. "Careful of what? Crossing the street? I'm not an idiot, unlike some people."

Ravel cringes. "I know, I didn't..."

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Ravel. Mom died years ago. You don't have to bother about me."

For a moment Ravel does a pretty convincing impersonation of that fish in that Disney movie... "It's never been a bother."

I can hear the stiffness in his tone. Apparently, Grieg doesn't care though as he pulls away and leaves through the door muttering a "Whatever," as parting.

Ravel doesn't speak, but drops his hand and watches his brother go. We stand there for a minute and this time I feel itchy for other reasons. We've been here too long.

"Ravel!" I snap at him, dragging his attention back to our slightly urgent situation. "What now?"

He shakes his head and squares his jaw. "Banks."

And now he's back on track. His demeanor is serious, bitten bottom lip and worry lines between his brows. I reassess my opinion of him. This guy has balls. I think that's how it's said, guts, glory... he's not stupid. "It'd be safer to access those first. Access anything you want to and can sooner than later, because overall, in a few days, you won't want to be your old self anymore."

Ravel looks at me for a few moments, long moments, so long they begin to make me uncomfortable. I wish I was always crazy, because sometimes I let myself believe I know what people are thinking. It's always safer to believe negative things because then you can't be disappointed. But I can't read thoughts, and I know this in my more lucid moments, like now where I'd give almost anything to be crazy and at least think I know what he knows.

And I'm confusing myself again.

"Think you can take another bag?"

"You're packing an awful lot." I thought girls packed a lot of things, but my sensitivity extends enough to know that's sort of a rude thing to say out loud, so I keep it to myself. "We don't have fashion shows down there."

He laughs, and he has a nice throaty laugh. One of those people find warm, though I'm not sure what I think of it yet. I never trust first, second or third impressions. Fourth is the charm.

"I've taken laptops, and as much of my circuitry supplies and other gadgets as we can carry, just in case I need anything. Basically, anything to do with my hobbies. I figure I'll have a lot of spare time."

And I can't resist saying it: "You're taking this remarkably well."

He grabs a guitar case hanging on the far wall and slings that over the strange set of two backpacks he's arranged over his person. When he looks at me there's a distance to his eyes, and water marring the edges, like he sort of wants to cry, but has the usual male hang up.

"I woke up. I read my chart. I know what they wrote on it isn't right, or I shouldn't be standing right now." He glances away. "I know what I saw down those halls and heard in my head. There was nothing human about those. Not like Halloween, and not all in my head and definitely not just the result of my own damaged mind."

"So, you believe me?"

Ravel shrugs. "I believe that returning to the hospital isn't an option and that I've seen something I'm not supposed to. Until I can sort the rest out, your way works for me."

"I see." And I do. He works very logically. There's no room for overwrought emotions. Even if he is hiding the truth from himself. I wonder when he'll break down. They always do.

"Besides," he says as he leads us out of the beautiful home. "I don't get on well with my father."

It's surprising how many people I hear say that and I barely restrain myself from adding that his brother doesn't appear to be his best friend either. I wonder if they realize how sad it is when you don't have them to go to anymore, like I haven't for years. Still, he'll find out soon enough, they all do.

Beneath the condo is a bank, and I glance at the clock on its wall as soon as we walk in.

"Mister Drescher! You're all right. We were worried." The bank manager walks over to us, and I bow my head, looking to the side. The last thing I need is to be identified. I like the general anonymity that comes with being me, having no exact image of me at this age has left me to find easier disguises than most. Lightening of my hair, covering my eyes. I should have thought this through. Coming into the bank probably wasn't the best idea. But Ravel doesn't stop.

He smiles disarmingly and the woman is fawning over him. Of course it might be due to the fact that his father seems to have more money than Zeus. I watch him lap up that charm and motion to the clock about time.

The evening is wearing on and the bank will be closed shortly. There are two entrances and exits, and three security guards patrol the interior. I watch as Ravel finishes his withdrawal and as he walks back, I notice his almost perfect avoidance of the cameras that are recording us. These days they record everything. No one is safe, and that would be a great thing if no one like me sometimes needed to venture out and obtain things.

I watch as he bids farewell to the woman, big smile on his face, sparkle to his eyes. It makes me wonder if he genuinely likes her or if he's just used to being nice to get his way. We leave the bank and the gorgeous condo building. How he must hate what's happened.

"Do we have time for one more stop?" He asks me quietly.

"Depends on how much you're picking up. We're not traveling light anymore."

"It won't take long, and it's only something small."

"Sure." I say, not really sure about it. But if it's something to make the guy find closure and move on so I don't have to come out and play pack-mule again, then by all means.

CHAPTER THREE

Escape

I'm not sure what to think. I didn't expect this. Friends Private School is pristine. You can tell copious amounts of money are needed to attend this place. Even as Ravel pulls his hat over his ears and his coat up around his neck, his name brand attire blends in perfectly with the people going in and out as we slink by that prison like wrought iron fence again.

He glances at his watch and heads around behind the red facades with their black shuttered windows, judging in their perfection. Ravel walks inside like he owns the place and waits in the hall.

She's pretty, that's for sure. It's later than I thought schools operated, but she appears to be attending some sort of practice. Dance Team I think the door said.

His words are hushed as he speaks to her, leaning close, a hand brushing her beautiful brown hair. I can't get mine to look like that. She has a heart shaped face and a smattering of freckles. From the way she holds herself, the way she speaks and the look in her eyes as she watches Ravel, I can tell she's a nice person. Nice nice, not pretend nice.

Even with the volume kept low, I can make out snatches of conversation. One of them stings a little, but not for me, for him.

"Whatever they tell you about me, don't believe them, it's not true."

Amily, I presume, wipes tears away from her eyes and laughs. Just as suspected, it's like fairy laughter, from Tinker Bell, Peter Pan's pixie. "Rav, I've known you our whole lives. You know I couldn't believe lies about you. I'm just glad the Doctor was wrong about your condition."

Ravel, or is it Rav, hesitates. "Amily, I know, but write it down, remember it's not true. Because I know you'll question it eventually, if not straight away."

Amily hesitates a moment before nodding, coughing ever so slightly. "Okay, I'll write it down." She whispers the words. "When do I see you again?"

"I have no idea. Just, don't believe them." He takes her face in his hands and kisses her. It's swift and sweet, nothing like the ones on the daytime soap operas and so much more beautiful for it. I can feel heat rise unexpectedly in my cheeks. Definitely not television.

He glances my way. "I have to go."

Amily looks toward me and waves, a pretty smile graces her lips. I find it hard to believe that she's as sweet as she seems. No one can be that nice, surely? He watches as she goes back into the room she came from, a frown on his face and something I can only assume is sadness etched into his eyes. He's a bit of an emotional boy, I think.

He makes one more stop before we leave -- a locker, at least I think that's what it is, and my limited experience with high schools resulting from my television upbringing tells me I'm right.

"I'm ready," he says once he shoves a few smaller items into his pockets and backpack.

I've never done this for anyone else, but then no one else has ever wanted to retrieve remnants from their old life. They all gave up before this, before recognition hit. Most of them just wallow in denial their entire lives, and Ravel not doing so is a welcome change.

We leave Friend's School and its beautiful red brick paths and buildings behind us as we cross through the wrought iron bars encasing the front entrance. I vaguely remember my school, and it was nothing like that. We head toward Logan Square to the Subway. It's almost night now and the steam billows up through the grates as we make our way down the stairs, tinging the air with a brief fog and a promise of winter to come.

He's grown up so differently from me. Rich home, rich school, girlfriend. But then, I can barely remember what the home I had was like in life before Reboot, so I'm probably not qualified to talk. I wait until we're down in the subway, where conversation, while difficult, is less likely to be overheard. You can never be too careful, not here, not knowing what I know. We've been away from Reboot far too long, that spot between my shoulder blades is itching. It always feels like I'm being watched. I don't think the majority of people realize quite how much about them is gathered, known and used against them every moment of their lives.

Of course, the people in this city wouldn't know a Chaos if it bit them on the face.

"Amily was your, girlfriend?" I ask the question partially for conversation and partially because I want to know, because somehow I care. At some point I'll figure out why.

"Is my girlfriend." Ravel doesn't look at me, he's too busy weaving in and out of people and trying to stay on his feet, which at rush hour, making your way through the subway, is often impossible. "She is my girlfriend." He reinforces the present tense, as if he's going to be able to go back to his old life. Maybe I wasn't clear enough in my explanation of his new situation.

"She can't come with you. Her implant is still active. We can't risk discovery." To me these words are second nature. I know what it takes to survive without an implant, without the homing beacon that allows Chaos to locate every other living person on the planet. How do I know about it being a beacon? I guess. There has to be something stopping them from locating us. Having no chip is the only thing I can think of.

"I know she can't." He says. "But she can wait for a while until I've figured this out."

Yeah, apparently I didn't explain it well enough. "You can try," is all I say though. Pulling all the hope he still maintains away from him is probably not fair, so I don't for now. Instead I concentrate on lugging everything he's given me to carry with us without knocking someone out with it.

We walk in silence for a while until we're almost off the property and it surprises me when he speaks up again.

"I've known her for years. Since we were children and she learned music from my mother. Our parents always assumed we would end up together, and she's been my best friend for longer than I can remember. So yes. She'll wait awhile."

I don't question him, in fact, I don't say a word. Sometimes it's better not to. After all, I don't think he'd appreciate me reminding him that this while might be a lot greater than little.

I watch him as his expression falls and count myself lucky that I've never fallen for a guy, or a girl. It wouldn't really matter. Especially not in my shoes, I'd be happy to find anyone.

Most people don't tend to go for the: Hey, I live underneath City Hall with a bunch of other people who can't venture up onto the surface for prolonged periods of time in case the police see them and shoot to kill.

Not the most productive first date. I get my kicks watching what stolen cable I can. Mean Girls sort of made me happy I've never been formally educated. I wonder if that's what real school life is like, what his life was like. I love it when my train of thought comes full circle.

Only now he looks like a kicked puppy dog and I'm not sure where I got the indigestion, but my stomach is knotting pretty badly."You liked it there?" I ask softly, because it feels so claustrophobic to me.

He nods and reinforces it. "Very much. Best time of my life."

I suddenly feel awkward. There's just nothing I can say to that.

#

It's late evening when we finally make it back to Reboot and I'm beginning to dislike my decision to help him. My shoulders are sore and my temper is frayed, but to be fair, my temper is often frayed so that part is really not just his fault.

Reboot takes on a life of its own during the night. Or not of its own, but a nightlife, because seriously, they're not day people. I find it sort of ironic that we're night owls when we live under the ground - where it's always dark.

And Charlie is back.

The old man makes me smile. He found me, he saved me. He pulled me from the place I'd carved out in the sewer, trying not to scream when the rats came too close because even at that age rats were less scary than the Chaos I'd witnessed. I couldn't sleep for fear of those monsters, for fear that the rats were sent by the monsters, and I hadn't eaten in days, not since those IVs in my arms had given me whatever nutrients they were trying to force into my system.

And people wonder why I have trust issues.

But not with Charlie.

Charles Finn is one of the longest standing members of Reboot. He's almost fifty, or so I surmise, and his once black hair is now streaked with silver. Some say that makes a person wise - I think it sort of makes them look like a mad professor. Just look at pictures of Einstein, Beethoven. I rest my case.

He's really tall and from the strange wrinkles at the downturn of his mouth, he's frowned far too much in his life.

"Dane?" Charlie says in that monosyllabic way of communicating he has. For me, in that one word he portrays concern at where I might have been, and worry at who I've brought back with me all while managing to ask me if I've eaten yet, which I haven't. Followed by making me feel guilty for not eating.

I sigh. "I'll go pick up a beef roll if you take care of our newest, Ravel." Charlie is like the dad I can't quite remember. I've never asked him if he had a family, perhaps I should, but then I think I might get jealous if he has a real daughter somewhere.

It doesn't take me long to grab a beef roll, which seriously consists of shredded beef simmered in barbecue sauce and dumped on a bun. Not overly nutritious, but tasty. I stop briefly on the way back and sniff the air. Yes, I did observe it from rats. No, I'm not completely crazy. I think. There's a slightly dank smell to the air down here. It must have started raining up on the surface. We can always tell when it does.

For a moment I wonder where Sathe and Mario are. I haven't seen them in a while. I miss them.

Charlie is listening to Ravel when I return.

"... Just wanted to grab what I could before I can't get it anymore."

Charlie nods and lifts up one of the bags I discarded, rummaging through it briefly. His eyebrows move up almost imperceptibly, but to me it's like he gasps in surprise. He looks at Ravel. "Why?"

Ravel blushes, and I can see it better here, where the light focuses on his features. Even the blush makes the boy look like a poster kid. Seriously, couldn't he have been at least partially fugly? No matter how much I look at him, he just doesn't fit in down here.

"I don't know what I'll be able to do if anything, but if I can try something of a technical nature. If I can build a scanner, translator, anything that might help us, then it's better to have all the stuff here already at my disposal, than to try and risk venturing out to find the right stuff and risking exposure."

Charlie purses his lips and nods, a sure sign of approval. At least I didn't rescue a dud. "Welcome to Reboot. For what it's worth. If you figure out something you can do for everyone, you'll be able to barter with fellow members. Dane will show you where to stay." The welcome speech is Charlie's longest public piece of speaking. I've seen him try to speak on other matters, but he's just not good at it.

Just as I walk in to pick up a couple of packs, Charlie stops and turns to our newcomer. "You were a coma patient?"

Ravel shrugs. "Technically."

"Ah," Charlie wanders off, leaving me to field the questions Ravel now has.

"What did he mean?"

I shrug the backpack on and motion for Ravel to follow me. We really need to get him settled in his own tiny space so that he can clutter it and not our common areas. I make it to his small area on the right-hand side of the main entrance in a cluster of other singular bedrooms. They're not really rooms, but spaces separated by a slightly less crumbling wall and anything and everything we can use as dividers between.

He follows my example by dumping his stuff on the makeshift bed.

"He meant that because you were a coma patient, they'll likely seek to fill your quota of whatever it is by tapping into a sibling."

Ravel stops, his face suddenly very white. "My brother? What about tapping my brother? Tap him? As in I'd tap that?" His expression is one of shock and what I can only surmise is horror. But even given the gravity of the situation, I can't help the laugh I let out.

"No, not like that. Just that if they've lost one source, sometimes it's easier to trigger another source from the same parents because they'll have similar genetic make-up. Or it could just be a coincidence, but from what we've seen so far, it's accurate. Since you managed to elude them, your brother's genetic make up is on the table for them now."

"I was hit by a car and put into a coma." Ravel crosses his arms and scowls at me, fingers of one hand tapping out patterns on the other. Full force glares are pretty intimidating, but the crossing of the arms is detrimental to the attempt.

I shrug at him. "Yes you were. So, your brother will likely be put in the same situation so they can get what they need to."

Ravel laughs this time and smiles at me. "You had me there for a little while. I thought you were serious. Like he could get into the same set of circumstances as me. I was randomly hit by a car, ended up in hospital and they got my diagnosis wrong."

I blink at him, not sure where I went wrong. I thought I'd made it much clearer than that. "I thought you understood."

"Understood what?" he asks as he puts his things away.

"Your car accident wasn't an accident, just like your supposed long coma resulting in death was never random." I pause for a moment to watch him as he stills. "Every single thing that led you to be in that room on that day was engineered to happen."