Fodder - Chapter 4 & 5 (Episodes 7-10) (Patreon)

Hey lovely people.

First up - Happy August. I'm also in denial to the fact that it is August first today.

Anyhu - Vella has been a huge clusterfuck. 

Regardless of that, I'm still posting Fodder here.

Probably a couple of chapters a week for you. I'll also begin posting SAAU#1's rough draft again. Book is almost done (well done before edits haha).

Hope you enjoy this:

~~

CHAPTER FOUR

Believe

Each new person deals with things in their own way. They rant, they rave, they yell, they accuse me and Charlie, their parents, but inevitably it's God's fault. Because, you know, he arranges everything. And in a way, I guess it is God's fault, but I'm not sure everyone's definition of God matches up - and who's to say the whole thing isn't a God experiment.

But, like with everything else so far, Ravel reacts completely off-the-charts differently than anyone else we've had before. For a few moments he's very quiet, eyes locked onto mine. Some people might find that uncomfortable, but if I'm honest, I don't mind, because I understand. Not to mention the fact that it's easy for me to tangent and just forget I'm looking at something. That's how I broke my arm down here when I was ten, but that's another story.

So I let Ravel look at me, knowing the information is ticking over in his brain, reevaluating everything he thought he knew, weighing it with what he thinks he knows now, and inevitably, reaching his conclusion.

"Say I believe that these things we see when we go out - these monsters," he pauses and I nod my head, glad he's speaking because it's much easier to focus on words, "have implanted us with chips to control our lives..."

"Well, our deaths really, but since life leads into death, inadvertently probably those too..." My voice trails off as I see the exasperation clearly in his eyes. That's kind of odd, most people really aren't that good at expressing themselves without words. Ravel is almost an expert. So I wait for him to continue with his admittedly limited understanding of the whole situation. I told Charlie he should always try and be here to explain, I'm clearly no good at it.

"They control the manner of our death then. Each and every one of us... everywhere." He leans in toward me, the eagerness obvious.

I nod, and take a step back. Crowding my space is not an option. I can't deal with it. Just that one thing sets me off. So for a minute I catch my breath, resenting that I bothered bringing him here in the first place.

"Explain."

His demand takes me off guard. How am I supposed to explain? It's not like I'm a Chaos speaking fly on their wall, even though I can understand more of it than anyone else here because I grew up with it. Children learn things so fast, no one ever stops to wonder if they should, or tries to think of ways for them not to see the unseeable.

"I can't explain. It's taken years to get this information together."

"Can't you just hook up with others over the internet."

I can't help myself, I raise my eyebrow and let the sarcasm leak into my voice. "Because you see the plethora of technical devices we have, coupled with our abundant give a shit population?"

And of course, immediately feel bad for doing so. I hold a hand up to stop him from speaking before I can amend my glorified no. "They're not stupid either. We know there are some other reboot sections out there, but apart from rudimentary information and communication, we can't talk. Not since they wiped out Chicago's chapter. It's just not an option."

A shiver runs down my spine and I huddle with my arms against my chest. The damp in the air isn't helping. We weren't there and the pictures when they flashed across the national news at us weren't immediately jarring. They looked old, dated, but we knew they were real. Bodies of people we never met face to face being removed in body bags. More than one hundred and fifty of Chicago's chapter gone in one raid. Still, the reported "terrorist" cell had been apprehended. Chicago's Reboot base was neutralized.

Though I get irritated at our own people not wanting to stand up for themselves, I understand why they don't. We keep to ourselves now, because we're scared to alert those watching to our presence. No one wants a repeat of Chicago.

"So we're stranded." The hope has leaked out of his expression and left it hanging there, slack and tired, bewildered and lost. He's starting to resemble the rest of them here and I wish it wasn't so.

"We're not stranded." I begin to argue. "We're just..."

"Biding your time? Not helping my brother when we were just there!" he snaps the words out bitterly. Him and being used to getting everything he wants. Being able to afford everything he wants. And now realizing just how dire the situation is? I feel a pang of sympathy for the guy. But it's gone as soon as it arrives. There's no room for pangs here.

"We will figure out a way to rebel effectively." And I mean that with every fiber of my being because to not believe it means to give up. To give up means that they win because I waste the life I was lucky enough to get a second chance with. And I'm not doing that. I'm also ignoring the brother comment.

"That's not good enough." I think I hear him mutter, but I want to be sure.

"What?"

He turns his eyes toward me, and they've changed. You can always tell when a person loses just a tinge of their sanity. It starts in the eyes. A slight cloud where before there was perfect clarity.

"I said," he bites out. "That's not good enough."

"Well it has to be, because as much as you might want to risk everything, another massacre is not the answer." And there, I did it again. Me, my own worst enemy.

He glares at me and I realize he's about half a foot taller than me. It should be intimidating, but somehow it isn't, because right now, even if not physically, I'm the stronger person.

"There's only no other choice if you don't make one. I'm going to get him..."

"You can't!" I grab his arm and pull him back just as he's about to storm out without a thought, without a care for himself and the rest of us. As much as I hate apathy, I hate action even more when it could lead to the destruction of more innocent souls. "You don't even understand what that would entail."

And he smirks. Decidedly one of those boys who could kill with a look in school. I wonder if he was like that, one of the cool crowd, the elite, the bullies. But I've had worse done to me than any of those could, so even his cutting words can't do much to me.

"And why should I believe you? You're the youngest one here. I'm sure the others know more."

Fine, he could be dismissive, but as my charge so to speak, I wasn't going to let him lead us all to certain death. "You bring your brother back here and they will trace him. They will find him. If you're anywhere near here, they will find us, and then, not only will they have your brother's chip execute his death in place of yours, but they'll take from us what they can. And that's only if it's the Chaos. If they're humans thinking they're raiding an underground den of wanted people - they'll just kill us. Slaughter. Is that what we deserve?"

My speech deflates him, almost as if I took a pin and burst his bubble. I didn't want to hurt him, but he wasn't thinking straight. My throat is dry. I hate speaking. "You need a plan." I try a softer approach this time.

"I don't need a damn plan. My brother, my little brother is out there about to be picked off the vine!"

He's yelling now. I can see Charlie start toward us through a low section of wall, but I wave him away. I brought Rav here, I need to be able to get through to him. "You need a plan. It doesn't work that way."

"Then I'll make it work. You don't get it!"

His eyes are wild and there's a tear I'm sure he doesn't realize he's shed racing down his cheek, joined shortly by another one. Poor first tear didn't win the race. He grips my shoulders and I fight down the panic that immediately surges, count to five and pull away, glaring at him.

"I get it. Alright Rav, I get it. I had family too." I pause, because I'm shaking and my chest is hurting and the images in my head are flying around and looking for somewhere to land. "We all had family."

Rav stumbles back a step and sits, looking at his hands, at fingers I hadn't realized until now were beautiful and delicate, like those fingernail polish models, except they're male. Long fingers tapping beats out against any surface when he gets anxious. Pianist's fingers. And then it clicks. From the grand piano in his beautiful and expensive home, to this...

"I can't leave him there, Dane. He's my little brother. I wiped his nose when he was small. I looked after him after," his voice hitches, "after mom died and before dad got his claws in him..." He looks around suddenly with more shock than before. "After mom died."

It's always sad to watch when the realization starts to hit. When the sheer force, the magnitude of the situation washes over a person. And then again a voice in the back of my mind whispers the questions that plague me as well. Maybe even this is all in our heads, is all a part of the big scheme.

I lean in awkwardly and pat his shoulder. I've never been good at the comforting crap. I survived for days by myself running from the monsters my parents always insisted were never under my bed. And they were right, they're not under the beds, they're in the hospitals, in broad daylight and in much more than my nightmares.

"Look. Maybe we can figure something out." And though I know it's almost one hundred percent futile, I want to give him that hope, because don't we all deserve hope, don't I want hope more than anything? Otherwise, we have less than nothing down here.

He watches me for a moment, the crazy and his sanity warring behind his long copper lashes, but the sanity wins. It's a good thing, because I'm not strong enough to fight him to stay. Out the corner of my eye I see Charlie relax. He'd have made a good father if he wasn't scheduled to die. Maybe he did make one, I don't know.

Ravel appears to be better and I wonder if he realizes that he gives me hope. After all, apart from myself, everyone else here is resigned to anonymous death in the tunnels under City Hall. What a shitty way to live.

#

For a while after escaping the hospitals, people always question what they're seeing and hearing. They attribute it to not being possible. Even if they pretend, you can see it in the set of their jaw, shoulders and the way they carry themselves. As if they're thinking - poor sods, must be horrible to be so delusional. These drugs will wear off soon and everything will return to normal.

And for some that's over in a matter of hours, but for others, like I'm only just realizing Ravel is, it lasts a long time. Sleeping on it helps, and so will the reality of his current situation once he realizes he can't change his brother's death.

Finding his brother isn't going to be easy.

"It'll be difficult to find Grieg." He echoes my thoughts so perfectly I'm a little spooked.

"Won't he just be near home?" I'm being so helpful it kills me.

Ravel shrugs and fiddles with some strange electrical device I don't understand. But then, I barely understand any of the stuff he brought with him. Probably a good thing. It's all shiny and distracting... even when I don't know what it does.

"We never really got along. Well," he amends and I believe the expression he directs my way is called sheepish, but I have no idea why. I mean, why name a thing after a sheep. Sheep don't look any more guilty than any other animal I've seen, in fact, they sometimes look downright smug.

And I missed what he was saying. "Sorry, can you repeat that?"

He shrugs, and looks away, which in Rav's book means I irritated him. The things we learn over the course of a couple of days. "I just said that after mom's death, my father got to him."

"You don't get on well with your father."

"He wants me to do things with my life that I don't want to. Things that I'd never considered until Mom... Mom passed when I was ten." He looks down, trying to tinker with the keyboard of one of the laptops he brought back with him, his fingers patterning something beautiful that I wish I could hear. I've talked to him about the laptop, he swears they can't track any signals from it to us.

"Your father wants you to work for him?" It had to be. The way he speaks of his mother, the way he dithers about music - that love had to have come from her. He proves me right when he nods.

"You could look at it in different ways." I'm not much good with advice, but I know how I would have felt in his shoes. "At least you still had your father. He lost the love of his life."

A flash of pain crosses over Rav's face. "It's too late now."

"C'mon," I mutter at him, breaking the awkward silence that's settled over us. "We have to dye your hair."

I ignore the look I know he's giving me. I'm not a hairdresser. Obviously. And I'm not too sure if I should be dying over the still flaking scab of his abrasion. Still, I'm being nice enough to stand there with a kit to dye his hair a nondescript dark brown instead of his movie star auburn copper, and he's glaring at me.

Marlene dances past us, bare feet kicking up a smidgen of dust as she waltzes through it, that same wistful look on her face. It'd be nice to be so clueless, to live in a haze of what might have been or perhaps, what truly is to her. Maybe everything is different for those of us who accept it? She dances close to Ravel and spins in front of him, giggling like she was forty years younger, batting her eyelashes and cooing under her breath. "Such pretty hair," she murmurs softly before dancing away.

I try to hide a grin, because I doubt she meant anything by it, and yet it's the most perfect thing she could have said.

Ravel scowls at me. "You planned that."

"I did not." I shrug though. He can believe what he wants to believe. I however, believe that if he doesn't dye his hair, he'll get us all killed.

"I really have to dye it?" Instead of the rebellious tone he's been using since we got back, it's hesitant, and makes me more inclined to well...give a crap. Not to mention his hair is so stubbly right now I'll need to re-dye in a few weeks.

"You know it doesn't dye the roots, right? It'll grow back in all its copper glory and you'll still have your mom's hair." Because that's it. His mother's memory. I get the feeling that he wishes in no way to resemble his father. And if the things he's told me about the man are true - he's a douche. No one should want to be like that, which is why... Yeah, I don't need to be thinking of Grieg right now. Ungrateful little snot. Where was I?

I blink at Ravel whose eyes are downcast. I can't remember it being this difficult, but it has been years. Maybe I'm immune to it now. Maybe at eight, I hadn't had the time yet to care enough about everything around me. I only knew that everything I knew was gone and latched on to the closest thing to my parents that I had - Charlie. Ravel can't do that. And here we've told him his brother is going to be chosen to die in his place...

Yeah, we might need to rethink our introductory tactics.

"Hey." I say, feeling a little bad about our choices and worse for him. He's young, like me, but with so much more life to leave behind. "Look. We dye it. You look a little different from your hit and run wanted posters, and you can go skulk around your school occasionally and get a glimpse of your life if you like."

I'm not sure what did it. The window into his old life or what, but he smiles, and that stupid smile makes my stomach hurt again. I think I might need to track down the Doc. The only doctor we have here. Because something isn't right with me today.

"Sure." He says and leans forward so I can apply the blasted paste. Finally.

"That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" I say, ignoring my stomach spasms as best I can.

#

It doesn't look bad on him, the darker color that is. Blond would have been a stretch. Still, he stands in front of the dirty old mirror inspecting every aspect of my dye job. I've been doing it to my own hair since I was ten, I'm pretty sure I did it well. Not that there's much I can do to my wiry mass of hair.

It's early in the morning and most of Reboot have retreated to their quarters, resigned to spend yet another day of their lives doing absolutely nothing productive, just waiting out their deaths. I scowl, sick of waiting for his highness to stop preening and leave to go and watch the morning news.

I'm not entirely sure how some of these channels stay in business. Several of them run close to propaganda, words that can't be true, or shouldn't be true and with corroborated sources often aren't. It's a very interesting culture where the truth doesn't automatically trump all. I'd say that's what invited them in, but I'd be wrong. I think they've been here all along.

Not for the first time, I glance around our little sanctuary, curious. Who built it? Who hollowed this out in such a way that it's only halfway natural? Why was it built? Did someone know something that long ago? Are we only shepherded here to give the illusion that we've escaped?

A hand rests briefly on my shoulder and I whip around, ready to berate whomever it is. The smile I can't help puts even me in a good mood. "Sathe."

She smiles back and tousles my hair. Funny really. I saved her, but you'd think it was the other way around. I can't quite remember if my siblings were younger or older, but Sathe is my replacement. Her and Mario.

"I see you found another stray." She winks at me and her brown eyes twinkle.

"You know I can't leave them to fend for themselves." It's a running joke between us. She's my stray and I'm her savior. It'd be funnier if it weren't half true.

She turns to look at him and crosses her delicate arms. "Preening a bit, isn't he?"

I shake my head. "No. He's trying not to be too angry that he can't keep his pretty color."

Sathe chuckles and for a few moments the silence is welcome, companionable. It's a rare space of time for me. I wish she were around more often. I wish a lot of things.

"Mario okay?" I ask. Though I'm not looking at her anymore I can feel her nod. "Stay safe." I whisper, because I know she only stopped by to check in on me and we never say good-bye. She's almost like Charlie, but there's something stopping me from trusting anyone else to the same extent. I wonder if I'll ever break this habit.

I know she's gone even before I turn around. For a moment I feel almost sad. I shake my head and turn, thinking food might be the perfect distraction. Can't very well have Charlie on my back constantly about eating. But I can't move in that direction because Ravel is standing directly in front of me.

"Thanks." His eyes look hollow and I know why. He's finally realized that this all isn't just one big game. It's not some huge adventure he can undertake to show his father up. No, in his father's eyes he's now disgraced. Never had a chance to prove that his way was right, never had a chance to prove that he could be what he wanted to be.

Chaos took that from him. That and more. I'm not sure if all of those thoughts go through his head, but they go through mine. All the time. Like a mantra I've not been rid of since I was eight. That's a long time. Nine years. I wait for him to speak again, because right now, I'll only speak words of anger, and they're not meant for him, not for anyone really.

"Is there anything we can do?" The hollow in his eyes recedes as he speaks, and his fists clench at his sides, as if getting ready to punch something he can't see.

"Do?" Because I have to test the waters, I've gotten my hopes up about this stuff before, you see. Can't be too careful now.

"Do." He glares at me, that brief fire back in his stance and in his words. "What can we do to make it rough for them. To not just lie down and take this."

And this time I smile, because damn it, I've wanted someone to ask me that for so long, I'd lost count. Brilliant answers being what they are, I have mine fully prepared.

"I don't know."

He blinks at me. "You don't know."

"No, but I'm willing to help you figure it out. You and all that technical crap you brought with you."

There...wasn't I just inspirational.

CHAPTER FIVE

Inevitable

I've not been to the surface to keep watch on the hospitals for some time. There's a shade of guilt in my mind, but not really. If anyone was meant to make it, they would, right? As it is, I need to keep an eye on Ravel. After all these years he's the only one other than Charlie who seems to care about getting even. Not even Sathe and Mario care as much as I thought they would. It's a pity. Of everyone I've saved, they're two of my favorites. And Charlie? He can't do anything about it. Too many people depend on him, follow and gainsay him. Though he's the leader, he's not. He's just Charlie, like the rest of us are just people.

Humans are so fallible. Maybe that's why the Chaos exists.

Ravel has taken to the common area. His dark head is often bowed over his toys as I like to refer to them. They have lights, make sounds and smell strange - toys. I know he's trying to figure something out that will help his brother, but the boy won't believe him. How can you force someone to believe?

We're due to head out there later today, so I watch as Rav prepares in his own way and I think maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to save him.

"No one new?" Charlie's voice surprises me and I very nearly jump high. Only tiredness stops me. Far too much effort to move so much, so I grunt in greeting instead and nod my head. He can see, he's not blind. I've not rescued anyone since Rav. I'm not sure what Charlie expected, but Rav was only a few days ago. It's not like people wake up and escape from it all of the time. Or at least, if they do, they don't make it outside.

"Just be careful, Dane."

I whip around. Charlie rarely says my name. Oh, don't worry, I know that he knows it, but he hardly ever uses it, and only for important things, so I realize he's scared for me.

"It's okay." I try to reassure him, but there's a pinch to his brow he rarely gets and an expression I can't read on his face.

"It will be okay if you remember your distance." He stands there for a while, just watching me, as if he can bore all of his information into my head. For a moment, I feel afraid for him and not me. But then he's not the one following an obsessed man back to his brother in the thick of a clueless population.

"I will remember." Because as sad as it might be to watch Rav fall into a trap or be taken or something, I refuse to let that happen to me. I will not be taken before I've had a fighting chance to stick it to them. "I will remember." This time I say it forcefully enough that he seems satisfied.

I may be a lot of things, many things I'm not entirely sure of, some I wish I wasn't, but most of all I'm not stupid.

#

Rav stands in front of me, a slim and long device in the palm of his hands. He grins widely.

I rise to the bait. "What's that?"

He grins again. "I think it might interfere with the chips' ability to process signals."

It's all I can do not to laugh or sigh. So, instead I look at him and then I shrug. What the hell. "And what live chip did you locate in order to test that?"

Rav blinks at me as if the thought has only just occurred to him. Funny, since I thought he was really intelligent. He pauses a few moments longer and his shoulders sag. "Well, theoretically it'll do that."

"And what makes you think they use frequencies?" Because, you know, devil's advocate and all.

He glares at me. "Because we're obviously not wired into anything, so they have to receive signals and input somehow, right?"

I hold my hands up in surrender. "Hey, it's more than anyone else has ever figured out." The sad thing is it's not just empty reassurance. His jaw is set stubbornly. I've had plenty of chances to witness stubborn since he got here and we head out, to locate his brother.

Even as we make our way across the city, into his old neighborhood and to the place Rav insists his brother will pass, I know his brother doesn't have long. The relatives never do. Not if it's one of those cases and this one is. It's almost been too long as is. We've been over this, but he has that little trigger device in his hand that he says might interfere with the chip. He still doesn't get it. After all I've told him... but that's just it.

He hasn't yet seen the devastation properly for himself. Most of what he knows is strange silver-snack monster-type beings where he'd once seen real people. That there were odd creatures in the hospital and that they got his diagnosis wrong.

For all he knows, he could be on hallucinogenic drugs and really have been responsible for a hit and run. I know this will hit him so much harder than it has to, because he doesn't believe. He might say he does, might even say he understands, but he doesn't. No one does until reality smacks them in the face. I'm the only one I know of who woke up in that strange room. Reality was with me from day one.

For others, it's being caught. I only hope for Rav that his brother's impending death wakes him up as well. The alternatives aren't pretty.

We wait on the corner, and I remember that phrase from somewhere. I don't think in my generic jeans and t-shirt with my tightly pulled back curls and sunglasses covering dark eyes that I stand out in anyway. So I don't think the hooker phrase applies. Unless I misunderstood that whole corner working thing and then this train of thought has served even less of a purpose than it usually does.

Rav moves slightly, and I look over to see his gaze following his brother as he walks down the footpath. His face lights up as he watches the brat digging through the backpack angled around his side.

Grieg pulls out a packet of cigarettes and Rav scowls, his intake of breath obvious. I hold out a hand and stop him from stepping out in anger and nod to the left of us. Rav pales as the tension leaves his body. Off to that side are three of our silvery nemeses. I cock my head to one side, straining to listen.

Their language has always been odd. Sort of musical, sort of Morse Code like. It's a series of short notes and clicks combined intricately with one another. For all I know, we sound the same to them, but entirely different to each other. I blink because the sun reflects in strange ways off the liquid silver that ripples in place of skin. When I look directly at it I feel like my eyes are entranced by a kaleidoscope, dizzy and spinny for a few moments. It's even worse if you look at them in a car's headlights.

I've been able to understand the rudimentary portions of their language for years. After all, I encountered them as a child, listened while half comatose, hid from them while hearing them speak about finding me. Once Charlie found me, I'd sit underneath the street walkways, with only the storm-water grates separating us, and listen all I could, until I began to understand a little.

They can't be saying what they're saying. I glance across to Grieg who's meandering, and seriously meandering, not walking or shuffling. He walks slowly, weaving a little from side to side as he looks in shop windows and smokes his cigarette. Seriously, didn't that go out of style like everywhere in the twentieth century?

And there is the musical Morse sequence from them again. They're not just here to be here. They're here to make sure that Grieg is delivered to them. They're here to make sure they don't lose another delivery. It's all I can do to force my attention away from wondering what the hell a delivery would be for. Isn't an experiment just an experiment?

I turn to Ravel, open my mouth to speak, and hear more than see the car screech around the corner. I can't help but follow where Ravel's eyes are looking, and out of the corner of my eye I see his face as I watch the events unfold before me.

The car skids, and almost in slow motion, turns two full times. Its rear end catches Grieg on the first turn, pushing him with it and slinging him into the air as it rebounds from one of the posts on the curb with an echoing crunch of finality. Ravel's pale face scrunches in shock, mouth hanging open in classic horror movie parody of a silent scream.

Already I can pick out blood streaming from Grieg's mouth, and the body begins to crumble from the impact even in mid air. I wonder idly why Ravel had to be in a coma for a specified amount of time before being retrieved. Because from this, it looks like Grieg will be dead on...

And he slams into the concrete pavement, the bones making a very final audible crunch as they punch into the ground.

...Impact.

I blink. At the same time as I hear the musical Morse again, the finality of it, the acceptance that at least this time they got most of what they wanted, I reach out a hand to stay Ravel.

But I don't need to. We're in the center of town and it's not long before the police are already on the scene, starting to mill around. Not that they had much of a choice considering all the screaming and hysteria. Their yellow tape rolls click in an odd harmony with the fading staccato of the Chaos' voices.

This is no illusion to hold his brother in a coma. I don't need to tell Ravel we have to leave. He nods, eyes downcast and moves with me, away from Grieg's broken body. His face is ashen and the little device he'd not even had the chance to try dangles from his fingers.

I have to tug him into an alleyway, away from the prying eyes of the police with their statement books and observation. Away from the rest of the musical Morse Code that crowds my mind like it doesn't want to let go whenever I encounter it. My skin crawls, and that spot in my back won't stop itching. I just know if we're not careful, they'll find us.

He sits, with his legs drawn up and head between them, retching every now and again. It wouldn't occur to me to sit in this. Even though I'm used to the dirt ground of Reboot's camp, the grunge in this alleyway reeks far stronger than any subway. The tangy sour smell of recent urination, stale vomit and rancid trash probably isn't helping his gag reflex.

I'm not sure I would be standing like this if the person pancaked on the sidewalk out there was someone I knew and loved... even if they were a brat. Wait, aren't you supposed to not think ill of the dead? I can never get these etiquette things right.

Just like I don't know what to say to him. Hey, I'm sorry that your chip fizzed and you've had to leave your home, dye your hair, dump your girlfriend and watch your brother die, but hey, at least you're alive?

Okay, so I'm not good at the comfort thing, or the sympathy thing, or even the caring thing. But with Ravel, I find myself at least wanting to try.

I crouch down next to him, hugging my knees to my chest with one arm and reach out the other tentatively to tug his cap up a little. "I'm sorry."

There, that was sympathetic, right? I'm sure I didn't sound sarcastic.

Apparently I did it right too, because he looks at me, gratefully and my chest gets all tight. No wonder people don't do good deeds often. Makes me feel like I'm about to have a heart attack.

He shakes his head. "It's my fault."

"True," I say, and realize immediately it's probably not the right thing to say. His eyes have that shadowed kicked puppy dog look, and he's jutting his lower lip out so much I want to... I have no idea what I want to do, but it's irritating me.

Ignoring his reaction, I continue. "True, but you didn't make the chip fizz, and you didn't implant them in the first place, so it wasn't really your fault. It was just a freak of nature." He smiles a small smile and looks up at me tentatively hopeful, and it spurs me on "And if it hadn't fizzed, well, then you'd be dead. So... overall, does it really matter?"

And I lost him again. Eyes downcast, he sighs a deep sigh. I wonder if he was in the drama club, because he's a very good actor. That, or I'm a callous bitch. I'm willing to bet it might be a bit of both.

"I really am sorry," I say to him, actually feeling truly sorry for once. Ravel down is not a pretty sight. It's taken me a few days to understand that.

"It's not your fault. You're refreshingly honest."

Refreshing. As lemonade. That's me!

I'm at a loss of what to say, so I just stay there. The alleyway isn't exactly a local tourist hang out. As nice as Philly is, alleyways carry a certain stigma, but I still keep an ear out just incase some of that musical Morse decides to come our way. Even though one of the subway steam release vents covers the most obvious entrance to where we are, we can't risk them figuring out we don't have an active implant.

It's almost dark when Rav finally moves. He looks at me and hesitates before speaking. "Thanks."

I nod and wait, because he can't be finished, right? Is he just going to run off into the sunset now or finish the thought in his head?

"Do you think we can go back to my school, just one last time?"

I glance around the corner toward the accident area. We've been in the alley longer than I realized and most of the hubbub has died down. The school might be a little dangerous, but if he really means one last time, who am I to interfere? He can go with me, or without me, and if he goes with me at least I have a chance of bringing him back to Reboot and salvaging something of his life, and my life. Mostly my revenge. Is that selfish? I think not. I'm saving him too, right?

"You do that a lot." His voice is quiet, but sounds make me focus and I turn my attention back to him.

"Do what?"

"Space out." He says the words softly, a weirdly thoughtful look on his face. Last time he got one of those he made the chip detector without the chip to test it on. It's hopeful with a wistful edge. I don't think I like that look directed at me.

"I think of things. Lots of things. It wouldn't make sense to say them out loud so I say them to myself. Sometimes it overrides current things." I'm sure that made sense somewhere, and he smiles, so he must have at least half-understood what I said. I nod toward the other end of the alley.

"Last time." I say and he nods as we set out.

#

Even though I know that he's going to see Amily, it still feels odd to encourage it. She's supposed to think he's dead, gone or a loser. That's how they orchestrate it. I have no idea how the implant works, but maybe they can tell if someone close to one of us knows where we are.

I shake my head and watch him watch her. Standing with me, it's not quite as creeper-like or stalkerish. I'm surprised when the dance team practice winds down and she heads over to us. Damn. I knew the dye-job wasn't enough. She must have recognized his profile or something because she's smiling as she gets closer.

"I thought it was you," she murmurs, like I'm air. And that hurts. I'm not sure why, but my chest is constricting again. Maybe there's something wrong with my heart? I move away several steps to give them privacy, but look at them from under the cap I jammed over my hair when I gave up on it, curious, watching. Fine, maybe I'm being a bit of a voyeur.

"I'm sorry." He reaches out and tentatively touches her hair. It's beautiful hair. Brown and wavy, soft and pretty - just like she probably is.

Her smile is sad this time, and it's obvious she's heard. "That wasn't you, was it." It's not even a question. How beautiful would it be to have someone so close to you that they believe you when the whole world has been fooled? She coughs, and I hear it rumble in her chest like something dark and ugly, so very not her.

Ravel's smile is heartbreaking if the tear that snakes down my cheek is anything to go by. This is worse than those horrible day time soaps. Because this, this is raw and this is real and I don't know how they can keep anything up.

"No," he leans into her hair and whispers so softly I have to strain to hear. "No, it wasn't me, but I can't prove it wasn't."

Amily nods and I think I see her body hitch as she chokes down a sob. Son of a...

"What's happening Rav? Did your father do something to you?" There's an edge of steel to her voice that I find surprising. After all, she looks so meek and soft.

"No, not this time."

She pulls back and looks at him, a stern look, like I vaguely remember from a second grade teacher, like she's probing him to see if he's telling the truth, not like she's alien probing him. They only do that in movies. Unless Chaos are aliens, in which they only really do that when you're dead or in stasis, and my mind really needs to stop going there.

"What do I do?" She whispers, and if her frustration sounds anything like mine, that's what she is.

"I don't know. Just... I'll figure something out." Ravel clenches his teeth and fist. I half expect him to say something corny like - I'll wait for you, but he doesn't ruin the moment they have. My chest constricts tighter.

"Okay." She says so matter-of-factly, with so much trust that I'm going to have to ask about their story again.

He leans down and kisses her. It's not one of those movie kisses where they open their mouths and devour each other from the inside out, where all you see is tongue and tonsils and general overacting.

No, this is beautiful. It's the kind of kiss that makes you want to be kissed. Where his mouth is soft and hers is pliable, where they melt together so there is no visible tongue or tonsils. Where her hair fans around her and his hands cup the side of her face just so.

Where I don't understand why I'm crying while I watch them.