A/N: Originally, I had a lot more planned for this chapter, but anything too large is incredibly difficult to swallow whole. This chapter is a little slower as it lays out the plans for the chapter to follow, which will thrust the plot into motion. Enjoy, guys!

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MrCheeseCake54 - Booker will not be in the story as a living, breathing character. It's a little complicated to explain, but you'll get some context for the plot by the end of this chapter. Sorry! Hope I didn't dash your hopes for this :/

Chapter 2: Relatively Unimportant

"Power thrives in shadows where it cannot be measured in flesh and bone."

- Mr. Torga

The thing is, I know what you want.

Is that right?

You want what every one of us wants to have. Freedom.

That freedom is worthless now.

Not so.

What do you mean?

It's better if I show you. I can show you how we will be free.

Why did you choose me?

Because I know that look, the kind when a man is willing to go to any lengths, to lose himself and all of what he believes, to keep this world whole.

What will it take?

Everything. You might not survive.

I'll do whatever it takes.

So will they.

Denzel Hospital - The Vales, 3rd Sector

Theo opened his eyes and took his first conscious breath, letting the air fill his lungs. It felt like all his senses returned to him at once; the musty smell of the old hallways and the sound of mechanical pumps keeping his body's fluids balanced dominated over the others. There was also a soft incandescence coming through the window, giving the room a sense of warmth that he didn't completely expect.

"Relax," a feminine voice said.

He turned to his right and noticed a nurse adjusting his IV. She was serene and almost unsurprised that he was here.

"Did I die?"

The nurse looked over to him and chuckled. "Why? Is it because I look like an angel?"

She was older, probably in her thirties and working to support children whose father was nearly never home in the daytime. It was surprising that she'd smile, given that the stress she'd undergone through her work had manifested in some gray hairs. He didn't think more of it. Wherever he was, at least his brain was working.

"You're on the south side of Columbia, in the Vales," she told him, stressing the word Vales like it was undesirable. "They brought you in unconscious. Thought you'd be in a coma for awhile."

"How long?"

"Three days," she said. "But honestly, you didn't look like you'd make it."

Then, she put a hand on her lips.

"I'm sorry. Shouldn't have been so quick to judge you."

Theo allowed himself to chuckle. "You wouldn't be the first. And you might not have been wrong."

"A fifty-fifty chance, you mean."

"It could've happened."

"You don't suppose maybe you were meant to make it?"

He thought a little more. "Not sure if that really matters anymore. I'm alive."

She gave him a warm smile, but then he doubted himself.

"Unless I'm really dead, and this floating city is actually heaven. And you're really an angel, here to judge exactly how I've lived my life."

"So?" she asked with her eyebrows raised, entertaining the thought. "How have you lived your life?"

This question stopped Theo in his tracks. He mulled over it for a second, but when he did, he couldn't remember anything at all. Just a blank. It was a shock, like someone had just infiltrated his mind and stole everything important on there, leaving only feelings behind. And he felt regret. Despite this, he couldn't believe this was happening, and tried to mentally grasp at certain things, like who he was or where he came from.

"Don't answer that," she said to him in a consoling voice. "It's not my business to know what a man does with his life, or how he spends it. It is only my business to make sure he has the right to live."

He bit his lip and shoved it away for now. Maybe his memory would return later.

The nurse gestured out the door. "A man came by many times since. Says he's your uncle. Dropped off some clothes for you."

"Really?" he asked. Then, he remembered certain things.

"Says he's never seen you and that you're from San Francisco. Lost your parents in the earthquake," she continued. "My sincerest apologies."

Yes. He was here to help his uncle with work. Now it was becoming clear.

"Where is he?"

"He says he has to get back to the shop he works at, over at Fink Manufacturing. You better chin up there. You have someone who's connected."

Theo sat up and looked around. "I think I'm ready to leave now."

A knock at the doorway. He looked and noticed a somewhat familiar face to him.

"Hey there, boo-boo," she teased with a wink. "Told you I'd get us safe."

He raised his head in recognition. "Right. You're…"

The pilot stepped in the room, dressed in civilian's clothing. Theo prepared himself to be embarrassed because he could not remember her name. And more than that, he remembered her punching him.

"I never introduced myself. My name's Desiree. Desiree Lima. Dez for short."

He shook her hand. "Dez. I'm…"

He was shaking her hand for an extended second or two before finishing, prompting an awkward stare.

"I'm Theodore Lin. Theo," he said, finally remembering.

"Well, Theo, it looks like I saved the day," Dez said, basking in her pride, and then giving him a sincere look. "But thanks for your assistance."

The nurse was undoing the IV hooked up to his arm.

"What is a jaw if not something to punch every now and then?" he asked with a shrug.

"You eat with that," the nurse chimed in.

Dez crossed her arms and chuckled. "I really hope you have more educated questions to ask of me."

"What happened with the ship?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be at the gallows?"

"We busted out of there soon as we landed. The coppers, they arrested the crew that pulled guns. It'll go down as a Vox Populi terrorist attack. And the captain's dead."

Theo remembered the captain, and tried to frame his next words very carefully. "Oh. Was he important to you?"

She was silent for a few seconds, but then cracked a smile. "Of course not. I'm new at piloting. This was my first job with the guy."

"I assume you guys lost my things."

"Correct. It's probably at immigration and processing."

"Why else are you here? I'm not of any real importance."

The nurse finished up and he turned to a side position, sliding his feet and hanging them over the ground. She gave Theo a smile and then left the room.

"Buck told me about why you've flown into the city," Dez said.

"…and I just regretted saying that," he muttered.

Dez held up a hand. "Relax. We're not looking for work. But we would like to meet your uncle."

"Why?"

"We'll let you know when you and I get there. Buck is already at Finkton waiting for us. I saved your life," she said. "And I don't like asking for favors, but in return, I would like this opportunity to meet him."

Theo stepped off from the seat and stretched himself. "Sure. I don't see the harm in that."

But he certainly sensed an uncomfortable encounter in the future, and he hadn't even met his uncle yet. He took a breath and gestured for them to leave. Dez didn't understand.

"I would like to change," he said. "Unless you plan on staying and seeing my 'hardware.' I believe that's pilot-speak."

"I'm not completely opposed to that," she joked with a laugh.

"I'm kidding," Theo then said, dropping his tone. "You haven't earned it yet. Out. Out."

"Sure thing," she said, laughing on her way out the door.

Theo closed the door then eyed the clothes that had been resting on a chair. He lifted up a folded collared shirt, and, to his surprise, it was new. He sized it up to his torso just to see if it fit.

"Nice," he remarked. Theo proceeded to take off his hospital gown as he stepped up to the mirror on the other side of the room.

And when he took off his shirt, he couldn't find any words to express the multitude of scars that were marked on his body like tattoos. The largest one was a line that fell over his left breast towards the sternum. Another was a giant gash on the side of his ribcage. When he turned around, his back was covered in scars as well.

He was still having trouble wondering how he got these scars, and what may have done this to him, only remembering images of distant battlefields and cold gray skies. At the very least, he was somewhat thankful he wasn't going insane; some of his memory was returning, because in his mind it made sense for him to have these scars. He just didn't exactly remember when he got them.

After he put on his clothes, he took a breath and went out the door, keeping this temporary amnesia to himself. He was always like that, never asking for help when he truly needed it, and paying the highest price when he couldn't get over himself.

And he resisted facing that fact, with or without his memory.

Then, his nose began to bleed.

Comstock House

Songbird had dropped her off on the roof entrance after lunch. It was a rare occasion that she should meet her father in his own home, a sign that she had done something terribly wrong. She wondered what kind of punishment her father would have waiting for her, knowing fully that his anger was not something to take lightly. But then again, she did a good thing and stopped the airship from exploding. The bad guys were captured and innocent lives were saved.

"Right this way, miss," a servant said to her, pointing her down a long, red hallway.

She nodded and tentatively headed towards her father's office. There was indistinct chatter coming from the other end, so she guessed that he was in a meeting. Looking at the windows as she went, she remembered just how long it was since she was last here. It had been awhile since she stirred up trouble. And the times before that, Lady Comstock was still here.

"…getting more dangerous by the day. But thankfully we've confiscated those weapons and spoke to the press," spoke a voice. It sounded like Fink's. "Wait outside."

Elizabeth reached the door, and just as she did, the door opened up and a tall, imposing figure stood in front of her.

Mr. Torga had cold green eyes. Behind those eyes she sensed a serious malice treading somewhere in the depths, like an alligator wading in the river with its head poked just above the water. Patient. He watched her with a sort of hunger, like he was closing in on his prey. Maybe he made everyone feel like this.

Up close, his skin was extremely tan, like he spent all his time in the sun, and the scars decorating his bald head made him look like a toy that had been thrown too many times into the ground. He did not move like a hulking brute despite his size but had a slow, elegant, athletic stride that characterized an animalistic tendency. Even though she stood a distance from him, she could feel a heat radiating from his presence. He was someone to be feared, and she acknowledged this by looking away—a gesture of submission. Mr. Torga recognized this, then stepped aside, almost as though he was forcing her to yield to him before allowing her to pass.

Behind him, her father was sitting at his extravagant desk with a hand rubbing his forehead. He was stressed out, but upon seeing Elizabeth, he brightened up.

"Come in, my daughter," he said, neither aggressively nor malevolently.

When she entered the room, Fink was sitting in a chair off to the side, just as troubled as her father was. Mr. Torga shut the door.

"I'm sorry," she started off.

Zachary Comstock held his hand up to stop her from continuing. "Just a moment, dear. Let me finish speaking with Mr. Fink here."

"H-hello, Mr. Fink," she timidly greeted.

The man took off his hat. "Good day, child. I hope all is well with you."

She went and sat down in a comfortable seat next to a portrait of Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin, the Founding Fathers whom her father admired and worshipped. In her studies, though, she noted that these American revolutionaries were not nearly religious as they were rebellious, so she always found it contradictory that her father revered them in such a way. It reminded her that whatever passes in time, history will always be seldom understood in the exact way it was supposed to. The data was too limited, and she hoped for a day when enough information could be compiled for individuals to make their own judgments.

Obviously, her father never shared this sentiment. He believed that people needed a Prophet, a shepherd. But the only problem with leaders of a massive people was that they could only do so much at once, and people may come to resent the entropy of single governance. Long ago, her mother's servant taught her this.

"If they'd gotten those weapons, the Vales would have been lost," Fink said. "God knows all that's down there is Irish folk, blacks, and all sorts of other heathens that follow Fitzroy's every whim."

Fink spoke with a diction that was aimed to please her father, a behavior that was uncommon in his own personality. In reality, Fink was just another unethical businessman looking to keep his dominance over the market. Then, in Columbia's schools, she heard that they preached free markets and fair practices, but these hypocrisies were rarely brought to attention.

"We dodged a bullet," Comstock said.

"So to speak," Fink replied. "We couldn't recover all the immigrants on that boat 'cause the Vox appeared and tried to escort some of their own to safety. The rest of the immigrants were processed. If they keep coming in, we'll have enough to expand Finkton with a few more factories by next year."

Her father glanced over to her when he mentioned the boat.

"Not exactly a perfect weekend this has been," Comstock said. "But alas, I can breathe easier than I ever have."

He loosened the collar around his neck.

"The False Shepherd is dead. So much for that."

"We should throw an even bigger celebration for the fair."

"I do believe celebration is in order. That will do for now, Mr. Fink. I'll leave the festivities to you," Comstock replied with a relieved sigh.

Fink nodded and stood up, putting on his hat. He turned to Elizabeth and tipped his hat to her.

"Miss."

She reciprocated with a smile and he left. The room was silent when Fink was gone save for the sound of the clock ticking back and forth, reaching closer to noon.

"I'm getting old," her father said, clasping his hands together. "Perhaps too old to be angry with you."

"I'm sorry, father."

"You know you weren't supposed to be outside the safe zone, Elizabeth. I've designated certain places that only you can be in because I fear for your safety," he firmly stated.

"I know. I fell into temptation and…"

"I'm angry, my child. You speak of being sorry, but I sense your mother's contrarianism in you. You are not yet a true believer."

She was quick on her feet. "Maybe if I saw the city some more, or if I traveled the world, I would know the evils you speak about."

"The world outside is far too dangerous for you, especially when you've been raised on the righteous virtues of this city," he said, quickly turning down her proposition. "We've discussed this before, and I know this argument inside and out. My answer is still no."

Elizabeth looked away.

"But…" he started.

She returned her gaze to him.

"With all that being said, I'm proud of you for saving that airship. You've already taken your first steps to becoming the defender of this city. You protected the people, and you saved a trade ship with precious materials on board," Comstock emphasized, framing it in a way that she was doing what he wanted. "And the False Shepherd is dead. These are two gifts from God that I shall not be ungrateful for."

"I…thanks, father."

"No punishments for you at this time. I have spent too much time worrying about this False Prophet that I've neglected the most important thing in my life. With that said, the rest of your life begins now, my child. You will have more freedom to know this city that I've built for you, and in time, you will be strong enough to carry my legacy."

Elizabeth wasn't sure if he was being completely genuine, or was trying to persuade her. Maybe both. Parents often had tendencies to do so.

"Thank you."

"You may leave. I will personally schedule more time for you to walk freely within certain zones of the city, and you will be at my side as we move to crush the rebel Vox," he told her. "Until then, look forward to tomorrow, child."

As she went for the door, she suddenly had an urge to stop and tell her father something. He was already going back to work with his reading glasses on, reading over papers of some sort.

"Father."

He raised his head. "Mm?"

"I was at the execution," she said. "And the man, the False Shepherd, he was talking about someone. Anna, I believe."

Comstock locked his gaze on her and immediately dismissed it. "Probably someone related. He was a False Shepherd, and by definition, his words were nothing but poison to all who listened. Consider it Satan's death rattle."

"But—"

"I'm afraid I'm busy, child. Think nothing of it."

Elizabeth didn't want to push the issue, sensing that her father would become furious. She figured that he just wanted to shove this False Prophet ordeal aside, and agreed to not talk about it. On the other hand, she had earned a little more freedom and rejoiced. This was a good day.

As she headed out to hallway, she noticed that Mr. Torga was still there, but was waiting smack dab in the middle leaning against a wall next to a portrait of Lady Comstock. Elizabeth was certain that there would be a confrontation, and decided it would be best if she walked past him confidently. She pulled up on her sleeves and attempted to ignore him as they intersected.

"Don't wander too far outside anymore," he spoke. His voice was unexpectedly charismatic, and almost didn't sound like it would even be coming from the same person. The breathing support that wrapped around his jaw and nose pumped air into his lungs as he inhaled.

She stopped in her tracks and faced him.

"Why?"

"A tempest comes this way. It is in your best interest that you exclude yourself from it."

"I'm free to go where I want now. My father will protect me."

Torga chuckled. "Just as he did your entire life?"

She was confused.

"You have a powerful gift. And when the war reaches these halls, you'll discover that they are more interested in what you have than who you are."

"You mean the Vox. My father won't let that happen."

"Your father's power relies on men like me to stop that from happening," Torga said. "Power thrives in the shadows where it cannot be measured in flesh and bone. But in the flames of chaos and war, the creatures that hide behind power are finally revealed."

He pushed away from the wall and uncrossed his arms.

"And these creatures bleed, crack, and break, as men do."

Mr. Torga walked away after those last words, and Elizabeth wondered exactly what he was referring to. If he was attempting to scare her into not causing trouble, he was doing a decent job at it.

Finkton Streets

"Too many places like this," she said, watching the workers move in and out. "Reminds me of back home, but with more enthusiasm for exploitation."

The worker's raffle was taking place as they walked by, and poor folk attended in droves. A kindhearted missionary could be handing out free food and not one in this starving horde would notice. They stood next to a lightpost waiting for Buck to come along. Theo was munching on an apple, staring at the large clock monitoring the entire district that only had labels of when to work, rest, and wake.

"Sometimes I think it's all just one lie after the next," Dez continued on. "No matter where you're from, there are always poor folk who don't get helped."

"The hungry don't get fed."

She looked at him. "You sound like you don't care."

"I've seen enough suffering that I know I can't save everyone," Theo said, tossing the apple core away.

He didn't know if there was a memory attached to that statement, but it felt right to say it. Along the wall were posters of Fink, promoting another expansion of his district by next year.

"Whoever this Fink guy is," Theo said, "he is a small man who casts an enormous shadow. His authority runs on illusions."

"And bullets. You sound like Daisy."

"Who?"

Dez shrugged off his question. "If you stay in touch, you might get to meet her."

"Look who's up," said Buck, coming from down the sidewalk. He had a worker's cap on and looked like he had spent the day waiting. In fact, neither of them looked like they belonged here, despite the attire. They didn't have those tired, worn-out faces that had seen too many workdays.

They shook hands. Theo was expecting a few more surprises from Buck, as he hardly carried the same accent he assumed on the ship. It was convincing, but once the illusion had worn off, the seed of suspicion was firmly planted. Then again, maybe he was going crazy.

Theo mentally patted himself on the back. At least he remembered yesterday.

"Where's my uncle's shop?" he asked.

"Just down there. We're right behind you."

He was about to ask more questions, but decided to head over to the shop instead. They followed him as he crossed the street and circled the crowd of people at the raffle. It wasn't long before he reached the gun shop, which looked like one of the first things that had been built here. Its walls were made of old wood and the paint was chipping with the intention of making the shop look like it wasn't that important.

"It looks just like the picture," he said, reaching into his back pocket. "Ah, shit. It's in my luggage."

The door opened up and two men came out carrying an extremely heavy crate. Behind them, a woman—who seemed to be higher class—followed them.

"Be careful with the stairs! Don't hurt yourselves," she called to them, concerned for their safety.

"We got it, Mrs. Lin. Thanks," one of the young men called back to her. She waved to them and retreated indoors.

Dez and Buck traded glances, like they had just found the unexpected. Theo decided not to wait any longer and walked up the steps into the store. The doors were opened, so he wasn't sure whether to knock or not, but this had to be the right place. Past the counter hung a broad sign that was labeled "CHEN LIN: GUNSMITH, MACHINIST." He peeked around and noticed that the woman was busy jotting down something on paper.

"Yes? Please come in," she said, not looking up. "Mr. Lin is a little busy. Just give him a few minutes."

"I'm actually here to meet him," Theo said.

"Your name?"

"Theodore," he told her, but paused. "Lin."

She stopped writing, and her eyes slowly made their way up, both surprised and happy. The lady smiled.

"Of course!" she said, rounding the counter and coming to meet him. "We were expecting you!"

She gave him an unexpectedly powerful hug that interrupted his breath, then put her hands to his cheeks.

"We're so happy you aren't hurt," the lady said.

"Uh, thanks?"

She must be his uncle's wife, and though the idea of their marriage didn't interrupt his reality so much, he couldn't say the same for Dez and Buck, who were still waiting in the doorway. Instead, Theo was more surprised that she greeted him so openly, and in his heart, he couldn't recall the last time someone had met him with such open arms. Even if he couldn't remember much.

"My name is Ingrid," she said. "I am your aunt."

"It's a pleasure," Theo replied.

The woman gracefully backed away and acted more ladylike. "I will let him know that you're here. He's going to be happy to know you've awoken."

Ingrid signaled for them to wait just a moment and disappeared into the back room. The open door released the rat-at-at sound of the machines that molded steel into instruments of war. He walked over to the counter and leaned on it, casually resting down his elbow as he waited. But the awkward silence in the room, with the exception of the machine hard at work, bit at his consciousness. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he looked at the other two, who had stepped into the store and closed the front door behind them.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't tell me your uncle was with a white woman," Buck said.

The other two were a little more ecstatic about it than Theo was.

"And?"

Dez dropped her head. "Theo. Where's your head at? She looks like a real 'white woman.' You know, from the white bread side of Columbia. She's probably connected to the Founders."

He was blank-faced.

"Of course. You've never lived here. You don't know. This means so much more," she said.

"For who?" Theo impulsively asked.

It was a surprisingly good question that stopped her in her tracks. Neither she nor Buck had any clue as to what to say, and actually seemed rather impressed that he was quick to catch on to their overexcitement.

"You have some explaining to do later," he said when no reply came his way.

Some talking in Cantonese could be heard behind the door; it seemed like nervous banter, but Theo was surprised he couldn't make much of it. Had he forgotten how to speak in Cantonese too? Then again, looking in the mirror this morning, he hardly looked purely Chinese. If he remembered correctly, he was a mix of all sorts of backgrounds. It was his father who was Chinese, and he was born in San Francisco. His mother, he couldn't remember much.

The door swung open and Chen Lin came out speaking in his native tongue rather rapidly, too fast for Theo to comprehend. The man tossed aside the dirty apron he'd been using and approached him with open arms. When they embraced, Theo was nearly suffocated with a powerful whiff of iron. His uncle had the hands of a mechanic, rough and stained black from countless hours of tweaking machines, and for some reason Theo imagined he'd be more cynical. And for some reason, he felt like he hadn't seen someone close for a long time; his throat was feeling a little swollen.

Chen Lin asked him something in Cantonese, but he didn't understand.

"You don't speak?" his uncle asked.

Theo shook his head. "No, I don't."

"Let me get a look at you."

His uncle held him away at the shoulders and examined him up close, patting his arms, feeling the sinews in his body. The elders almost always did something like this; they enjoyed witnessing their juniors growing stronger.

"You're strong!" Chen said in a heavy accent. "And tall like white boys."

Theo hardly considered himself tall. He was 5'10 at the most.

His uncle muttered some things in Cantonese again, this time to Ingrid, who looked like she understood what he was saying.

"I knew we should have put you on regular transport. Thought you be safe on Vox ship."

Dez and Buck visibly reacted to that last sentence, just enough that Theo could recognize them.

"Ai yah," Chen swore under his breath. "Glad you're here. Welcome to Finkton. This my shop. I will show you later when you feel better."

Then he looked at Dez and Buck.

"Friends?"

Theo looked at them as well. He wasn't sure what to do, but Dez stopped his thoughts short of completion.

"My name's Desiree," she said. "This is Buck. We were just on the transport ship and wanted to thank Theo for helping us out."

They shook hands with Chen and Ingrid.

"He's quite a hero," Buck said. "He helped us land that thing while the police were tearing it apart from the inside out."

Theo still had trouble accepting Buck's real diction. The first impressions were almost always firmly engrained.

"They've gotten more brazen ever since Fink hired that man, or thing, as his head of security," Ingrid replied.

"Who?" Dez asked.

"He only goes by Mr. Torga," she answered. "He arrived half a year ago, and I suspect he's part of the reason for Fink's improved technology."

"Sounds bad for us. The last time I was here, cleaning up the Vales hasn't been really important."

"Speaking of important, I need to get my things," Theo said, changing the topic. "My memory's not doing really well, and I can't remember what I brought. But there's something important in there."

He was reaching out to people he wasn't sure he could trust, but he felt like he could rely on his uncle and aunt.

"The remnants of that ship crash were picked up by the Smuggling Investigations Department," Ingrid chimed in. "What was the ticket number?"

Theo thought for a moment. "I think it was 042."

"I'll remember. It's a ways from here, but I can probably get it back for you."

"What do you do?" Buck asked.

The question was just pointed enough that Theo could feel he wasn't asking just because he was interested.

"I'm a trained Psychological Developer," she said.

"Really? That's interesting. Do you have an office in the Mains?" he continued on, diffusing his last statement.

She shook her head. "It's not fancy. I basically take care of people, watch them closely and help them manage their stress. I'm a highly paid caretaker. For the last several years, I've worked with the upper-level Founders, because of Chen's connections to Fink. I work on Monument Island."

"Comstock's Lamb," Chen whispered to them, as though telling a secret.

Ingrid lightly slapped his shoulder. "Honey! It's nothing really. She's a nice girl, and very expressive. We all know young ladies need someone to talk to now and again. Especially princesses who live in towers."

"Don't you think she'd need a man to talk to?" Theo innocently butted in.

"Sir!" Ingrid snapped, sparing no one. He promptly shut his mouth.

"Holy…I didn't know you were so connected," Dez remarked. "Congratulations. That must be amazing to experience. I should become a psychological developer too."

The Lamb? Who was that? Theo's eyes almost dilated, focused, at hearing the description of the girl in the tower, like an instinctive switch that turned itself on. He imagined that he'd hear more about his aunt's line of work in the days to come. Right after that short banter, Dez tapped Theo on the shoulder.

"Well, Theo, it was nice meeting your relatives," she said. "Buck and I are going to go. Got some work to do."

Theo shook her hand, somewhat surprised that they didn't stick around longer and peg him with more questions. "Alright, Dez. I'll catch you later. And thanks again."

"Yep," she said. "Try to live it down one day. I don't want to hear that you've wasted your life."

Buck shook his hand next. "Don't listen to that. She's just trying to pressure you. You be sure to take it easy."

While looking at each other in the eye, Theo felt like they were having a completely different conversation altogether.

"We'll keep in touch."

The two shipmates headed to the door after saying their goodbyes to Chen and Ingrid, but before they got out, Ingrid stopped them.

"Wait, what did Theo mean by thanks?" she asked. "What did you do on that ship?

Dez was quick on her feet to turn around. "I'm part of the handling crew the captain hired out for that trip. I got him to safety."

Then they left.

The Tower – Monument Island – a couple days later…

The miniature Songbird rang on the stand, but she was too tired to reach over and turn it off. Elizabeth let the alarm clock's annoying screech fill her bedroom for another few moments, though she didn't know how long it really was. While sleeping, time seemed to skip minutes ahead whenever she'd shut her eyes. Soon later, a hand came down and shut off the clock.

"Napping a little too long, young lady," Ingrid said.

Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and shifted from her position on the couch. "What time is it?"

"It's late," her caretaker informed. "Did you want to pick up a dress for the Raffle and Fair this weekend?"

"So…so you heard."

Ingrid stepped back and brushed a hand along her dress. "I was informed by one of your father's assistants."

"Does it bother you?"

Her servant smirked. "I'm usually the one who asks the questions."

She sat up on the couch and removed the blanket that was draped over her—probably Ingrid's work.

"I hope you're still not mad at me."

Ingrid came over and sat next to her. "Getting lost in a bloodthirsty crowd outside the designated zone and standing right next to the edge where you may have plummeted to a certain death…"

Elizabeth looked down, a little embarrassed. "It tops that one time I ended up at the Raven sex cult thinking it was a Halloween party."

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "The world nowadays…"

"But I saved those people," she said in defense.

"Yes, you did," Ingrid acknowledged, caressing her cheek as a mother would.

The gesture was warm, and Elizabeth sensed that there was a deeper appreciation for doing what she'd done. Despite her caretaker's obvious condemnation of her actions, she was actually showing gratitude for what had happened.

"So you're happy?"

"Yes, quite so."

She leaned in a little closer to Ingrid like a child would. "Good. I'm glad."

"Why don't you get dressed, dear? You have an appointment with the finest dressmaker in the city in a few hours."

Elizabeth rose from her seat. "What? Since when?"

"Since your father scheduled one for you," Ingrid replied, standing up as well. "We can have dinner, as well, and I will have to teach you proper dining manners. Your father plans to fully reveal you at the Raffle."

This was new. She didn't know what to say.

"I'll be downstairs at the shuttle, waiting for you. And please don't be too long, dear. The world does not wait. Not even for the Lamb of Columbia."

Ingrid headed for the exit door and waved goodbye to her, leaving her with a paralyzing amount of questions that would take long to answer. She didn't know what to do except pace around, her footsteps echoing throughout the watchtower as the sunset painted her walls orange. Elizabeth walked around towards the bookshelf and was just about to go upstairs when she noticed a man sitting in one of the wooden chairs below with his head buried in one of the books—specifically, "Barriers to Trans-Dimensional Travel." She nearly missed seeing him due to the sudden responsibilities dumped on her lap.

"Hey," she called.

"Hey yourself," a female voice replied right over her shoulder.

Elizabeth flinched and almost lost her balance on the steps. At the top of the stairs was Rosalind Lutece, sitting in another chair enjoying a cup of tea.

"Wha…how did you?"

"If you're going to start a sentence, my darling, I suggest you finish it. Your instincts do not lie."

She couldn't believe her eyes, but then again, most of what she was capable of rendered others speechless.

"I saw you at the hanging," she said.

"And I saw you opening a tear on a ship that was supposed to go down in flames," Robert said, coming up the stairs after her.

"Naughty, naughty," Rosalind said, wagging her finger. "It's been awhile since you've caused so much trouble."

Elizabeth remembered frequent visits from Lutece when she was younger, and learned much about her own capabilities from those sessions. It was like going to school, except she had access to the best physicist known to the world. Then, like the wind, she disappeared and Elizabeth never saw her again. Until now, that is.

"Where have you been?" she found herself asking.

"Everywhere, of course."

She was coming up with her next question, but the woman stopped her before she could commit to asking.

"It is not for you to know. It is for you to trust yourself and let the path be revealed to you," Robert said. "We are here to deliver something."

Rosalind reached into her jacket pocket and produced a piece of paper. She handed it over to Elizabeth, but was not keen on letting it go that easily.

"Don't lose this."

Elizabeth nodded. "Alright."

When she held the paper in her hand, she realized it was more like an inventory tag—a traveler's ticket that would retrieve luggage after a flight. On it said, "VALE INVENTORY AIR," and she recognized it as a low-class flight. Down below that was the flight name: ITV RAINCHASER.

"The Rainchaser?" she asked. "Luggage number 042."

"Please retrieve that tomorrow before you go to the Raffle," Rosalind told her. "He'll need it."

She looked up from the ticket. "Who?"

"It's not a heavy bag, but very important," Robert said, ignoring her question. "Please, please, please don't look inside it. It will hurt you."

"And you'll know exactly who the package is for, trust us," Rosalind said.

"I don't even know if I can. Tell me why I should trust you."

They were silent, and Elizabeth felt like she'd asked a question that was not supposed to be asked. She looked between them and awaited an answer, but wasn't sure if they were thinking of one or just passing the time. Their faces were blank.

"I don't want to tell you that you're not important," Robert said.

"You're not meant to know this, but I will say that you will be critical to things that happen in the immediate now."

"But now is not now, if you know what I mean. By that, we're talking about now being later. Far later. And right now, you're not supposed to exist."

Those latter words caught her by the throat. "What?"

Rosalind stood up and grabbed a newspaper that was sitting to her side, which didn't look too old but definitely not like the papers around here. She expanded it and hid her face between the large, thin pages.

"Obituaries. Anna DeWitt, activist of women's suffrage after the First World War and outspoken advocate of the Civil Rights movement, passed away today in her sleep. She was next to her loved ones as she passed…blah, blah, blah…she was ninety-something…blah, blah, blah…something, something Berlin Wall goes down."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth asked, reaching for the newspaper. She took the paper and held it in her hands for a moment, reading material that made absolutely no sense to her whatsoever. But that was certainly her picture. Her old picture. Before she could read long, Rosalind snatched it back and began walking downstairs.

"Notice that there's no mention of Columbia in there," Robert said.

Elizabeth and Robert followed her down as she reached the fireplace and tossed the newspaper into it. For a moment, Elizabeth really wanted to pull the paper back out just so she could have a look, but clearly it was something from somewhere else. Was it from a tear, maybe? She also noticed the name, "Anna."

"That's from the future, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked. "From another reality. Another universe."

She remembered the tears that allowed her to see Paris, though from a completely different time frame.

"In the right frame of mind, you could say that's from the universe—s," Rosalind told her, watching the newspaper crumple into black as the flames crackled and popped. "The important thing you should know is this."

The woman turned around from the fireplace.

"You are not supposed to have this knowledge. You are nothing more than leftover residue from a finished operation and by all means, we shouldn't even be here. Your true mark as Anna DeWitt has already been made, but you are, for better or worse, different, and you will play an extremely important role in things to come."

Robert walked forward to join his sister. "You will know more in time. You live in a broken record," he said, then looked at his watch. "And you don't have long before the reset. Just remember that none of what you see, or what you are, is of any importance."

Those words weren't really encouraging. Elizabeth looked down, her mind racing with predictions, speculations, and theories about what was going on. She just simply found what they said unbelievable, though it wasn't as vexing as attempting to understand them. A hand came and gently lifted her chin.

"Relax, darling. It's all relative," Rosalind said.

Elizabeth shut her eyes and took a breath, but when she opened them they were gone.

A/N: It was so painful to give you guys just little sprinkles of what's really happening with the plot! I'm at work on the next chapter right now, which will be that infamous raffle in which baseballs of ultimate righteousness are thrown in the name of the master race. Haha, only kidding. Something interesting will happen, though. Stay tuned, everyone!