The first floor of Aincrad was a vast countryside, its moors separated by lush forests and connected by well-trodden roads and flanked by sandstone mountains that reflected the sunset every evening, wrapping both ground and sky in heavenly light. Springs were vibrant and winters were mild, and there was never a lack of harvest. If it weren't for the threat of death outside the walls of the towns, one could live an idyllic existence there until the end of time.

That is until one spring day when an invisible clock in the game's code reached zero. Unbeknownst to anybody, this clock signaled a leaf hidden deep within the first floor's thickest forest to suddenly rot and fall from its branch. But before it died the leaf passed its miasma on to the leaves next to it. The miasma leapt from one organism to the next, killing plants, bugs, and eventually animals. And it was heading for the Town of Beginnings.

On the thirty-third floor a group of bandits had taken up residence in a castle nestled in the jagged teeth of a canyon. It was a sunless landscape, its air thick with fumes that spewed from the earth and mixed with the clay-red dust of the ground to form a coarse mist that hurt to breathe. Through this mist Bolo stalked upon the castle.

Bolo was a man as rough as the canyon air, though perhaps not as friendly. His facial features were meaty and his six-foot-tall frame was built to withstand conditions humanity hadn't seen since the last ice age. His tawny skin did not sweat easily, even as he trudged through the canyon wrapped in an amber cloak. Protruding from this cloak was a thick great sword, nearly the size of the brutish man that carried it. Bolo deliberately left it visible to let any ambushers know what kind of greeting to expect out of him.

Bolo stopped precisely three hundred yards outside the castle's foremost wall. Crossbows could shoot up to about four hundred yards, but not accurately, and not without Bolo noticing. He deployed a spyglass from his pocket and peered at the top of the wall, where he found his suspicions were confirmed: The occupants of the castle had already noticed him. Even from so far away Bolo could see the unmistakable glint of eyes alert to danger. They scurried this way and that, preparing some unfriendly welcome for him, their tense movements silent under the low hum of the canyon wind.

Many people find it hard to trust bandits, and while Bolo would agree that they can't be relied upon to tell the truth or fulfill their promises he believed that they were at least motivated by a basic sense of self-preservation. Bolo removed his cloak, then disrobed himself of the white tank top he wore under it. He wrapped the tank top around the end of his sword then waved the makeshift white flag in wide motions where the bandits could see him. After a moment of conspiring with each other, the bandits returned the gesture. Bolo clothed himself and approached the castle.

"Hey," Bolo spoke loudly enough to be heard over the wind, but evenly enough to signal to the bandits that he was not at all alarmed that there were fourteen of them and one of him. "Ya'll know why I'm here?"

In a previous life Bolo was the furthest thing from a police officer, but he knew well enough how police officers talked to invoke their tricks. A question like that, posed to a person living by unscrupulous means, was a disarming tool. Perhaps the more seasoned and amoral of the bandit group's members were numb to it, but any junior members among them were suddenly thinking, "Why am I here? What have I done wrong? I've done lots wrong... How much does he know about...?"

Atop the wall only one bandit made himself visible. He had hair like a cherry and the face of a choir boy. He also wore a thin, excited smile that indicated to Bolo that the boy did not posses a mindset that knew to be afraid, even when he should be. In his mind Bolo decided that this boy, young as he looked, was likely the leader, and mentally noted him as "Choir Boy".

Choir Boy sat on the castle's wall and looked down at Bolo, chirping, "I know exactly why you're here, sir. You're here to sell us something."

Bolo responded with silence to egg Choir Boy on. It worked.

"I can only think of two reasons why you'd come allllllll the way out here. The first is that you're a salesman desperate to make a quota, and you know how well-off my friends and I are..."

If the bandits meant to attack Bolo while Choir Boy spoke, Bolo saw no sign that Choir Boy was signaling any of his "friends". Maybe they had made their plan of attack beforehand? Maybe Choir Boy's "salesman" speech was the signal? Bolo's eyes wandered across the wall and around the gate at its center. There were slots to fire arrows at anyone laying siege to the gate, and hatches for assailants to leap from the wall onto the ground in order to counter-attack. So whether he went through the gate or over the walls, Bolo would meet resistance.

"...The second reason you came here is if you wanted to die. Do you want to die, big man?" Choir Boy smiled as if the question were terribly clever and intimidating.

"Nope." Bolo rumbled in response.

"Then sell me something." Choir Boy said back.

Bolo considered cutting to the chase and charging the castle right then. It would've been quite the witty retort to Choir Boy's taunting... But in the moment Bolo felt his killing intent mount in his body he saw Choir Boy's eyes light up in excitement. Taking a moment's pause to consider this tiny reaction, Bolo decided that that was likely Choir Boy's entire strategy: Goad attackers into underestimating him by acting the part of the self-aggrandizing sadist, then punish them when they act too decisively. Perhaps such a trick would work on someone less familiar with violence.

Bolo produced a photograph from his pocket. It was small, so he flicked his wrist and sent it flying up to Choir Boy. On it was the image of a teenage girl, smiling with her arms wrapped around a slightly older young man. Choir Boy studied this image for no more than a moment. Of course, he recognized both subjects of the photo.

"Are you here to sell the girl or the boy?" Choir Boy asked.

"Where's the girl?" Bolo's words cut through the wind and deflated Choir Boy's smile.

Choir Boy sighed. It was the first genuine emotion Bolo observed him to elicit. "Why won't you let me have my fun? Why can't you just play along?"

Bolo didn't answer. It wasn't until the gravity of this particular wind-tinged silence set in that Choir Boy noticed that Bolo's player indicator was as red as his own.

Choir Boy tapped a finger on the castle wall upon which he sat. "You look strong. You can join us if you want. We can pay you more for a month's work than a thousand jobs searching for lost sluts."

What Choir Boy was really saying was "I'd rather not fight you". Bolo took this compliment as a sign of weakness.

Bolo's hand darted behind his back and whipped back around to reveal a whip. It unfurled in an instant, slinging towards Choir Boy's legs. The young man reacted by pushing himself back over the castle wall, narrowly dodging Bolo's attempt to capture him. Immediately two hatches opened on the face of the castle. In each hatch there was one young man wielding two crossbows, one in his arms and another on the floor next to him. They each fired simultaneously. Bolo shifted his weight to dodge one shot, but took a chance and let the other one hit him.

Bolo deliberately took the bolt in the shoulder in order to keep his weight balanced as his slung his whip again, this time ensnaring one of the young men just as he picked up his second crossbow. He pulled the boy out of his hatch on the wall, whereupon he suffered a harsh fall onto the ground. Bolo was already rushing forward and the boy reeled from the fall. By the time he opened his eyes, Bolo had already brought the thick steel of his blade over his shoulder and split the young man's head in half, killing him instantly.

"No!"

The other shooter cried out in anguish as he saw his friend die. Bolo snatched up the crossbow the dead boy left behind and turned his attention to the friend. Bolo loosed a bolt, but the other shooter closed the hatch before it could connect. Bolo yanked the bolt in his shoulder out of his body and placed it in the crossbow. Behind the walls he could hear the scurrying of the dozen remaining pairs of feet. They threw open the gates and filed out, confident enough in their numbers and vengeful enough in their anger to gamble on a frontal counterattack.

"Go, go, go! Don't let him get away with killing David!" Choir Boy ushered his friends out of the gate, then slammed it shut behind them. The group was too white-hot with anger to notice their leader didn't follow them. Bolo returned his whip to behind his back and lowered his brow, great-sword in one hand and plundered crossbow in the other.

"I'm here for the girl," Bolo finally raised his voice; none of his opponents were over twenty-one. Killing them was a cruel waste. "If any of you want to live, leave now."

Not one of them left.

Choir Boy scurried through the castle keep's halls. There was luxurious furniture laden with silk and velvet, tender meat and the sweetest fruit one could find, as well as prideful piles of cor wherever there might otherwise be empty space. Choir Boy had run an effective player-killing raiding party since the second day of the game; it had been his secret dream in the real world. So frequently he saw his father use money to acquire pleasure, prestige, and security, Choir Boy fantasized about the dangerous and sexy life of a pirate. He imagined himself seizing these things for himself in a life of dangerous adventures. But part of the appeal of that fantasy was that he knew it was a risky endeavor. The dream had to end someday.

Choir Boy found a bag of acceptable girth and began shoveling cor into it. The sound of fighting outside carrier on the harsh canyon winds and spurred Choir Boy to move faster. "They're still fighting. That man isn't dead. And he probably won't die. He's going to kill everyone out there, then he's gonna come in here... For me..." Faster and faster and faster Choir Boy inundated himself with rings, necklaces, and bejeweled silks. Finally he made his way to the castle's highest tower.

Choir Boy burst into Carly's room, unannounced as usual. She cringed away from the doorway, curling deeper into her bed. The bed was the only refuge she had found since being kidnapped- it was warm and wide, and though each of her limbs was chained to one of its posts, its untarnished sheets were consistent reminders that she hadn't yet given in to her captor's tortures. For weeks she had been starved and sleep deprived by Choir Boy and his bandits; they meant for her to allow them "in", which was a trickier process than in the real world. They couldn't risk killing her by torturing her body, so they assaulted her mind in every way available to them. On Choir Boy's entrance into her chamber Carly reflexively buried her face into the bed, hiding her vision from whatever impending pain he had prepared for her.

Much to her surprise however, Choir Boy did not follow the usual rhythm of his tortures. Rather than moving slowly and talking verbosely, he darted across the room, did not speak, and set about unlocking Carly's chains. Carly noticed the change in Choir Boy's demeanor, but said nothing. She had known months of torture and isolation, and there was no reason for her to believe this was anything more than a new rhythm for an old song.

Before Choir Boy could undo the last chain there was a sudden, sharp whistling sound and he was dragged away. Carly's face stayed buried in the bed, but she could hear her captor his the floor and gasp. "No!" Choir Boy cried, "No, no, no! No! Dad! Dad, help! Dad, wake me up! Dad! D-" then his voice was no more.

Carly was too scared to breathe. A pair of heavy boots signaled the presence of someone she didn't recognize. Even without looking at him she felt the coarse shadow of his violent intent. He couldn't have gotten here without slaughtering all fourteen of her captors. Carly's blood turned to ice imagining what cruel monster had come to drag her down to an even deeper hell.

...But just when she was ready to experience a pain beyond everything she had suffered since her kidnapping, a pair of massive hands took the last chain off of her. At a distance from the edge of the bed, Bolo knelt down and spoke softly.

"Ma'am, my name is Bolo. I was sent here by your boyfriend to rescue you."

Carly was hesitant to accept these words. "Alan is dead." she whimpered.

"He said you'd think that. He told me to tell you that he survived the fall."

Bolo's employer never went into detail about the circumstances behind this message, but it didn't take much deduction for Bolo to figure out what must have happened.

Carly was not yet ready to move. Inside her mind it felt impossible to acknowledge that the situation Bolo described was real. In fact, it felt impossible to even acknowledge that she was no longer in chains.

The figure beside Carly stood up and removed his cloak. He draped it gently over her, then stepped back and returned to a respectable distance. The amber fabric was thick and heavy. It felt as warm and protective as the bed below her. Carly finally turned and looked upon Bolo. It had been months since she had last seen someone that neither imposed themselves on her, nor turned their backs on her.

"Alan's alive? He sent you...?"

Carly pulled herself from the bed and tried to stand. She took note that Bolo took a step back in response to her movement and wondered if he had figured out what she had been through. "If that's the case," she thought, "I'm glad we don't have to speak about it." There was a warrior-like pride in her that was ready to reject any patronizing aid she was offered, even if she knew she'd likely need it given the shape she was in. When she was abducted by the bandits Carly went down fighting, tranquilized after killing one of them, certain that she wouldn't wake up. The hell that awaited her after she did was far crueler than any pointless, anonymous death though. For a long while she had gone away inside, dealing with the torments of day-to-day captivity by denying their reality. She lied chained to the bed, quietly carving her heart into a dagger. She found that if she resisted the temptation to reason out hope for herself then she also became immune to the catastrophic thinking that would inevitably lead to despair. "Once these chains are broken," she would tell herself, "I'll kill these losers and everything will go back to normal."

Carly was aware that this feeling was highly irrational, but at the same time there wasn't an argument on earth that could make her give it up. It was an insubstantial belief, a prayer against all logic, but it kept her alive. Now her chains were broken, and while she couldn't kill her captors any more dead than they already were she could at least prove to herself that "normal" could be achieved. Which is why it was so important to her that Bolo keep his distance: If he stepped in and began "helping" her, then it would be like telling her that she was too wounded to ever go back to normal. That was a notion she could not abide.

Carly felt her legs quake under her own weight and she swiftly fell back onto the bed. Bolo didn't move. He expected she'd ask for help if she wanted it. That's what he expected when she turned her eyes up to him, but instead Carly said, "Bolo, was it? Did they still have all that cor piled up in the long hall?"

"Yeah."

"Go get a bag and fill it up as much as you can. I'm not leaving without some reparations. I'll be able to walk by the time you get back."

"Alright. You hungry?"

Carly's eyes turned downwards. Part of her was still scared- as irrational as it was- that this "rescue" was part of some increasingly elaborate torture. As a result her heart was pulled in two different directions: On one hand she wanted to rebuke her hunger and refuse food, take all the money she could carry, and then stand up and walk out of the castle as if nothing bad had ever happened. On the other hand she wanted to cry, eat voraciously, and wait for Alan to come along to carry her out in his arms.

While Carly brooded over answering Bolo's question, Bolo silently handed her a buttered roll- rather spartan food for someone as high level as himself- simplifying the issue for Carly tremendously. She bit into it, but she did not cry. She could allow herself this kindness, at least, without completely melting down over her misfortune.

Within twenty minutes Carly was on her feet, though she walked like a baby giraffe, and Bolo had returned with the bag of plunder. Carly wobbled over to where Choir Boy had died. His remains included a large knife that was horribly familiar to her. Carly rasped, "I take it we can't use a teleport crystal to get out of here?"

Bolo handed her a pouch of water, "Nope. Nearest waypoint is about a day's march away. Sorry, but we're not out of the woods-"

The crack of a blade splitting wood interrupted Bolo. Carly started by stabbing the frame of the bed, where the chains connected her limbs to it. Then she worked her way down to the bed's underside, flipping it over and dismantling it one tiny fracture at a time. Soon the bed was no more than chunks of wood, and the tremble had left her legs. Carly spat the words, "I wish you hadn't killed him so quickly."

Bolo understood this notion perfectly well. He responded immediately, "Sorry, I-"

"Don't apologize." Carly interjected. Bolo did not respond this time. He watched Carly as she stood, knife in hand, seething before the corpse of the bed she had been chained to for months. "You've apologized twice now for things that aren't your fault. I hate when people do that. When a person apologizes all the time it really just shows they have no remorse for what's going on, whether they're at fault or not."

Carly didn't realize her breathing had quickened so much until she was done talking. Once she got a hold over herself she wiped the sweat from her face and mumbled, "Sorry, I didn't mean to speak so recklessly. I don't mind a little bit of a walk. Anywhere is better than this ugly place. Let's go."

The road out of the canyon was a ten mile uphill slog through buffeting wind and stifling, sunless heat. When at last the pair emerged from the thick haunt of dust and gas they were greeted by a star field above them, brighter than any they could see in the real world, stained blue and purple by distant nebulae and casting frail shadows on the nighttime below.

For that whole ten miles Carly became increasingly aware of Bolo's "tall, dark, quiet type" mode of behavior. He had not spoken to her except when necessity demanded it ("Eat this bread", "Hold this rope", "Go slow the trail is thin"). She had considered trying to engage him in conversation, but Carly was still at a point in life where experience taught her that no male was capable of receiving female attention without interpreting it as romantic or sexual interest. So, she refrained, and kept as quiet as he did.

However, when the pair came out of the canyon and beheld that starry sky, something turned inside her. It had been months since she had been outside the castle. "How long has it been," without thinking she was wondering aloud, "since I even thought of the sky? When was the last time I had a picture of it in my mind?" Speaking these words Carly felt like her own voice was shaking her awake. The reality of her captivity did not settle upon her gently and inescapably- the psychological walls she had built up over the past few months were far too strong to let that happen.

Instead it felt like the inside of her skull was struck with a lightning bolt. Memories of spending days in pitch black solitude tried to creep into her head, and with the reflex of instinct Carly's mind slammed the door on those memories. Carly's head grew heavy and her balance wavered. She would've fallen over if she weren't alerted by Bolo's voice.

"You okay?"

Carly's mind was suddenly pulled back into reality. Bolo was there, knelt by a pile of wood he had made on the ground. Carly clenched her fist. "Don't be foolish. Of course I'm okay. I'm alive, aren't I? I just... Forgot what the sky looked like."

Bolo, for his part, was old enough to know that anyone who forgets what the sky looks like is not okay. "I see," he said. Carly responded with an ashamed aversion of the eyes that let Bolo know that she was old enough to figure that out as well. "We need stones," Bolo said, "can you go get stones while I set up the tents?"

"Stones." Carly thought. "Stones, we need stones. Stones. Stoooooooooones. Stonestonestones." Carly repeated the word in her brain until it lost all meaning. She came back with a bundle of big, beefy stones that took all her strength to carry together. The activity kept her centered on the real world, rather than drifting through her memories. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Carly asked Bolo as he finished setting up their tents. As soon as she asked it Carly became aware that it was an odd question. Or rather it would be, if she were wrong.

"Yup." Bolo mumbled.

"A question followed by a one-word answer is hardly a conversation," Carly said. She sat down and began lighting the fire as Bolo turned to her with an eyebrow raised.

"What do you want me to say?" Bolo responded. It was the most perplexed Bolo had sounded since Carly had met him.

"I don't know. Something about yourself. I appreciate the space you're giving me, but right now I don't think I'll enjoy the quiet that much. How did you figure gathering stones would help me calm down?"

Bolo pulled his sword off his back and plunged it into the ground by the fire. He sat with his back against it and took his time putting together a response. "Experience." He said.

"Uuuuuugghhghhhghghhhhhh," Carly fell onto her back with a frustrated smile. She popped back up and said, "Can you elaborate? Maybe use two words? Or three?"

Bolo was glad to see the girl enjoy herself, though it did put him in a precarious position. He had a vague idea of what she was going through: The denial, the sudden pain, the need to focus on anything else, all of it. He had been through similar things. If he spoke about himself he was sure to distract Carly from her own anguish, but he might reopen his own. Bolo's shoulders hunched and he asked, "Carly, how old do you suppose I am?"

"Uh-oh. My mom asked me this question sometimes. There's always a wrong answer."

Bolo shook his head, "No wrong answer. Just guess. I know from the information your boyfriend gave me that you're sixteen. Where would you put me if you had to guess?"

Carly enjoyed the mental exercise Bolo suggested. The fact that he compared their ages lead Carly to believe that he was either younger than he looked, or older than he looked. She had never seen him pretend towards wisdom though, which was a trait she associated with men closer to her age. Plus, guys liked when she thought they were older than they were, so she confidently said, "Thirty-seven years old."

Bolo tilted his head, "You got closer than most. I'm twenty four."

Carly's eyebrows raised involuntarily. A cool wind blew from the opposite direction of the canyon and Carly found herself too distracted by her miscalculation to keep from shivering. Her eyes scrambled over his rough features and dense body for any signs of youth. She found none. "...Really? For your age you're pretty... Mature."

Bolo chuckled. "Yeah. Last person I was in a, uh, long term relationship with told me that stress can make a person age faster. I know you don't want to talk or even think about what you just went through, so forgive me if I'm a bit brief with you. But it seems that the thing you and I have most in common is that we've both been dealing with violence since a young age."

The weight of memory returned to Carly's mind, but not as a lightning bolt this time. Now it came like a soft rain; at the same time she tensed up from its presence she also felt some "tension" inside her loosen its grip on her heart. The nameless tension did not let go- Carly wasn't even aware of it till it lessened- but the sympathy in Bolo's words brought a light catharsis to Carly's whole body. "So it's possible to experience something like that... And live to at least your age?"

Bolo nodded.

Carly's lower lip grew heavy. Not a single thought occupied her mind, but the feeling in her body told her she was about to cry. In response she cast an angry tone, "I was in that room where you found me for months, but sometimes they'd unshackle me while I slept. They'd even leave the door to the room open. The first couple of times they did that I made a run for it. I was so scared I could barely think. I just wanted to scream the whole time I was running, but I held it in. It was so hard, but I held it in... But it turned out to be a trick. They chased me through the castle. It was a game for them. Even when I made it to the front gate, it was locked. I could never have escaped. It was all just a sick joke they played on me. It happened two more times before I stopped even trying to escape. There's was no way for me to know what escape attempt was my own doing, and what was part of their game." Carly paused for a long time, venting the air from her lungs in a rough sigh to keep herself from breaking down. "Even now I'm not sure if they're going to come charging up the path to kill you and take me again."

"They won't." Bolo rumbled, "I'm certain. I killed them all."

Carly nodded and spoke with a choked voice, "That's good." Her chest quivered. She couldn't remember the last time she let herself cry. "But even though I know they're dead... Even though I heard one of them die... I'm still afraid. Why? Why is this happening? Will I still be afraid of them eight years from now?"

Bolo paused to think before he answered. Buddha said that words that were both true and kind could work miracles. It was one such miracle that Bolo was looking for. "You will remember them," Bolo said, "you'll carry these experiences with you all your life. There was no reason it happened to you. It wasn't an ordeal that will enable you to face down greater obstacles in the future. It wasn't some magnificent call to adventure. No, your terror will provide you with none of that. But that doesn't mean you can't face down those greater obstacles. It doesn't mean you can't live a life of adventure. The people who kidnapped you didn't mean to make you stronger, but that doesn't mean you can't be stronger afterwards."

It was not a painful cry that came upon Carly. She could imagine herself crying in submission to her memories, whimpering like a whipped animal. She hated the familiarity of that image. But that was not the image she had of herself when she cried before Bolo right then. In that moment crying wasn't the result of giving up, but the product of endurance. "I wish I had been the one to kill them." she said. Carly put her hands into her face as her body jerked with heavy sobs. Crying then felt more similar to an external act like running than an internal one like sorrow. It felt like breaking free.

Bolo woke from restless dreams at sunrise, long before Carly stirred from sleep. She had cried herself unconscious before they even got a chance to eat dinner, so Bolo prepared breakfast while she slept, his eyes glazed from tiredness. Rarely did Bolo sleep well; his thoughts were plagued with dreams in the shape of memories. For this reason Bolo envied Carly's emotional release. Bolo could never imagine telling Carly, or anyone else for that matter, just how deep his disassociation from reality ran at times. When he looked at the starry sky the night before he felt nothing; it wasn't that he forgot what the sky looked like as Carly did, nor had he gotten bored of it. It was a strange sensation, but even as he looked right at the beautiful splendor of the sky above him, Bolo felt as if he had his back to it. It's as if the beauty wasn't even there for him.

This feeling infested everything- it's why he ate hard bread and wore little clothing beyond what was necessary. It's why he could kill teenage boys and young men with complete dispassion. Sure, he believed they deserved it; who knows how many people they had killed to amass their wealth? But in the pit of his stomach Bolo nursed a fear that he would kill someone just as flippantly if they didn't "deserve" it. Whenever he looked too long at a person he felt as though he could begin to see their flaws, their misdeeds, their sins, all bleeding through their skin like tattoos. He was imagining things, obviously- but in the moment it never felt that way.

Bolo told Carly that she would survive what she was currently feeling. He believed this, just as he believed he would survive the fight he got into the day before. Even moving on instinct survival came so naturally to Bolo that he never questioned his abilities in that area, nor did he doubt anyone else's if they were determined to survive. But he did not tell Carly his deepest conviction, the thought that plagued him on every starry night, every beautiful sunrise, and that he perceived written on the bodies of every person he met: "The world is an ugly place."

Carly woke up quietly, Bolo suspected ashamedly. She wasn't proud of crying in front of what was essentially a stranger. Worse, that stranger had made her breakfast. "What an asshole!" she thought. Obviously Carly still ate the food, but just as she was afraid of giving males too much attention, it made her uneasy to receive this kind of caring attention from one, especially one eight years older than herself.

After breakfast they were back on the trail and closing in on the waypoint. They reached it before lunch time and from there teleported to the first floor, directly to the doorstep of the Aincrad Liberation Army. The ALA guildhall was a building far wider than it was tall, and its interior was made of tile and plaster and decorated with instructional posters. "Wow, it feels like a real-world government building," Carly said. "Because of course, if you're gonna bring the real world into a fantasy world, why not start with the DMV?"

"The DMV?" Bolo asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"Oh, the universal translator probably didn't catch that. It's an American building notorious for being boring."

The pair approached the front desk and spoke briefly with the impatient, humorless old woman behind it. She scurried off to find Bolo's boss, which Carly took as leave to hop up, sit on the desk, and chirp, "I can't believe you work for these losers."

Bolo tilted his head, "Chill. They're alright."

"They take themselves too seriously." Carly said.

"They've found themselves in a serious situation." Bolo said this and watched Carly process the words. She paused to consider whether or not she wanted to respond; she deduced rather quickly that Bolo might not share her view on the ALA, and debated internally whether her all-too-common negative opinion on the ALA was something she was willing to have a serious conversation about.

Carly decided that she was tired and not interested in being convinced of anything, so she shrugged and said, "Yeah I guess." She fully intended on talking about something else (to keep her mind occupied, like the night before) when a voice came flying from across the hall.

"Carly?" Alan, Carly's boyfriend, took a few measured steps down the hall, cupping his hands over his mouth in disbelief. He composed himself enough to break out into a mad dash towards Carly at the same time Carly did the same towards him. They collided into each others' embrace.

"Alan, I'm so sorry-"

"Are you okay?"

"-I didn't realize how many there were-"

"I looked for you, I swear-"

"-I thought I was gonna turn around and run but, but-

"-I wouldn't let them have you-"

"-I love you!"

"-I love you!"

The couple cried, kissed, and cried some more. This was the inelegant crying Carly feared the night before. But she was together in it with Alan, and with him all weakness seemed to be forgivable. Carly turned to Bolo, who was giving her a respectable distance as usual. She smiled and approached him, taking off the cloak that he had draped over her. It was just yesterday that they had met, yet the cloak felt like such a precious gift when she looked down at it. She handed it to Bolo and said, "You probably want this back." A pair of tears fell from her face. She wiped them away and sighed, "I probably look like such a fool right now."

Bolo smirked and said, "Probably, but don't worry about it. And keep the cloak... It would feel odd wearing it after you."

Carly hesitated in putting it back on; she understood what he meant. She barely felt comfortable wearing it when she thought of the circumstances in which she received it. At the same time though it was thick and protective, and she felt exposed when she didn't have it on. Carly decided that the only compromise she could make in the moment was to store it in her inventory. Then she look at Bolo and said, "Well Bolo, I guess this is where we part ways."

"Indeed." Bolo said. Carly extended her hand out to him and he shook it. Both of them knew what the other was aware of: Something was being left unsaid. But Carly didn't want to say anything foolish and Bolo didn't want to take up any more of her time, so they let go of each other.

Carly said, "Thank you for everything." And left.

"Kazumi, nice to see you," Bolo said. Kazumi was Bolo's main contact with the Aincrad Liberation Army; the ALA frequently employed mercenaries such as Bolo for their work. Most times these contracts were for crafters and unskilled manual labor in the interest of public works projects. The ALA intended to serve the people, after all. But serving the people sometimes meant particularly risky endeavors, and no one would work for the ALA if there was a chance that their next job could get them drafted into a battle or pitted against a murder-guild. "I'm surprised you came down here to see me. I didn't think you'd be interested in the reunion of young people in love."

"I'm not," Kazumi said in the terse tone Bolo had come to associate with him. Kazumi was prone to not moving his jaw and speaking through his teeth, making all of his words sound like they were bubbling with frustration even when he was perfectly content with life. As a result he was a bit hard to read. Kazumi went on, "I have another job for you Bolo, and it's urgent."

"Two jobs back-to-back is unusual. What's the situation?"

Despite the lobby being completely empty, save for the receptionist, Kazumi's eyes shifted back and forth. Bolo knew the man to be cold, practical, and not prone to hysterics. So when Kazumi seemed to look around for fear of some invisible eavesdropper, Bolo began to worry against all logic that there might actually be an invisible eavesdropper. Kazumi finally leaned in and whispered to Bolo, "There's a developing incident. We have reason to believe that the first floor's anti-PVP field is about to disappear completely."