"No…it can't be…He's known as the 'Cannibal' … The 'Executioner'…"

…Pleased to see you know my name…

"A man with his reputation should not be joining the Quarter Knights."

So, Zeik. You are against me as well? Yet you dance to the whim of the Mother… Hmph, ever the obedient child…

Luceid, could a child destroy the world? I think not…

This world is like a tiny flower, dear one, even the insignificant booted foot of an infant could crush it forever…

Well said. I will play along with the child's game, for now, until my desire is fulfilled…Let this Knight's Quarter be mine, and perhaps my blade shall sing again in the offering of human life…

xxx

Clive opened his eyes, scenting the powerful biting smell of a breath mint held under his nose, neutralising his deep sleep. The sun shone in his eyes and he raised a bare hand to cover his face, absently noting the reddish burn mark still standing out on his pale skin. Of course, his hands didn't see daylight too often, so they were naturally pale. Peculiarly, the vine pattern beautifully engraved on the side of Virginia's ARM had branded itself into his hand, resembling a tiny series of veins. Not too pretty, and it itched a little too much for comfort.

It felt like he had been sleeping for a hundred years, the groggy feelings his mind kept sending him, a sharp protest about being awake. But, with such a sleep, he felt completely rested, as if somebody had shaved ten years off his age. Apart from a slight aching across his shoulder blades, he hadn't been this energised in ages.

With one arm he pushed himself up, the bright sun's glare preventing him from seeing the faces of the people surrounding him. He heard their breathing with incredible clarity and was able to guess who they were. He wrapped his hand around the wrist of the nearest person, gently removing the breath mint from their fingers. Clive swallowed, intrigued by the weird coppery taste he had in his mouth. "Hello Virginia," He acknowledged, smiling, "Good morning."

"Uh, hi." She replied, leaning over the recently woken sniper. Clive's eyes were clear and focused, even without his glasses. They had developed an intense piercing quality, whether the feelings behind them were benign or not. Looking over this, she helped Clive into a sitting arrangement, the older drifter letting her do so without complaint.

Clive scanned his surroundings. "I may be mistaken, but were we not camped at a different location?" He asked, frowning lightly. Clive could have sworn they had stopped at a cliff side, it was one of the few things he recalled through his paralysis.

Gallows laughed ruefully. "Heh, yeah, we were, until you decided to take a midnight stroll…" Clive tilted his head to one side in a confused manner, piercing eyes centring their gaze on the Baskar. Gallows inwardly blanched at this, it freaked him out.

"I did? But I…" Clive suddenly had a revelation, stretching his wounded limb out and feeling no pain. None at all. Unperturbed for some reason, he twisted his arm and flexed his fingers, expecting at least some residual effects from the bite the other day. A wound could not feel so bad one day and suddenly be healed the next, could it? He had no sickness, no discomfort, it had all disappeared. He moved his hand to his shoulder, the wound was still there, but all the hurt had gone. He looked up at Gallows happily. "…You are a miracle worker, my friend."

"Huh?" Gallows grunted, not expecting praise. Overall, he had only done what any other person with a brain in his head would do, he was just lucky enough to have restocked his supplies during the Secret Garden's harvest season.

"Your medicines seemed to have cured me of my illness," Continued Clive, "Thank you very much. I believe it may have been a passing illness, and I am very grateful to you all for taking care of me."

Gallows rubbed the back of his neck modestly, grinning embarrassedly. "Aw, shucks. I was only helpin'…"

The drifter in the pink dress exhaled in relief. Just a passing illness... She had been incredibly worried about her friend, it felt so much better to know that he was okay.

Jet's eyes shifted from the left to the right, troubled. He finally spoke, breaking his stony silence. "Wanna explain why you decided to take a blood bath?" He questioned casually, trying to be detached from the topic of the sentence. There was no blood on the ground, so Jet figured Clive must have only recently come here, and it had already coagulated on his clothing, meaning that it had been spilled a long time ago.

Clive's expression clearly read that he didn't know what Jet was going on about, until he took a deep breath and stiffened, eyes going wide. He smelled blood. Very close by. On himself. He glanced down, his shirt, vest, trousers and part of his coat covered with the dried flaky substance. "Wha…?" He scratched at a stain on his coat sleeve, the substance peeling away. He instantly clambered to his feet, holding his hands, palm upwards, out in front of him. "I-I… I don't… remember… Oh, my…"

"You were attacked?" Virginia guessed, hoping to throw some light on the mystery.

The sniper looked at her. "Maybe… I think so…" For a moment, Clive thought he recalled the dim remembrance of a figure coming at him armed with something black and sharp. "Yes," He said after a long pause, "I was attacked." He lowered his hands, observing the extra ARM Gallows had brought with him. The Baskar handed him back his weapon, the sniper accepting it gratefully.

Virginia was having trouble meeting Clive's gaze, trying not to look at the stuff he was covered in, and the sharpness of his eyes. She kicked at the grass, dislodging a few blades. "It looks like you won." The drifter remarked. But one thing still hung in her mind, Clive's ARM had spent the night back at the campsite, he had fought unarmed?

Clive checked his gun thoughtfully. "I suppose so." He said, unsure of his memory. "But I believe I may have been affected with amnesia gas during the fight, because I am having trouble recalling… anything." He turned his head to the side and spat on the grass. He was not being vulgar, but the unusual taste in his mouth was beginning to disturb him to a moderate degree. Wait, he still had the breath mint in one hand, that would be useful. Clive put it in his mouth, trying to get rid of the bad sensation.

The oversized priest stepped forward. "Let's just find out about that." He held up two fingers, asking how many Clive could see. He answered correctly and Gallows made a little noise of approval, moving on to some other questions. "Where do you live?" He asked, one eye narrowed in concentration.

"Humphrey's Peak." Clive answered within a second, scratching his itchy hand softly. Yes, that was easy to answer, he had lived there for over eight years.

"Right," Nodded Gallows, "Where were you born?"

"…Little Twister." Came the answer after a short delay, as if the speaker did not want to disclose the information. That town was a cesspool, and he didn't particularly wish to associate it with himself.

"Ri-… Really? I never knew that," The Baskar said, tucking the details away into his big, partially-empty head. "Okay, what is my name?"

"Gallows Caradine…" Clive wondered if he had gotten the last name right, but Gallows didn't protest, so he assumed he had pronounced it adequately.

Thinking that Clive was as right as rain, Gallows wrapped up the interrogation with the simplest question he could think of. "What is your name?" he queried nonchalantly.

"Boomer-" Clive froze in his sentence, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "Clive! I mean, I am Clive." He covered his mouth with his hand, surprised at his own answer. So shocked, he could no longer stand up and he fell to his knees, blinking amazedly. "I… uurrmm…" He intentionally muffled his own voice, staring at his feet. Boomer... Boomer who? Why was that name so familiar?

"Okay then, I diagnose you with minor amnesia." Said Gallows, taking out of his large inventory the item used to cure amnesia, a tiny toy gavel. He held it out portentously in front of the amnesiac. "Hold still, and I'll cure all your ails."

Virginia interfered. "Wait. Clive just recovered from something nasty, do you really have to go and knock his lights out so soon?" She smiled at him. "You do feel better, don't you?"

Clive's head jerked up like he had heard a loud noise. He brushed green bangs out of his face, another sense of déjà vu settling on him like a film of dust. "I feel better than I am." He said quietly, unsure if he should be happy or confused. Finally, he regained his footing without any extra effort, removing his coat and shaking dried blood out of it's red creases. The blood had an awful stench, more powerful than he would have anticipated. Then again, everything smelt stronger to him now, he could even smell the chlorophyll present in the green fields they stood on. "Should we go?" He wanted to get out of here.

"Do you want breakfast first?" Said Virginia, "You haven't had any food for ages." She had not been the only one who had become aware of Clive's recent aversion to foodstuffs.

Clive refused the offer. "No thank you. I have already eaten." He replied automatically, though he did not remember when or where. All he knew was that he was no longer starving. A good thing, probably.

"Can we go now?" Muttered Jet. Now that they had found their missing comrade, he was eager to get to the town so that great big bounty could be his. Clive seemed to be okay, not hurt, and that was enough for him. His worries over, he reverted back to the cold-hearted person he had always remained.

"If everyone feels up to it, Claiborne is just a short walk away." Said their leader, judging their position from what Jet had told them. Gallows reluctantly put away his toy hammer, eager to have used it. Head bowed in melodramatic misery, he plodded away in the direction Virginia was pointing, wanting to say some more about his aching feet, but refraining because it would not have made any difference.

They walked in line, Gallows first, then Virginia, followed by Jet with Clive bringing up the rear. The rather large gaps in Clive's memory were beginning to disturb him, and even worse, the faint fragments of dreams did nothing but complement and fill the missing voids. But, he was a grown man, and he was naturally well-adjusted to frequent nightmares, what with all the things he had seen in his lifetime.

Yet, Clive was calm. Cool and calculated, to him it seemed like all these problems were not his own and merely the fabrication of some other lifeform. He felt... split, like he was two people, and at the same time, just simply himself. It was hard to grasp, and ever harder to explain.

If that was correct, he could only ask himself one question. Who was that other self? And why did it frighten him?

Clive tapped Jet on the shoulder as they walked, looking at the boy sternly. "Jet, have you been drinking?" He asked, prompting the boy to stop walking, glancing at the older man. True, he had taken a small sip of something to help him sleep, he was suffering from a slight bout of insomnia, but that was well over twelve hours ago.

"How… do you know?" He murmured, putting forward his pace again. Clive followed him, shrugging.

"I am not sure… I think I can smell it on your breath." He answered slowly, dusting off more flakes of dried blood. Whatever had attacked him last night, it sure bled a lot. Clive hoped that the inn they were heading for had a decent place to bathe, he really smelt bad.

Jet breathed on his hand and held it to his nose, not detecting any whiskey on his breath, nor any lingering taste on his tongue. "So what?" He said defensively, the wind blowing his hair and bandanna back in a pleasant way.

"You really should not drink at your age. Your metabolic equilibrium is not as fortified as Gallows, myself, or Virginia. I understand that mentally, you are an adult, but you must remember that your body is still quite young." Clive cautioned Jet frankly, listening to the crunch of green foliage under his feet. He had only barely noticed this, but all of his senses had been finely tuned, it was like a shroud had fallen away from his mind, seeing the world from a much better and unnatural perception.

Jet scowled, "What are you, my father?" He said, annoyed. "Leave me alone." The silver-haired boy turned his stride into a power walk, catching up with Virginia and Gallows who were far ahead. His bad attitude was merely a sham in order to get away from the sniper, a force within him making the android apprehensive of the other man's presence. He didn't know why, but he had to get away.

Clive watched him leave with a blasé expression on his face, content to walk alone if he had to. So softly that it could barely be heard and not even sure why he was doing it, like an instinctual motion, he growled threateningly, narrowing his intensely piercing eyes.