A/N: So sorry for the wait! Things have been all over the place :P Please do review or comment - it's always a HUGE encouragement and can help me gauge the direction of this tale! Thank you to everyone who has been following so far :) Anyway, here are a couple of important notes:

- Theodolite: a key piece of survey equipment used to accurately measure distance in various expeditions (including for the American transcontinental railroad) since the late 1700s.

- Chronobind: a somewhat complex card game from Sazh's DLC in FFXIII-2.

Happy reading!

Chapter 3 - Significance

"Hope? Hope, honey."

Glancing up from my soup bowl, my mother's worry-creased face greets me.

My neck is so stiff from inactivity that it tingles, the sensation crawling down my spine. I should smile, I think.

So I do.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

My father clears his throat. "You've been staring at that soup for a few minutes now."

"Oh. I-I'm sorry," I stammer. I taste the broth, which has started to cool, and try a couple of spoonfuls before giving up. "Not really hungry, that's all."

Mom pushes the rolls toward me anyway. "What time do you leave tomorrow?"

"Noon," I say, dutifully picking up a roll. "We should be back by summer, at least. I'm sorry the turnaround has been so sudden. Maybe I could have negotiated—"

"Son, stop apologizing," Dad interjects.

I fumble with my roll and drop it into the soup, splattering broth on the front of my shirt. His eyes are hard, but something about the set of his mouth makes me wonder if he's trying not to cry.

Clearly, he's been keeping a few burdens to himself. The outburst unnerves me.

"…Dad?"

He takes a breath, pushes his glasses up slightly. "You have nothing to apologize for. You have a mission, and you're going to make us proud whether you succeed or fail – which is honestly a matter of opinion. For now, just do your mother a favor and take some food with you."

Mom stands on cue. She comes around with an extra napkin and strokes my hair in passing. "I'll pack it up. We know you've had a rough day."

"Thank you," I say again, my voice thick, as if the words could ever do justice to the incredible trust they have placed in me. "I can't say it enough."

My parents smile and wave goodbye from the front steps. Mustering all my remaining energy, I return the gesture as I head out through the mostly deserted town, paper bag in hand. Now, my reserve has worn away, leaving me shivering and exposed. I pull my jacket tighter around me, fighting to ignore the wind that shudders through the treetops, their outlines sharp against the dying gradient of daylight where the moon starts to rise. There is nothing calming or pleasant in it, for me.

A clock tolls somewhere in the town center. It drives me further, faster.

My scars itch as I pass by the woods near the river, along this path to an empty house that looms at my destination. No one stands between me and the ghosts lurking in my mind. Not tonight.

Reason pushes back with options and outs – to stay with my parents, with Sazh or Snow, or even just camp out in the rail yard. But all of it sounds like running, and I refuse to be this pathetic and weak and small. If Bhunivelze decides to make his grand reappearance, to prey on me at my lowest, I would rather face him on my own terms.

Still, I have miscalculated the terror of anticipation.

The thought of spending the night alone in this house, my defenses full of holes…

Lightning's front door comes into view, and my stomach tightens so violently that it halts my steps, makes me struggle for breath and will my miniscule dinner back down. My pulse is throbbing in my ears and my hand shakes so badly it's a wonder I get the door open. I stumble inside to an unexpected warmth.

Someone has made a fire.

I am not alone. The relief is so overwhelming and sudden that my knees go weak.

"Heya, Hope." Snow's smile turns down quickly when our eyes meet. I back the door closed and slide to the floor, pressing my free hand to my face.

In three strong strides he is there, hauling me up to my feet.

"What are you doing here?" I mumble against his sweater. He steps away and releases me, tentatively, to stand on my own. He pokes my stained shirt.

"Someone's gotta pick you up," he shrugs, hands returning to his pockets. "You're a wreck. No offense."

Sighing heavily, I shed my jacket, drag myself over to the table and deposit the food bag.

"None taken."

He follows me and plops into a chair. "Feel like talking it out?"

"No."

"Wanna knock it out, then?" He pulls items from a bag I hadn't noticed on the floor and thunks them onto the table.

The amber bottle and the corresponding tiny, weighted glasses are too familiar.

"Oh no," I groan, dropping into a chair to plant my head on the wooden table surface. "Kill me now."

Snow's laugh rumbles through the room. "Not gettin' off that easy. You have no idea how much wheeling and dealing I had to do to track this thing down. Won't be quite as strong as Fang's but a lot more palatable."

"Why must you torment me?" I whine against the table.

"More like spare you a miserable night," he says. "You're the one who leaked your little theories about what might be deterring Bhunivelze. Obviously some of that's, uh, squarely in Lightning's territory, but I'm not one to pass up getting a god drunk off his ass in the name of science. I'd spite him for you on a daily basis if I could."

"Daily?" Rolling my head to the side, I narrow my eyes at his smirk.

"Well yeah," he laughs, smacking a fist into his other palm. "Maybe weekly. Monthly? How often can I spite him?"

"Snow, do you know what you get when you turn a psychological dumpster fire into an alcoholic?"

He props his chin in one hand. "Is this a trick question?"

"You get a non-functioning psychological dumpster fire," I deadpan.

"That's fair," he concedes, pushing one of the glasses toward me. "Let me just help you out tonight, then. For old times' sake. You'll thank me later."

"I won't thank you in the morning," I grumble, pushing against the edge of the table to sit up in spite of myself.

Snow pops out the cork and pours the golden liquid into our glasses. "Y'know, Hope, you've racked up a lot of unhealthy tendencies in your lifetimes."

I shrug. "Had to give God a run for his gil. Are you saying 'what's one more' then?"

"I'm saying we're about to toast to your health," he says, raising his glass with a flourish. "So the worst of those tendencies are gonna die. Brace yourself."

Laughing, I can't imagine what he has in mind. I raise my glass. "Don't get sappy on me. Let's hear it."

Snow takes a dramatically long breath. "To Hope," he begins, "the true king of the world, and Etro willing, my actual brother: may your fathomless god complex and neverending guilt rot in the Unseen Realm," he declares, clinking his glass to mine.

Stunned, I just gape at him.

"What?" Snow says. "Now, you drink. Send that shit to hell."

I do toss it back, and for a momentary rush of lightheadedness I forget that my adoptive brother just called me a guilt-riddled wannabe god. But my senses return.

"Thanks, Snow," I drag out. "That was touching, until you reverted to being kind of an asshole there at the end. Do I get to return the favor?"

Grinning, he pours two more shots. "Yeah, it's only fair. But watch your language, Mr. Ambassador."

"Wow," I huff, throwing up my hands. "So you, and Light, and NORA, and basically everyone else can curse like there's no tomorrow, but if I say something it becomes 'oh heavens, sweet child, your delicate sensibilities!'"

Snow leans forward to rest his arms on the table, snorting as he shakes with laughter. "Okay, okay, you are way too fun to rile up. Now where's my toast?"

"Right," I sigh. We both raise our glasses again. "To Snow, fellow king of the world, and Etro willing, my actual brother: may your undying hero complex rot in the Unseen Realm."

We drink, and he slams down his glass, his icy gaze cutting into me. "Why'd I only get one vice?"

"As far as I can tell, you only have one."

"Seriously? I volunteered to be a l'Cie!" Snow retorts with a dark laugh. "I was running the pleasure cruise at the end of the world and eating five-course meals of Chaos. At least you didn't ask for God to enslave you, he just… couldn't pass you up. Take the king, checkmate."

I trace a finger around the rim of my glass. "Like Light always says – I make myself such an easy target. As for you, all of those other things just came from your hero complex."

Finally, he drops his gaze and rubs at the back of his head. "Damn, we are both real pieces of work."

Nodding, I crack a weak smile. "Can we toast the ladies, now?"

Snow scoots close enough to clap me on the back, his grin returning in force.

"For sure, but this'll be a double," he laughs, refilling again. We raise our glasses.

"To Lightning and Serah," Snow says, pausing for a wistful moment, "the most incredible women in existence: long may they live, and may we both live long enough to smother them with a thousand years' worth of affection, however many reincarnations that takes. And it better be a lot."

Dissolving into laughter, I almost spill my drink. "Th-that was perfect," I choke at last, wiping my tears, and we down the round only to then refill and repeat. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

"Should we uh, maybe toast the new world?" Snow proposes. He folds his arms and drops his head. "After a break, I mean. Whoo boy."

As I try to think about this for a long, dizzying minute, information begins to build into a pressurized force behind my eyes. I press back with my thumb and forefinger. Somehow, the hilarity of our existence surfaces through the dense fog in my brain.

"You've got no idea what you're toasting, with that one," I laugh. Snow regards me lazily from his resting place.

"It's a world," he slurs. "A crazy rock full of people who can make babies and die as nature intended. What else is there to know?"

I spread my arms wide, a manic burst of pride growing in my chest, and grin as I rattle off, "This is one unbelievably crazy rock in a whole galaxy of beautiful, deadly things. Earth is orbiting a yellow dwarf star along with seven other insanely uninhabitable planets, and down here, we live on top of a thin crust containing a molten layer of magma that can explode up through volcanoes—"

Snow smothers my mouth. "Whoa there, bro," he laughs. "Take a breather before you actually make my head spin. I didn't get half the words you just said. Plus your eyes are all glowy."

"My—my eyes?" I sputter, shoving his arm away and vigorously rubbing my face. The earlier pressure falters at my sudden pause. "Did it stop?"

"Yeah, it's died down. Kinda trippy when I'm not sober, though."

The toast forgotten, Snow pushes himself back from the table and pats around his pockets, pulling out a deck of cards. "Get yourself some water," he orders. "I'll set us up for a little Chronobind."

"Don't tell me you've been hiding a whole clock board and two extra people under your hoodie," I snort, tugging at his sleeve. He shakes me loose and points to the sink again.

"Water, Hope. We're gonna play a light version for two players without the shitty clock."

"Light has a version?" I muse, tipping my head back to the ceiling. "She hates cards."

"Okay buddy, you need to stop talking for a few minutes." Reaching over, he turns my chair away from the table and toward the sink, pulls me up from the seat, and walks me the few steps required. He plants a glass in my hands. "Drink. Water. Now."

Somehow, I fill my glass under the tap and make it back without spilling. Snow deals the cards – the flash of their lacquered surfaces is mesmerizing. He tries a few times to explain the simplified rules, and I nod back dully.

Of course, in the end, I am screwed. Lacking any use of my strategies for a standard four-player game and deprived of most of my wits anyway, I lose a grand total of twenty rounds before he declares indisputable victory.

"Well Snow, I am eternally grateful we didn't place any bets," I laugh, the sound bleeding into a yawn as I slide down in my seat. "I guess you really do care."

"That curb-stomping was its own reward. I should get you drunk every time we play this," he retorts, yawning in response and rubbing at the back of his neck. "You might, uh, be a little further gone than I planned for, though."

Snow stands and sways a tad before steadying himself. He helps me up, and we stagger over to the fireplace, collapsing onto the floor cushions.

I plant my face into one of them. "I should go to bed," I sigh.

"You can try," Snow says, sprawling over three cushions and still mostly on the rug. "I'm stayin' right here. How're you feeling?"

"Spinny," I say, breathing into the cushion. "Don't wanna move again. This… this one smells like Light."

"In a good way?" Snow mutters, sounding half-asleep.

"Mm, always." I flop onto my back, staring up at the exposed beams shifting in the firelight across my hazy vision. "Like she just burned through the atmosphere and fell out of a storm. God, I love her so much it hurts."

Warmth tingles through my chest. Distantly, I know tomorrow morning will be brutal.

Snow chuckles and reaches over, shaking my shoulder. "You are a lost cause. And a sap."

I throw an arm over my eyes, pushing his hand away with half-hearted force. "Takes one to know one, asshole."

"Chief!"

Jessie is yelling at me from somewhere in the rail yard. I look up from my clipboard and scan the windswept platform, but she's nowhere in sight. Rubbing at the ache that radiates between my eyebrows, I go back to checking our inventory as the team finishes loading up gear and supplies.

Wedge walks by the with theodolite assembly, and I mark that one off.

"Hey Chief," he says, leaning against the tripod for a quick break as he swipes at the hair blowing into his face. "Sal dropped off the revised map. He said to thank you for the inputs, but that if you correct one of his copies again he will castrate you. That, and I quote, 'I don't care how damn nice his handwriting is!'"

"Thanks," I chuckle at the message, immediately regretting it when my stomach roils. I slap my hand down on the clipped papers as another gust of wind attacks. "I'll take that under advisement."

The left-handed print decorating Sal's incomplete map is not, strictly speaking, my handwriting after all.

Glitch and his squad board the train immediately after Wedge, their rucks in tow. The sergeant salutes as he passes, leading a file of his nearly indistinguishable squad members in their matching uniforms and helmets. We should be set to go, but something is itching at the back of my mind—

"Chief!" Jessie huffs in exasperation, having materialized right next to me. She catches her breath and thrusts a garment bag in my face. "You left this… in the office. Said it was super important."

I blink at the garment bag, curling my fingers around it as my mind trudges through a bog of information. "Oh. Oh, my uniform." A wave of panic comes and goes. I swallow it down and laugh nervously. "You're a lifesaver."

Jessie just shakes her head. "Honestly, I don't see why you need a fancy uniform to talk to people."

"It's not that fancy," I shrug. "We used to do survey work in the same ensemble. But this is my only set, and the last time I checked, we don't have dry cleaning service in the field. Or my mom."

"Aw," Jessie teases. She moves to pinch my cheek but I swat her away. "That's precious. Did your mom always help with your uniforms?"

"No," I say tiredly. I add 'uniform' to the list and check it off. "She was dead."

Jessie stares, brown eyes mortified. "I am so sorry. Damn, that went south fast."

"Don't be sorry," I say. "Most of the population was dead. We're doing swell, now."

She stands back and plants her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, if by that you mean low-key living with PTSD," she charges, scrutinizing my face. "Did you even sleep?"

I drape the uniform over my arm and rub at the back of my neck. "Yes," I sigh, shoving the hair back from my eyes to squint at the checklist again. "I'm just a little hung over."

"Oh my god." Jessie chokes back a laugh. She dances in place for a moment and looks around. "I've gotta go get Biggs."

"Please don't," I groan. An audience of one is more than enough, even with those who have seen me at a number of low points.

"No no, you don't understand," she says, finger raised in determination. "He's got a killer hangover remedy. You just sit tight."

With that, she bolts off down the platform, ponytail flying.

I don't see her again for the better part of thirty minutes. By that time, preparations are complete, the engine has rumbled to life, and any stragglers have climbed aboard the train. When Jessie finally does turn up, she all but sprints by and leaps into the railcar with a wave, Biggs huffing behind her. He shoves a canteen at me.

"Drink that! You'll thank me later!" he promises. He snatches my garment bag and climbs aboard, leaving no time for even a response. Against my better judgment, I take a sip of the tonic and immediately wince – whatever this cure is, I'm not sure if my stomach will allow me to take it.

Still, it's not like I have any better options.

I grab the scabbard with Heaven's Cloud and sling it across my body, finally hoisting myself onto the train. We've said our goodbyes to the Crossroads, but I hover near the door as the engine jerks us into motion. The whistle sounds, shrill and final.

If all goes well, we'll be home soon.

An hour into the ride, I make my way to the open observation deck. It's always a prime location to be alone with my thoughts. Leaning against the boarded side of the car, I tip back the canteen to drain the dregs of Biggs' hangover remedy.

The bitter, herb-laden sludge is far too bracing to handle much at once, but it seems to help. I'm reminded again of how Lightning had been convinced that these people were set on dumping me in the wilderness. We certainly didn't have much patience for each other at first, to be fair.

It's surprising how people can change.

"Excuse me." I turn to the sudden voice. A man in a Guardian Corps uniform is standing just down from me, the sound of his arrival covered by the blustery wind. After a cursory glance around, he removes his helmet.

Behind half-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes dart from my face to the door of the next car, then back to me. He seems familiar, and I wonder if it's just the combination of his deadly serious expression with the glasses reminding me of my father.

"I don't mean to intrude," he says. "Full disclosure, I know I'm not supposed to be here, but I was hoping to talk to you."

"Oh," I laugh, shaking my head. "This is about the squad protocol. Look, I don't really care. If you're worried about getting in trouble, it won't be because I turned you in."

He takes one last look at the door, but cracks a smile. "I am your observer, though, so this is doubly problematic. I'm not a soldier by trade. In fact, you could say I already know you, Director."

"What?" Stunned momentarily, it occurs to me that this person might be a fellow scientist or researcher. My mind cranks into a higher gear, trying to figure this out. He is older than me – probably around my actual age, with black hair tied back against the wind. Maybe a contemporary from the Academy?

"Where – or when, I guess – do you know me from?" I stammer.

Casually, he props himself back against the side of the observation car. "I knew you after 500 AF. We weren't really acquainted, though I did admire your work like any other scientists worth their salt. I don't expect you to recognize me from those dark days," he explains. "I was nowhere near close enough to pick your brain, back then, but here we are. Call me opportunistic."

"You might be disappointed," I admit, my stomach sinking. "I'm not much without the rest of the Academy. They all sacrificed themselves to make my dream a reality."

His eyes sharpen with a crystalline resolve. "Your dream? No, you had a vision. An audacious one, at that."

"I assume you lived to see it fall apart, though," I say. I fold my arms on the edge, watching the trees scratch up at the sky. "Or worse, died in the process."

"Does it really weigh that much on you?" he asks. "All the people who died along the way? You gave them purpose, even if the destruction from Chaos was inevitable – and believe me, we all knew it was. Besides, your Savior brought them back, in the end."

"She was your Savior too, you know," I mutter. "Not just mine."

He shrugs. "More yours than anyone else's, right? Or so I've gathered."

Blushing, I shoot him a questioning look.

He adjusts his glasses, chuckling lightly. "I'm an observer, remember? I don't miss much. It's something of a lifelong curse turned full-time job these past few years. Not that seeing you two together is even remotely avoidable," he says.

I have to laugh along as I drag a hand over my face. He has a point. We haven't exactly been discreet over the years. My mind travels back to a time when she served as my personal escort through town – in the Savior's Equilibrium garb, no less.

"It's certainly been a point of contention," I sigh. "Can you blame me, though?"

"Ha, I guess not," he says. "But you don't seem to be particularly happy with the state of things right now. Even I can see that, after only a few days on this assignment."

My fingers rake against my scalp, drawing suppressed frustrations to the surface. "Of course I'm not happy. Yes, I am grateful that we all made it to this world, but while some people may be getting a new lease on life, plenty more are starving in the wilderness or creating religions or-or so confused they don't know where to turn. It's such a mess."

Honestly, I could expound further, but I hesitate. The jury is still out regarding how much I can trust an observer assigned by Rosch, long-time fan of mine or not.

"Isn't this your strong suit, though?" he asks, and I face him again, perplexed. "Making order out of chaos, I mean."

I look down at my hands. "I'd rather not fail everyone again. This will take time."

"That's progress for you, Director." He pushes off from the side of the car, hands in his pockets, and half-smiles at me. "One survivor to another, you have my support, whenever you need it. I should go for now, though, before I make any trouble for either of us."

Nodding, I laugh a little at the strangeness of the entire interaction. "Thank you. I hope we can talk again, um... wait, I can't get your name, can I?"

"Ah, no," he replies, looking chagrined. "Glitch is pretty strict about that protocol."

"Can I at least get your callsign?"

He grins at the loophole. "Oh, that would be Specs. Border patrol naming conventions can be a little unimaginative."

He turns to leave, pulling his helmet back on and heading toward the exit. Just then, the train rounds a sudden bend, smoke whipping into my eyes and mouth. After practically hacking up a lung, I look around and find myself alone again.

The sun dips closer to the western horizon, orange and red hues blending down to the rust of jagged canyon lands. As the train begins to meander its way through steeper sections of sheer rock, any signs of human life fall away – no campfire smoke, cleared plots, or hints of paths from the tracks cross my view. We passed the last farming village nearly an hour ago.

Minutes later, Glitch comes to the observation car on his way through another security sweep. "We're about twenty minutes from Augusta, Sir. Any concerns from the trip, or for my squad, before we disembark?"

"Are you required to wear your helmets on duty?" I ask him in lieu of greeting. "I don't mean to pry – just curious if you're allowed to go without it."

He comes to a halt, shakes his head, and removes the thing. "Only the rest of the squad is required to wear them, but I still do it out of habit. Why does it matter?"

"It's easier to talk to people when I can see their faces," I say with a shrug. The idea of nameless, faceless people sacrificing themselves for me is a sickening concept, but I can't voice that fact. The best I can do is to study them.

In an attempt to alleviate my discomfort, I take a flash of a moment to memorize Glitch's dark face and the row of colorful beads braided against the side of his head.

"Any significance to the beads?" I ask, hoping this might open a conversational door.

My words stagnate in the air.

By Glitch's unchanging expression, I get the feeling that this discussion is dead on arrival. He crosses his arms in a familiar guarded stance. "With all due respect, Sir, you ask some strange questions," he says.

An apology is on my tongue, but my father's words ring in my ears and I swallow it back. "That's fair," I laugh instead. "You can just call me Hope, by the way – I'm not your superior and I'm not acting in official capacity right now."

"I guess that's fair, too," he replies, cracking the barest hint of a smile before he gestures toward the adjacent railcar entrance. "Right now, we just need to get back inside the train before we're too far into the canyon."

"Why is that?" I've been in this canyon before. Camped in it, in fact.

"Safety precaution. Just let me do my job, Hope," Glitch scoffs. As we approach the door, I gaze up at the veined wall of rock just ahead of our position. A shift in the light catches my eye and I pause, puzzling at three darker outlines interrupting the sediment pattern.

"Hey, are those—?"

"Get down!"

Glitch flattens me to the deck just as a projectile smashes against the forward wall of the observation car, bursting into a cloud of vapor right in front of us. He leaps back up and I roll sideways to my feet, both of us coughing harshly. My eyes are ablaze and I swear my entire face is trying to melt off, sinuses emptying like faucets – I can barely make out the humanoid blobs that land front of us. Glitch draws his weapon, and I follow suit.

"Stay back, Hope!" he shouts from my right.

But one of them has charged, his blurred blade arcing toward us. Without thinking, I block the blow with Heaven's Cloud and the other weapon shatters against it. Its wielder stumbles back, scrambling for the other door. Nearby, I hear the clash of metal as the sergeant fights on.

"Stop!" I call out, lunging to tackle the unarmed bandit from behind and hooking my arm around his neck. We topple, skid across the wooden planks and he writhes, kicking to no avail and clawing at my arm as I lock it in place. It only takes one shot to clamp down on the carotid artery, the maneuver second nature after Lightning's endless training.

He passes out in less than twenty seconds. I shove myself up from his limp form and stand on shaky legs, wheezing for breath while my eyes and nose still stream fluids. Glitch is just tossing aside a captured weapon in my periphery as he backs one bandit to the door, their hands raised.

"On your knees!" Glitch commands. He swipes an arm over his face and spits furiously at the deck.

The third one is lying opposite us, cradling a bloody leg. I retrieve my sword and sheathe it. Crossing to the injured person, I motion for them to stay down.

My eyes haven't recovered enough to properly gauge the leg wound, but I pull a rolled cloth strip from my utility belt to wrap around the bloodiest area.

"Get back!" she hisses, trying to scoot away. "Are you insane? You just killed—"

"No," I counter hoarsely, coughing. Whatever they launched in our faces continues to burn. "He's just knocked out. Now stop moving."

Vaguely, the sound of a grinding door registers and someone yells, "What the hell is going on out here, Sergeant?" I glance up to see another of the security detail running by.

"Just get some restraints on this guy and that one," Glitch croaks, gesturing at the unconscious bandit. "And get medical supplies for the girl."

His eyes lock onto mine, and even through the pain and blur I sense his indignation stabbing at me. "You need to get back inside the train, Sir. Now."

Any options lacking, I stand to head for the door. I make it three steps before vomiting another round of mucous and canteen sludge and god knows what over the side.

Well, I've had worse days.

Daylight is all but gone by the time we fully off-load and set up camp on the outskirts of Augusta. The stars peek out, bright and sharp in the sky overhead, and I cling tightly to this familiar, breathtaking view of nature.

Which is sorely needed, because right now I'm being marched to the nearest frigid stream to wash off the remnants of the chemical agent we just encountered.

"Let's make this quick," Glitch huffs, pushing me into the trees. "This stuff burns like hell."

He's commandeered my sword, holding onto it like a trophy. He throws my ruck to me, and I glare at him until he drops his things, along with Heaven's Cloud, near a large rock several feet upstream.

"Obviously," I grumble back. It's bad enough having to strip to our underwear and scrub off in forty-something-degree water, but even less fun doing it in semi-darkness. Goodness knows what kind of insect just crawled up my leg. The one benefit is that I am very much in tune with my humanity right now.

"So were you going to tell me about that crazy longsword of yours?" Glitch asks suddenly, repeatedly splashing his face. "Or was I just supposed to assume you carry around epic weapons to play hero with?"

"You didn't take a hint from the five foot scabbard on my back?" I charge.

"That is not a normal-sized scabbard," he retorts. "I thought you had a tripod or something in there. And that blade looks like a cactuar-inspired torture device."

Taking a deep breath, I plunge my head into the water and come back up, gasping more from the icy shock. This is going to have to be good enough. My feet are numb and my teeth are chattering as I slosh ashore to towel off.

"L-listen," I stammer, pulling on clean clothes as fast as I can before more bugs can find me. "That s-sword is one of Light's. Got it for her in Yusnaan."

His laugh ricochets through the trees. "Of course, more Savior shenanigans! I've got to say, this is not the kind of trouble I expected from a politician's son."

"Well, what did you expect?" I snap, storming over to where he's started digging a hole to bury the contaminated clothing. Pressure builds behind my eyes and he actually flinches away from me, so I know my control has slipped, but in this moment I just don't care.

"I do not need to be babysat," I say, my tone going cold. "Lightning trained and armed me because I tend to be a walking target, and survival is what she does best. So yes, her Savior shenanigans should hopefully spare you some grief and get us all home alive."

I snatch my weapon from the ground, slinging the scabbard back on, and kick my wad of ruined clothes over to the hole. "Now, I'm going to head back, if you can trust me enough on my own for two minutes. Fair?"

Glitch finally meets my eyes, hardening his gaze. "Okay, fine. But the next time I tell you to back away from hostiles, I'd appreciate some compliance."

"I'll comply, given the right circumstance," I counter. "I can't carry a massive sword into negotiations, after all. But if we're in danger, at least acknowledge that I can contribute and let me do so."

He just picks up his trowel and starts replacing the dirt over the clothes-grave. "You're pushing it, Hope. I'll unofficially allow it, on one condition."

"What's that?" I ask, rubbing my arms as I head out of the trees. The camp's blazing fire-pit calls to me in the near distance.

"Just… let me borrow the weird sword sometime."

He at least has the grace to look abashed, his authoritative tone at odds with the gleam in his eyes. The abrupt shift is enough to make me stop in my tracks, eyes still mildly burning and damp hair soaking my collar. I choke out a harsh laugh that quickly turns to another fit of coughs, fresh tears of amusement cementing the ridiculous situation we've landed in.

"Sure, why not?" I offer, still laughing as I gesture magnanimously to my sword.

Glitch's answering grin is enough to assure me that we're back on good terms.

When we return, I'm surprised at the presence of two bandits practically inhaling bowls of soup by the fire-pit, some distance from where the rest of the team is eating. Their hands and feet are bound in front of them, with one of Glitch's squad standing at alert nearby.

"Get any info on them?" Glitch asks the soldier.

"None yet, Sergeant," she replies. She lowers her voice and adds, "The leader is in your tent, but he hasn't talked. Honestly, I've gotta wonder when these kids last had a decent meal."

Glitch shakes his head. "It crossed my mind. Probably for the best that on-board security was too swamped to deal with them. I doubt they'd be eating this well. We'll see what we can find out before the hand-off tomorrow – not that Augusta's security regiment will be any happier about it."

I walk past Wedge, who cheerfully fills another bowl and plants it in my hands. "I hope you're feeling up to dinner! I experimented with some new recipes over the break."

"Yes, definitely," I laugh. "Smells like you got hold of some basil." I tip it back for a taste and move around to where our unwitting guests now sit, dropping my sword and settling cross-legged onto my own patch of weeds.

Bowls down, they glance warily in my direction. A quick study of their clothing, a combination of stitched animal hide and metallic reinforcements over dark fitted fabric, makes me wonder about their origin and range of operations.

"How's your leg?" I ask the girl. She has to be younger than me – at least, physically younger than me. There aren't many people still around who could challenge my chronological age, and I consider all of them family.

Her eyes drop to the bandage wrapped just above the knee, but she doesn't reply.

The wiry young man beside her swipes a sleeve over his mouth, then spits back instead, "You might as well stop acting like any of you give a damn whether we live or die. I know a last meal when I see one."

"If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it earlier," I say, tapping the hilt of the sword beside me. "No sense letting lives go to waste, though. I hate that I had to choke you out, I really do. But you were going for my team next."

"Your team?"

The surprise on his face is at least more muted than I've been accustomed to over the years, but remains stubbornly in place. He only appears to be in his early twenties himself. I just smile right through.

"Yes," I say with a tired laugh. "My name's Hope Estheim, and you've, uh, 'dropped in' on my survey team."

Suddenly, the girl goes pale. In my years on this world, I have yet to encounter someone who is not bothered by something about my existence, so the offense slides right off. It's beyond my control. Recognition sinks into her dark eyes, and I scramble to guess at where and when these bandits lived before. They do not look ready to be forthcoming.

A plan forms in my mind – Sazh-inspired, of all things. The time-drifting pilot has more tricks in reserve than he ever shows.

"Hey, Jessie," I call, having spotted her on the way around the fire-pit, and she jogs over.

"What's up, Chief?"

"You know where our Chronobind set is packed?" I ask. "We should play a few rounds."

Jessie just about jumps for joy. "You better believe it! Be right back."

I turn to the bandits, who are now just looking confused.

"Let's play a game of chance," I offer. "Just chips, no tangible wagers. I'll teach you all the rules, and we can do practice rounds. You'd have a fair shot at winning – double the chances with two players, in fact. Sound good?"

The young man tenses up, clearly still skeptical, but the girl tilts her head at me.

"What kind of payout?" she asks.

"Information, for me," I say. "If I win, you tell me all about yourselves and what led up to our encounter. But if one of you two wins, what would you prefer?"

Her male counterpart just scoffs. "You could let us walk away."

"Now that's a little too unconditional," I counter. "How about your freedom, with a guarantee that you'll show some discretion and not attack anyone from now on?"

This time, he laughs in disbelief. "You've got no way to guarantee that!"

"You still owe me for your life." Unbidden, the pressure is there again, and I can't seem to blink it away. "Besides, how do you know what I'm capable of?"

Now, they both are wide-eyed. They exchange a long glance before the young man nods, apparently ready to take me seriously.

"I guess we could make that happen," he mutters. "Hasn't been our go-to anyway. If you win, though, and we give you the information, do we still get to leave?"

I shrug. "That's fine by me, with the same conditions. My security detail leader may have additional requirements, though."

Jessie comes running back, dragging Biggs along, and they plop down in the dirt with us. She sets out the clock board in the center, pulls out the card deck, and drops a bag of clay chips into my lap.

"Sorry about this, Jessie, but I need one of you to be the dealer this time."

"Aw, seriously?" she pouts. "You owe me." She takes back the bag, evenly dividing the chips and dealing out five cards to each of us. I set the clock hand on the red number 13.

"Wow," the bandit girl says suddenly, before we begin. "I haven't seen a thirteen-hour clock since… I don't even know when."

Biggs shakes his head. "This is the only place you're gonna see one, guaranteed."

"Okay," I say, rubbing my hands together. "So the first thing you need to know – this clock can be your enemy or your friend."

We take turns laying out the rules: the hierarchy of values from Ace-beats-King-or-clock-number to Ace-loses-every-other-time, how winning cards move the clock, the showdown and clock-out processes, chip additions to the pot on every clock 'charge' by hitting or passing 13, and the end game when someone inevitably loses all their chips. Every time I introduce this game to someone, I find myself amazed that such a relatively complicated game can be a staple for drunken gambling. Despite the various rules, however, it never takes long before people get the hang of it.

Our guests are sharp – they only need three practice rounds to get a solid feel for the game, and we jump right in. The chips change hands in a blur, stacking around the clock and being snatched up just as rapidly. By our fourth actual round, the bandit girl has begun to inch ahead of us all.

In the back of my mind, I'm looking for the right moment to utilize an Ace/Queen gambit, since those cards have landed in my hands now. Sazh has trained me decently well, even if I haven't managed to beat him yet.

Finally, maybe impossibly, the clock is charged at the 13 and I anticipate Kings to come out of the woodwork. I play my Ace.

"This one's mine!" I laugh on the reveal, to the groans of all, which only become louder when I follow up with my Queen on the next play. I take the pot and clock out.

"Damn it," the male bandit growls. His chips are dwindling, and his counterpart is looking nervous as she calculates her standing after my lucky hand.

He goes bust two plays later, his final chips forfeit on the charge.

"That's game!" Jessie announces, throwing a hand in the air. "Everybody count your winnings."

I finish sorting my chips and look up. Biggs is laughing at his sad little pile – he was barely hanging on in the end, anyway. The bandit girl, though, just taps at her chip stacks with a crestfallen expression. She's lost by a narrow margin.

"Just when I think my luck can't get any worse," she mutters.

Shrugging, I explain, "I used a pretty risky strategy. Half the time I lose on it."

"Yeah, as Sazh always says," Biggs tries, adopting a comically grim gaze into the fire, "Lady Luck is a fickle mistress."

I roll my eyes, but his antics do get a short laugh out of the girl. Jessie packs up the game, gives me a quick high five, and starts into a side-chat with Biggs as they wander off.

"I guess this is the part where we pay up," the male bandit says, shifting into a more comfortable position with his bound ankles. "By way of that information you wanted."

Nodding, I rest my forearms on my thighs and wait.

He meets my gaze with steely determination. "All right. First of all, not that it matters, but I'm Nej and this is Luka, originally from Yusnaan and Luxerion. Guess we're what you'd call 'immortals,'" he tells me, biting out the term in a way that turns my stomach with memories from my stint in school.

"We both used to live in your home settlement – heard they're calling it the Crossroads these days," he says, chuckling bitterly. "It's ambitious, I'll give 'em that – the whole resource supply chain, and trying to be this hub of civilization. Ambitious enough for folks like us to be a little… inconvenient."

Okay. This seems to be a conversational minefield, so I opt to tread lightly. "I take it you didn't part ways on the best of terms," I try. "Care to tell me what happened?"

"It's still pretty foggy to me," Nej says, bound hands open. "I know for a fact I wasn't the only moonshiner in town, but I guess I got a little too profitable? Or sold to the wrong person? Honest to god, I don't know. Just that my business got shut down and I was sent packing over a year ago. I'm blacklisted from that place. Jamus found me scoping one of the cultivation centers for food a few days after that, then we ran into Luka in the woods a couple weeks later."

"I assume Jamus is the name of your leader?" I ask, gesturing in the direction of the security tent.

"Yes," the girl, Luka, murmurs. She bobs her head, swallowing hard before she adds, "Some of us were easier to target, you know? I was… I was part of the cult they disbanded."

Her voice dies out and her eyes fall to the dirt.

Well, that certainly explains some things.

"You don't need to be afraid," I say. She looks back up, and I smile, hoping my face really does convey all the sincerity I can muster. "I don't hold anything against you, I promise. Lightning disbanded the cult, but she did not force anyone out of town. Who made you leave?"

They exchange another glance, clearly apprehensive. The girl trips over a couple of false starts before she finally asks, "W-well, your father is on the council, right? You don't think… maybe he didn't feel like disbanding the cult was enough, after what we did?"

"Absolutely not," I retort. "He supported the Savior directing the cult to disband, but he never made any motion for those people to be expelled. Trust me – he never would. That isn't his nature. He wouldn't forgive something like that, either."

However, even as the words leave my mouth, it does make me wonder how much my father actually knew about the council's actions back then.

They are staring at me again, practically holding their breath and waiting to see where this could go. My elbows have dug trenches into my thighs from the lack of movement, so I shake out my limbs, trying to tone down my intensity.

"Did all of the former cultists have to leave?" I ask Luka. "Or only some of you?"

She shakes her head, her shoulders sagging. "I'm not sure. I didn't know every single person in the cult, but a big group of us definitely left. Just not all at once," she explains. "Some were my friends, so I noticed when they kind of fell off the map. I'd ask around, find out that so-and-so went off to live with 'long-lost relatives,' or another few people left to work in a mine somewhere. One group left on a pilgrimage to find our original settlement pretty early on, and I heard about that firsthand but didn't want to join them."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Wait – your original settlement?"

"Well yes," she laughs hollowly. "We were excommunicated from that place, so we went looking for the Savior and settled in the Crossroads instead. Only to have the whole cycle repeat itself and lose our religion."

She pauses, eyes widening as she abruptly remembers to whom she's talking. With a slight wince, she hastily adds, "N-Not that it wasn't deserved."

"You still haven't told me why you were essentially deported, yourself," I ask again, side-stepping her blunder and carefully keeping my tone neutral. "It sounds like the rest of the former cult left for quite a variety of reasons – legitimate or not."

"Well, my skills aren't what you'd call desirable," she declares, her remnant of a smile thinning away. "No one needs a washed-up actress, and most places hated anyone associated with the cult, so I fell back on my old standby and started conning people in the markets. I wasn't the only one, either – it's surprisingly common. I was just one of the unlucky ones, caught and booted. Who would want to keep some insignificant cultist turned con-artist around?"

Luka is the picture of defeat. She reminds me a little of myself, two years ago – clawing and carving out a place for herself in a world where she does not fit, only to sink back down when it refuses to let her find purpose.

All of this makes me even more intent to uncover what is going on behind these expulsions from the Crossroads. It's hard for me to believe that every petty criminal is being deported for this behavior.

These two don't really seem to buy it, either.

My mind grasps at anything helpful to say. "Thanks for being honest with me," I finally tell them both. "Clearly you've been working with Jamus for a long time, and I assume others. What were you after on the train?"

"Supplies," Nej says simply. "Some places might trade for moonshine or maybe put us up occasionally, but none of these villages have much to spare. The trains have become our most reliable source – that and our only way to raise awareness or get payback, however it works out. On-board security is more of a challenge lately, so we've had to improvise. It's just been the three of us for a long time now."

Luka adds, "We fell in with a pretty nice commune in the mountains a while ago, but they weren't interested in getting involved with other settlements, especially the Crossroads. Eventually, we went our own way. They also weren't particular fans of our, um… ethics."

"You mean theft, or the use of weapons?" I ask. They both dodge my gaze. "Listen, I'm not here to judge. I want to help. What kind of supplies do you need?"

Nej is a picture of disbelief, until his expression warps with bitterness. His hands tighten into fists. "We can't rely on handouts. It's a nice thought, but Jamus says we've gotta plan long-term. If he made it in Ruffian, he's got a leg up on keeping us alive out here."

"I'm failing to see how intermittent train raids are any more a 'long-term solution' than handouts." Watching the way his eyes shift, I note the pieces clicking in place.

The more we talk, the more I remember. These three were once among the many souls Lightning intervened for in the final thirteen days. Their names are already familiar, but their faces have changed with the passage of time – it's certainly an adjustment seeing them somewhere other than a plethora of digital screens, as well. Still, nothing in their accounts is out of place.

Black Market Nej, as I recall, sought a special ingredient for his alcoholic concoctions.

Luka had given up acting to sell her tears to a city of people too far gone to cry.

And Jamus, though I hadn't interacted with him here, was surely the former bandit from Ruffian who survived the slaughter of his children by skeletons, nearly drowning in grief.

"What should we do, then?" Luka asks, her quiet, doubtful voice pulling me back from my thoughts. It's unclear if she's asking the question to me or to her counterpart, but Nej has fallen into a heavy silence, his eyes lost in the fire.

"That's a hard question," I sigh in frustration, running a hand through my hair. "I can't deny it. I have no right to tell you not to survive. Maybe you could call this situation, right now, just one lucky break in a series of breaks that you need to get to a better place. What I'd really like to know is where you want to end up."

"Well that's easy," Nej says, an ageless exhaustion weighing on his words. "We want a place to call home. Simple as that. Somewhere safe, around friends, where we can make a decent living."

I turn this over in my mind for a long minute – this living, breathing wish that I feel to the very edges of my being is shared by all humanity. Even if some of us push the boundaries of expectation in life, to the point that this intrinsic longing fades into the background, the substance of it survives at the core.

A place to call home.

Who else is looking for that place? Are they coming from the same border location? As I prop my face in my hands, a smile slowly dawns.

"Can you tell me a little more about that commune you found?"

The moment I finish briefing Glitch on my intentions with the bandits in custody, I wonder if the sergeant might just clock me.

He is pacing around in the now-vacated tent, seething waves rippling away from his position. If I were any normal person, I might be shaking in my boots. As it stands, I just wait for him to finish processing his rage.

Finally, he stops and turns the full force of his cold fury in my direction.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he growls. His voice is low, but the threat remains – far from being one of the more serious threats I have faced, if still troublesome.

I settle into a folding chair, chin in my hand. "Could you be a little more specific?"

"Oh, for damn sure," he snaps, raising a finger at me. "One, I don't know who you think died and made you the arbiter of fate for a bunch of criminals on this assignment, but it was not me. And two, you've got to be out of your mind to think you can just release them back into the wild as some sort of ferrymen taking deportees to an unknown commune."

Shifting my chin to the other hand, I take a long breath. "Calm down, Glitch. This is not the end of the world, trust me. I just see a golden opportunity here. These people, as we have separately gathered, don't have a base of operations and are only interested in survival and exposing a systemic issue in the Crossroads. What sort of fate were you planning on sentencing them to?"

"I'm not sentencing anyone! It's just protocol," he fires back. "They committed an actual crime, and normally they would've remained in the custody of on-board security for gassing and attacking us on the train. We'll turn them over to Augusta in the morning, and they'll be transported under escort to the Crossroads on the next eastbound train. From there, based on what I know of other bandit arrests recently, they'll be sent to work in the mines, maybe worse for the leader. That's all there is to it."

A new and particularly deep pit opens in my stomach at the thought of forced labor in a mine, and I grimace at the sensation. Some of these sites are probably mines discovered in my own survey expeditions.

"So you'll just hand them over, no questions asked?" I charge, sitting up and gesturing toward the tent flap. "To be shipped back and thrown into a mine, or worse? That girl is a minor, and the guy with her isn't much older. Their leader seems to have adopted them as a new surrogate family, by your account and from what I know of his history. They were essentially banished from our home settlement – sent into the wilderness to possibly die over petty crimes at best, and for all we know, it's still going on unchecked. I'm not sure if that's better or worse than being sent off to forced labor, which apparently happened to some of their compatriots already, but it does not sit well with me. None of it."

A momentary flash of anguish passes over Glitch's face, but he regains his bearing in a breath. "You're taking this on the word of a couple of strangers who attacked us? And we both know they aren't just kids – like their leader, they lived a few lifetimes before."

"It's funny how people can take or leave the 'immortality' repercussions to suit their own needs," I retort, fighting a losing battle against the indignation burning in my chest and creeping in behind my eyes. "Apparently, a lot has changed since I went out into the field, and not all for the better. Please do elaborate if you have proof to the contrary. But I need you to understand – I recognize their names and faces from Lightning's previous interactions with them. Those lifetimes were a miserable existence, and it's absurd and cruel to use that against them now. They are currently caught in a vicious cycle, and someone needs to break it. What do you think my job is, anyway, if not to find creative solutions to problems like this?"

"Your job is to solve a trade dispute for the railway to proceed," Glitch deflects with stilted formality. "Not assign a mission to a bunch of bandits. That isn't your decision to make. It's mine as your security detail lead during this assignment, and as the representative given custody of these criminals by on-board security. The protocol would be to send them back to a legal authority for processing. It's nothing personal."

"You can't be serious," I challenge. "It's a travesty to not take this personally! These are actual people's lives! Two of them are young lives, regardless of their history, and the other is their adoptive father figure. The world isn't getting another reboot for them."

"You say all of this like you're somewhere outside of the whole sad tale, but you're barely a legal adult yourself," Glitch counters, side-eying me with open skepticism. "Why should they get a free pass when you hold yourself to some higher standard?"

"Because I'm an anomaly," I huff. "They do not need to meet my standards by any stretch, so leave me out of the equation. Please."

It's difficult to tell if I'm getting through to him. I sink back into the chair, rubbing my temple in frustration. "Look, you obviously have the authority to override me on this, which is why I'm begging you to reconsider. I just need to know… Can you can look me in the eyes and tell me your way is the right way? That they deserve the punishment you would be sending them off to receive? And make no mistake – being a couple of steps removed from the actual hand of judgment doesn't absolve you or me of guilt."

Glitch just stares, as if he's looking into a void and finding something other than me in the depths. It's a familiar, searching puzzlement that often suffused Lightning's face in our first couple of years together, even when she knew part of the truth behind my incongruous state. His dark expression hardens until it finally cracks around the edges, his fists clenching and releasing as he turns aside, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"You are impossible," he huffs, disbelief and exasperation in his tone. Shaking his head, he faces me again. "If Lightning was here instead, fighting you on this, you can't tell me you'd be pushing back like some idealistic, self-appointed authority figure."

"Are you kidding?" I scoff, swallowing down the burn of his insinuation. "I would pull out all the stops. She's famously stubborn. But again, this isn't about me or about her. Do you support an alternative plan for these bandits, instead of essentially dumping them into forced labor and turning a blind eye to a systemic issue? Please be honest. We would need to present the option and make them aware of the conditions, if so."

Glitch traces a thoughtful hand over the row of beads on his head, measuring his words. "I'll admit, I've seen some things I'm not too proud of, in my time on Cocoon and on the border," he says quietly. "This incident, these accounts we have… they're consistent with what I know. I don't agree with the punishments being handed out, but I haven't exactly been in any position to change that."

"Well, right now you're the only one who can," I try. "If anything had gone differently – if on-board security took over, or if we had reported directly to Augusta, there would be no opportunity here. I don't believe in coincidences. These people deserve a second chance, and I think they can do a lot of good for others being thrown into this same situation."

"I do know a vicious cycle when I see one, and you aren't wrong," he admits quietly. "You might be a little crazy, but this could be a step in the right direction. They'll need the locations to monitor for deportees to even have a shot at finding anyone – it's privileged, so this part of the plan definitely needs to stay between us. If they're as dedicated to the cause as you seem to think, maybe they can spare a few lives before it's too late. I'd rather not add to my list of regrets."

"Thank you," I say, heaving a sigh of relief. I stand to shake his hand on it. "I forget that most people don't routinely challenge authority."

"Just yours?" he scoffs.

"Touché," I laugh. "What little there is, self-appointed or otherwise."

"We'll have to strike this from the record," Glitch mutters, hand on his chin. "Shouldn't be a problem, though. I'll smooth things over with the observer, let him know I'm giving them a conditional release to return to that commune. This security incident's got nothing to do with a diplomatic mission that hasn't even technically started, yet."

Nodding, I'm a little surprised at my own happiness over this small detail. Specs said I would have his support, and Glitch seems to trust him to a point as well.

"I'll ask Jessie and Wedge to pack some rucks with changes of clothes and supplies for them. They'll need to backtrack along the rail to board the eastbound train at the last watering station," I say, flying through the wickets in my mental list. "They should disembark at the village stop right before the Crossroads, then follow your directions to monitor the deportation site. I should probably explain everything to them myself."

Glitch narrows his eyes at me. "For the record, you do know they could all just bail on this plan of yours, right? Don't you ever wonder if some people are beyond help?"

"No," I shrug. "When that was Light's call to make, she still saved everyone."

There are, after all, some things you just do. Or fall short after lifetimes of trying.

"You would say that," he chuckles, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "What the hell were you in the old world, besides a l'Cie? Some kind of philanthropist?"

Shaking my head, I just walk over to the flap to leave. "That's a long story for some other time. See you in a bit."

Glitch stands guard just inside the entrance to the security tent, impassively watching the three bandits sitting in a row.

"You're back!" Luka pipes up when I join them, and I take a seat just a few feet away on the floor. I roll out a smaller copy of a regional map between us, weighting it down and digging around for a pencil.

Nej cracks a hopeful grin. "This is the guy we were talking about," he says to Jamus, who stares at me in open disbelief.

"You're that kid who was tagging along with the Savior?" Jamus asks dubiously, narrowing his one good eye at me. "Luka said so. Said this was your survey team."

"All true. But enough about that," I say, gesturing toward Glitch. "The sergeant here has some good news."

Glitch crosses his arms, his dark eyes boring into each of their faces. "I've decided to allow your release, conditionally. Hope will explain the details. Understand that the alternative would be turning you over to security in Augusta, who would send you back to the authorities in the Crossroads. If you are later apprehended for additional criminal activity, like the incident earlier today, that will be the protocol. Do I make myself clear?"

"As crystal," Jamus says without missing a beat. He scratches around his eyepatch for a moment, then looks to me. "Let's hear these conditions."

"What we are asking you to do is fairly straightforward," I explain, waving my hand at the map. "You'll have to cease all criminal activity, of course – no more stealing or attacking people on trains, etc. Instead, we want you to monitor deportation checkpoints and escort the other deportees to the commune you found. I'm hoping you can help provide a stopgap measure to the issue."

Jamus chuckles darkly. "You're shitting me, right? I have a hard time buying that you lot are concerned about the mess we all crawled out of, if you even believe us."

"Well, start buying it," I say. "I am absolutely serious. We'll be giving you some supplies and providing other resources to get things off to a good start."

Smiling, I tap my pencil to the map. "Based on everything Luka and Nej told me, this should be the location of a certain commune you joined sometime last year."

Jamus searches the area of the map around my marker for a long minute, finally nodding at the claim. "Yeah, that's about right."

"And here, you'll find a security out-processing checkpoint for deportees," I say, moving my pencil to a separate location on the eastern border of the Crossroads. "It's early March right now, so this would be the location used until the month is up. They rotate clockwise through the towers." Tapping each of several other points in succession, I look back up to Jamus.

"So what do you think?" I ask. "Will you take on this mission?"

"It's not like we've got a choice," Jamus says, shaking his head. He runs a hand through his greasy hair. "You really trust us to do everything you're asking?"

"Hard to say," I admit. "I'm curious, though. As a complete stranger, you asked Lightning to wipe out an entire race of monsters – some pretty horrific skeletons, actually – to avenge your family, and she did it. What do you think she would want you to do with the life you've gotten here? Can you think of a better use of your time?"

His eye goes wide, boring into me. "You knew about that?"

"I know all three of your histories, actually. If you want a second chance, we are offering it now," I say, smoothing my hands over the map. "Please take this to heart. I don't care if you're doing it for the people who are suffering, out of gratitude to Lightning, to get back at the Crossroads, or out of fear that you might face some cosmic karma. I harbor no delusions that you would do it for me. Just make it happen."

The three of them stare at the map, silence growing thick in the air around us. Eventually, Jamus raises his head and clears his throat.

"We're definitely gonna need some help getting back."

"Easy enough," I say, pulling three cards from a utility pouch. "These are train passes from three of my team members – we won't be needing them for a while, and we can replace them quickly enough. My team is also packing your bags right now, to include changes of clothes for travelling without suspicion."

I lay out the plan in detail, starting from the point of departure to the train boarding and debarking, and we discuss the best routes to the deportation checkpoint and the commune from there. I draw the proposed southern track as we go, detouring to another location with respect to additional resources.

"This hunting village is pretty far south, but will serve as an excellent halfway point on your trip to the checkpoint," I explain, circling the site on the map. I pull a folded letter from my pouch and toss it next to the train passes. "My old friend Noel Kreiss is there. This is a letter explaining the circumstance – he should be willing to help, if you show this to him. And speaking of letters, I'd appreciate it if you could write to me here in Augusta about your progress. Personal accounts from the people being deported could help us fight this issue internally."

Luka tilts her head at me. "Will you be working with your father, then?"

"We'll see," I reply, making a mental note to ask my father about his own work once I make it back home. "It depends on what the situation is really like on the council right now. I need more information, first."

At the entrance, Biggs suddenly pops his head through the flap, grinning wide. "Hey Chief, I've got the rucks!" He shoulders his way into the tent and drops all three bags next to the map, dusting his hands before he points to the furthest one. "That one's from Jessie – better sizing on the clothes for Luka."

"Thanks a lot, Biggs." He gives me a thumbs up and heads right back out.

I roll up the map, then clap my hands together. "All right. Any questions before we send you all off?"

Jamus holds out his bound wrists. "Are you gonna tell Lightning about this whole plan?"

"Absolutely," I laugh, tugging at the knot of the rope. I meet his one-eyed gaze and smile. "I'm sure you'll give it your very best."

Frost coats the ground, ever so slightly crunching underfoot as I step out of my tent the next morning, rubbing my bleary eyes. The sun has only just begun to think about rising, the fire-pit is an ashen heap on the earth before me, and Glitch is already posted outside the main tent. He nods in my direction, and I pick my way across the strewn campsite.

"Morning," he mutters, looking equally weary. "Should be an eventful day."

"Still feeling good about the special secret mission?" I ask, smothering a yawn.

"Cautiously optimistic. You're a regular people person, aren't you?"

"Ironically enough."

Camp slowly comes to life before us, one stretching team member at a time. Glitch calls a joint huddle of the entire party to explain the situation around breakfast. Honestly, I'm relieved to see that the release of the bandits is blowing over much more quickly than even our most mundane challenges from wildlife.

As Glitch puts it, their conditional release will free up time and resources that might otherwise be wasted on such a minor incident. No one seems to disagree.

It probably helps that none of them were tear-gassed.

The conversation rapidly turns toward everything our respective groups plan to do in town, supplies and trinkets they want to seek out, and plans to find an establishment to gather at for drinks later in the evening.

I focus on Glitch's squad clustered in front of the security tent, taking note of their distinguishing features in a rare moment of opportunity while they are not yet on duty in their helmets. There is a lone woman in the group, a redhead with a pixie cut. Of the three men she is talking to, one wears a kind smile and reminds me strongly of Sazh – at least, a burly version of Sazh with a military-grade shaved head. The other two men are of average build, and would be indistinguishable from this angle if not for their hairstyles – the first has a close-cropped cut while the second sports a mess of tied-back waves.

Lastly, Specs stands a little apart from the rest who chat together like the oldest of friends, his dark hair and glasses catching my attention. He looks up and nods in my direction, fleetingly smiling in silent acknowledgement. I feel certain that he won't be making trouble for us over the bandit incident.

Still working to fully wake up, I sip on my coffee and answer the questions that fly at me from my own team as everyone rushes around the campsite to get ready for the day. Their enthusiasm right now is directly proportionate to my anxiety over entering Augusta.

There, less than a mile away, lies an entire town full of people who might actually know me on sight. For better or for worse.

"Well, I'm taking the full tour, this time," Biggs declares in passing. He claps me on the shoulder. "Chief, you're gonna be done in time to join us in town tonight, right?"

"I'll do my best," I say, reaching up to mash down the detestable cowlick on the back of my head. "Please don't wait for me if we're running late."

"All right," he says skeptically, gesturing with two fingers from his eyes to mine. "But you'd better not fall off the map. This place is chock full of labs and techie gear – there's a hell of a lot more distractions and places to hide, and we've lost you over less. I know you've got a security escort and all that, just promise you won't try to shake them, too."

"I promise I have no plans to that effect," I deadpan. I take another sip of coffee, rolling my eyes over the rim of my mug. "Now go have fun in town. Smart fun."

"You bet I will," he laughs as he strolls away.

A background buzz of chatter spreads and dies down as several of the team head off early. Jessie walks by a few minutes later to dump a garment bag and a comb into my arms, giving me the usual judgment-face on the destroyed state of my hair.

There are important things on the schedule today, after all.

Beta-roomie's end note commentary continues! Trying not to screw up the formatting…

- [When Snow says some things were in Lightning's territory] Snow: "That's uhh… that's not really my territory—" Other FF13 Fanfic Writers: CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

- [Where Snow asks how often he can spite Bhunivelze] I love this line, it's amazing. I'm just imagining Snow in Hope's corner jumping around with boxing gloves, all like, "ohhhh imma punch me a god, aw yeeeeah"

- [When Hope describes the smell of the cushion] God what a DORK XD

- [After Hope just tells Jessie his mom was dead] Loool what a buzzkill XD

- [When Hope tells the bandits he isn't there to judge] I am. You motherfuckers shot people with tear gas, wtf

- [After the observer notes that the Savior is more 'Hope's' than anyone else's] I love the idea that everyone is like, "dude Hope is banging the Savior, whaaaat"

- [After Hope threw up and said he'd had worse days] Looooool that is the most adult line in this entire story. XD I have absolutely had this exact thought before:

"Wait, you had a 14-hour day and missed lunch and had to run around like crazy all day? And you're SICK? Wtf?"

"Yeah, but like… it's not SERE and I'm not deployed, so it could be worse."

#militarylife

- [When Glitch questions why Hope is carrying around an epic weapon] Look, my dude, when you live in a crazy fantasy land created by a Savior literally battling a God & you're traveling with one of the people involved in said battle, then yeah, you probably should assume that. Like, do you even Final Fantasy, bro?

- [Where Hope asks how they know what he's capable of] I love how effortlessly intimidating this line is XD

- [After Glitch questions whether Hope would put up this fight against Lighting] Lol you clearly don't have the insider view on their relationship at all –

Lightning: "You're being idealistic and ridiculous about this!"

Hope: "sorry can't hear you, my stubbornness has reached full 'imma do it out of SPITE' levels tyvm"

- [Where Jamus questions that Hope was the kid tagging along with the Savior] Um, I believe the verb you are searching for is "banging", good Sir, and he's totally of age so jot THAT down—

- [After Hope asks Jamus if he can think of a better use of his time] Lol guilt tripping with the best of 'em, I'm so proud

- [When Hope remarks that it probably helps that none of the team were gassed] This line is so fucking funny to me, like it's half Hope being grateful and half Hope still annoyed about being tear-gassed XD