Hey everyone! Before I answer your reviews for the last chapter, let me tell you that I'm incredibly thankful that you guys like the story so much! I had my doubts about this third arc, especially considering that Alex is missing, Black is in jail and we keep jumping and jumping through time. For that reason, I'm preparing something quite special for next chapter so stay tuned. Cheers!

Hell-on-Training-Wheels: You know you don't have to apologize, my favorite Overwatch buddy! I agree with you that the reason why Erron is so scared of the truth is because he can't stand the idea of being alone because there is no way for Zar to forgive him. The minute she learns the truth, it's over, and Henry doesn't seem like the best company for our troublesome gunslinger right now. Thank you so, so, so much for your never-ending support!

RaeCamille: That particular moment was meant to fully demonstrate the fundamental difference between them: while Zar would do anything in her power to help him just because she loves him, he's unable to see love as a valid reason, or as reason enough to do something – anything – for somebody else. Thanks, dear! (And also thank you for all those times, when it's 3 in the morning and I'm writing to you because the chapter is just not flowing like it should, you're the best!)

Looksforthelight: It was meant to be an emotional chapter so I'm glad to hear that's exactly how you received it. About the missing parallelism you mentioned (Aalem and Annie's baby) I think you have a point there, even if Aalem wasn't his biological son he still cared for the boy in a very paternal kind of way. Thanks for reading and reviewing, dear!

Westcoast Witchdoctor: Where is our heroine? That's the million dollar question, my friend. I think, too, that Amanda is some sort of a feminine standard for him, and that is just so sad… I understand that eternal youth comes with a price; he can't really get too close to people now, only to watch them wither and die. Maybe Amanda also represents that time of his life when love was easier, when there were no restrictions. A simpler time, maybe… I'm thinking out loud now. Thank you so much for reading/reviewing!

ErronFan: Thank you!

[7 months and 12 days later]

The bomb went off just a few seconds after midday. The sun, positioned right above their heads, had been the silent witness of their fear as it watched it all go down from its unreachable zenith in the sky.

The deadly device had caused a tremendous explosion, a deafening turbulence significantly bigger and louder than the ones caused by its countless yet minor predecessors. The Marketplace had been targeted and the quiet mundanity of yet another day in Z'unkahrah had been stained with the crimson laces of terror.

The second they heard a crash in the rear of one of the many kiosks displayed around the square, they knew it was already too late for their bones to run for cover. The walls crumbled down fast on the terrified customers, the loud noise that was still ringing inside their ears was paralyzing and that instant, in perfect concordance with the blinding pain that had suddenly encompassed them all, had been as treacherous as an unexpected rainstorm about to ruin the perfect day.

Some of them, grasping a proper hold of what seemed to be a last-minute moment of clarity, somehow managed to venture their hands as an attempt to reach for their loved ones. Yet those same bloody digits they had to offer were left with nothing but the unbearable touch of dust and debris; the ashes of a pulverized civilization.

Those who had been lucky enough to survive the explosion, whether by running their legs off as quickly as possible or by mere coincidence, were left with the titanic endeavor of trying to help the wounded with only their agonizing screams guiding them through the horrific scene.

Now, the distant echoes of those political activists seeking reassurance after the census seemed nothing but diluted words with no true meaning – the Earthrealmers had been deported now yet the environment was still hostile, and the rotten apple contaminating the rest of the fruit was still encysted deep amongst them.

They still were walking among them.

Disguised as them.

But they were the opposite of them.

Ironically enough, the ones who called themselves Rebel-Seekers were now a consolidated sort of rebellion and they had chosen to spread their darkness in broad daylight. They had waited for the fuss caused by the census to be over; they had cultivated their hatred towards Kotal's decision and now the citizens were the ones paying the price.

As the first patrols arrived at the scene, the second bomb went off. This time, its effect could not be satiated with simple notions such as destruction or mayhem – the ground shook beneath their disconcerted feet; the devilish crevice stretching itself below them swallowed them all in a mere matter of seconds. One by one, those who were supposed to help the wounded had disappeared into the dark, shallow grave that only moments ago had flourished with life and activity.

Countless pamphlets flew around the area like obnoxious paper airplanes then; their seemingly ethereal landings quickly decorated the scene, their legacy and their message spreading like an uncontainable virus.

The Marketplace had now become Ground Zero.

Arc III

Chapter XXV

Dada

"I assure you: there is no beginning, and we are not afraid; we aren't sentimental. We are like a raging wind that rips up the clothes of clouds and prayers; we are preparing the great spectacle of disaster, conflagration and decomposition."

Dada Manifesto - 1918

The echoes of mayhem and disaster had reached his cell. The walls had trembled, causing that annoying white dust to cover the floor as well as the battered surface of his cot. He had heard the screams ricocheting across the small room as they traveled from the convoluted outside; the unmistakable sounds of innocent lives being extinguished – then the louder voices had disrupted the scene, commanding the rest of the people, trying to snap them out of their paralyzing terror.

Then the second explosion had awakened the tremor in his body. New screams had been summoned to join the deranged carnival of horror and vengeance.

So much for peace…

The only thing that had remained calm through the storm had been Henry, even though the mercenary was certain that if that man had actually been alive, he would have been at least startled by the uncertainty of it all. Black shook the blanket that was covering his cot - the dense, white cloud of ancient dust traveling quickly inside his nostrils only to get glued to the inner walls of his lungs. The man coughed, as he covered his mouth with his hands as a futile attempt to try to undo the obvious mistake then he sat on the cot and exhaled, frustrated. According to Zar, the attacks had ceased right after the census - only a few, spontaneous acts such as minimal protests or picketers blocking the streets here and there had remained, scattered all across the Citadel… but nothing serious, nothing other than childish provocations and small, pointless riots; nothing really worthy of their attention or their easily-resolved sense of concern.

Nothing really worthy of their time.

Now it was clear: they had waited – like a lion that waits for its prey to stroll freely through the wet, misty jungle they had crouched in the dark, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike back. The attack had ultimately punished the city; all their patience had finally been translated into a palpable success.

Patience…

For a man like him, patience and time had always been his greatest allies. Now they were being mirrored by an enemy who had learned how to punish him by retaliating with his own weapons and instruments.

As absorbed inside his own thoughts as he was, he didn't pay attention to the dark shadows growing stronger at the other side of the bars. The unmistakable figure approached his cell in complete silence, the unspoken words of ten thousand souls stirring inside the flesh vessel containing them. Ermac hovered before the door - even if his head had been covered by a black leather cape, it was the glowing green of those mystical eyes of his what truly made the captive man look around his shoulder to acknowledge the enforcer's phantasmagorical apparition.

The absence of guards was only logical, after all. They all were needed elsewhere.

Black stood up instinctually as the seemingly weightless specter produced a rusted key from one of his pockets and proceeded to open the door. There was no time for pleasantries or cordial greetings – the mercenary's bemused vision went black as Ermac quickly covered his head with a dark piece of cloth. Hovering silently behind Erron's back and guiding the gunslinger's blind steps through the Palace, the construct of souls tightened up Black's wrists inside a green lace of unbreakable force to prevent the captive ex-Earthrealmer from trying to escape. The man had been clearly weakened by his state of captivity, so there weren't really any concerns regarding an actual chance of Black trying to physically assault his unexpected escort. After a few moments of complete silence, Ermac finally instructed Black to stop in front of the door where he had led him to. The souls' container placed both his hands on Erron's shoulders, compelling the man, even if only tacitly, to try and still his suddenly tensed-up body. The clicking sound of the doorknob being turned from the inside of the room caressed Black's ears in a mere matter of seconds: since Ermac's hands were still pressed hard against his shoulders, pinning his legs to the ground in a seemingly effortless manner, it became obvious: someone had been waiting for him at the other side of the door.

With a slight push from Ermac's hands, the hesitant gunslinger was forced to step inside the room. The door closed quickly behind him, making it impossible for him to walk away. Now freed from the glowing green lace that had been tightened around his wrists only seconds ago, the man lifted his arms gradually, as if asking for permission, and removed the cloth that had been covering his face.

As Black's cold gaze met the emperor, it only took him a second to understand what was truly going on: even though he hadn't been anywhere near the Marketplace, even if he hadn't even seen the attack or its devastating consequences, the importance of the event had taken its toll on Kotal's rule. Finding himself in the Emperor's private bedchamber was speaking about a secrecy that could only mean one thing: whatever had happened out there, it had been big enough for the Kahn to release him from his cell.

As his fingers began toying with the dark cloth that had prevented him from seeing where he was being taken to, the second revelation presented itself rather naturally before his eyes – he had lived so many years in the Palace that trying to simply disorient him now seemed nothing but a poorly crafted maneuver. The secrecy implied by that dark cloth over his head had deeper roots: if the crisis was indeed as big as he had already started to imagine, the Kahn could simply not afford to be seen entering the Maximum Security pavilion - Black was the only man occupying its cells, there would have been no doubt about their encounter.

Black chuckled, bemused to find out that even if a whole year had passed since the emperor had decided to lock him up in that filthy cell, he still was one of his political pawns. With his rule threatened and facing an uncertain ravine, the emperor could not be seen meeting the man he himself had chosen to put behind bars.

Black discarded the piece of cloth with a disdainful stare encysted deep inside his eyes – they had chosen to cover his head for the most obvious of reasons: now that he was a prisoner, he was wearing a common tunic – with his face concealed from curious eyes, he could be anybody.

Anybody they wanted him to be.

Desperation became then the only concept surfacing his thoughts. The Kahn was desperate – the situation was dire. He took a step forward and approached the troubled ruler: deep down Black was aware of the importance of meeting the Kahn for the first time since the trial. The gunslinger had nothing left to lose; if he could somehow manage to balance the scales in his favor, the situation could prove actually useful for him, providing him with unexpected, sudden leverage over his former employer.

"Kotal," Black finally said.

The emperor nodded quietly, acknowledging his presence.

"I can barely recognize you now,"

A whole year had passed since the emperor had seen the mercenary for the last time. The anniversary was more of a sad presage than an actual celebration: they had chosen to strike back during the first anniversary of M'horel's execution.

"You should've seen this comin' from a mile away," Black teased.

"You are a museum of novelties, really," Kotal found himself acknowledging as the image of this new, fallen from grace man hit his eyes – the dark pools underneath the former enforcer's eyes were speaking about a lack of sleep, a certain insomnia contaminating his troublesome nights. They had altered his physical appearance: from his hair to his clothes, the one standing in front of him was light years away from the gunslinger he had chosen to put behind bars. His weakened body, thinner and subtly kissing goodbye the solid walls of muscle that had shaped his contemporary form, was the living proof that life in prison came with a price: if not completely starved, at least his stomach could at least have a taste of what it felt like to lack the substance brought by the luxuries of living a more pleasurable life.

The emperor rose up from his seat and surrounded the prisoner. He placed one of his hands on Black's impoverished shoulder and exhaled loudly, the sound was more of a condescending lament than an actual sign of sympathy.

"It might be surprising for you, that I've decided to see you after all this time,"

A whole year had passed; the mercenary had been keeping score of the days, the nights, the hours, the seconds. Every particle of his seemingly endless time now paused to please the game of politics and bureaucracy dictated by the emperor's agenda.

Black found himself seething instinctively, the contrasting schemes of colliding interests now clearly displayed before his burning coffee eyes.

"I thought you would at least come to visit me," Erron taunted, "I know my cell can't offer the comfort your office is entitled to but I can assure you – it's cozy enough for us to have a nice little talk."

The emperor grinned minutely at the impertinence carried inside the gunslinger's words – no matter how visually different that man was, it was reassuring for the Kahn to discover that the legendary cowboy was still fighting inside that graceless shadow of a man.

"Only thing is… I know it's not wise for an emperor to visit the scum he himself chose to condemn, especially in times of trouble. It's better for the scum to be delivered - to save your royal office from the shame that it is to have to ask for advice from a man deprived of his freedom. It would be like undoing your own actions, Kotal, and you can't afford to do that – not now that the Rebel-Seekers have yelled check-mate to your throne."

Kotal's cheeks flushed with anger; the warmth brought by the unexpected weight of Black's words was adding to the turmoil in his head. The baritone voice of his twisted moral compass was reverberating across the quiet room, awakening the echoes of those who had surrendered their lives without even truly wanting to – the desperate screams of the innocents realizing way too late that they had been caught up in a game they were not supposed to be playing. The common citizen, hostage of a violence that could only be defined as familiarly alien; the children, men and women who had been mercilessly eradicated from the hostile surface of such a hostile world – and now his words, riveted with the eloquence of those who know that time is by their side, were ringing inside his ears like a bad joke laughing in the faces of those whose time had just run out.

"What do you want, Kotal?"

Insulted by Black's clear lack of sensitivity, the Emperor took a deep breath before asking: "Do you know why I hired you?"

Black crossed his arms over his chest, the sharp and bold statement because I'm trustworthy formed inside the barrier of his lips to finally travel beyond his suddenly scornful throat. He knew no one could ever define him as trustworthy, yet a part of him was still resentful after the Kahn's decision – keeping him locked up in a small, dirty cell somehow felt as terrible as having the ancient skin of his neck kissing the insufferable guillotine. Kotal's resolution might have ended the nefarious Rebel-Seeker known as M'horel yet inside the gunslinger's most intimate core, he was feeling as annulled as a life that was no more.

His existence behind bars had been reduced to a nothingness so dense it was impossible to be ignored.

Repressing his anger was now the only task that was left for him to focus on, finally understanding that the future of Outworld's ruler was at stake: everything Dexitis had worked for was at stake; his own loyalty now subjugated under the same fire that had corrupted the city streets.

The emperor let a soft, amused grin shape the outline of his lips: it was understandable, after all, that Black was having a hard time trying to face his authoritative figure now that he had been separated from everything that had once used to define his very essence. If he was to regain the power he was supposed to have over his own citizens he could only start by working his way from the inside - regaining Black's trust and understanding seemed like a suitable first step: in order to clean the streets, his own house was supposed to be taken care of in the first place.

"When we were first introduced you had just betrayed Mileena so no, trustworthy is not the word I would use to describe you. You are loyal. To money, mostly, but at least you know what loyalty is," Kotal began. "But that's not why I hired you, Erron. I hired you because you are simple."

The emperor took a seat in the scarlet settee that was placed right beside his bed then placed both his hands on his knees before resuming his speech.

"Many Earthrealmers are far from being simple, but you are. Your guns, your money, your skills, your reputation – that's all there is to you. You are a man of many layers, I have learned that the hard way; but that is only because you've lived longer than the average Earthrealmer – all those borrowed years have indeed constructed a solid baggage of experiences that have ultimately shaped your every action. Yet your behavior still responds to your simple standards," he added as he crossed his arms, "Your interests are simple as well and that's what counts in the end, Erron. That is what defines you - and I happen to find simplicity to be one of the best qualities a man can have."

"I thought you hated surprises," Erron retorted, his voice weak as if being helplessly dragged down into the unwelcome lecture of his own life.

"I do hate surprises, but I also understand. Can you imagine a man your age with no layers?" The emperor asked, raising a stoic eyebrow, "One could say he has wasted the majority of his time."

Black frowned in discontent – he could understand the Kahn's words yet, deep down, he was having trouble trying to decipher the true message hidden behind the seemingly parental preaching he was being forced to listen. Like a little boy who had misbehaved and had been caught red-handed, now the father was trying to teach him a lesson, tough love and strategic pedagogies applying – only there was no lesson for the gunslinger to learn; he was no stranger to his own condition, he was a connoisseur of his own strengths and his own limitations.

"What's the point?" He demanded, mildly bemused, sheer despondency tainting his baritone voice with a darker, more profound note.

"I need to know, Erron: is there anything you may have forgotten to tell us?"

A masquerade of grim negligence took over the gunslinger's face then – the implications carried within Kotal's words were still sabotaging his intentions. No matter how kind the emperor was trying to be, deep down he still had no problem at the time to address him as a treacherous delinquent.

Black shook his head in silence yet the coldness in his eyes was trying its best to pierce through the Emperor's calm demeanor. Not only he had had the nerve to imprison him; now he was also implying that there had been more to Erron's story.

"What are you afraid of, Kotal?"

"I am not afraid of anything, Black," the emperor retorted coldly, fed up by the marksman's impertinence. "I just can't stand the irony of our current situation: we got rid of most Earthrealmers thanks to the census, we even managed to patch thing up with General Blade in the process by delivering thousands of criminals that were bound to be trialed and incarcerated – we thought this ridiculous problem had been successfully eradicated until today…" Kotal extended his hand, reaching out for the gunslinger – the emperor handed Black one of the many pamphlets that had flown through the Marketplace, the message was cruelly clear:

Earthrealmers were never the problem.

"As soon as all Earthrealmers were deported, we started a campaign to make sure everyone was finally able to feel safe again. I guess I was too blind to see that Earthrealmers were just pawns playing a small part in all this; we are the problem."

Black inspected the pamphlet with eyes full of concern – the volatile nature of Outworlders seemed to be out of their own hands; their talent for sin now fully displayed for everyone to see.

"This flock of sheep seems to be going astray," Black reflected as he handed the paper back to Kotal. "Maybe they have started to obey a different shepherd."

The emperor scratched his chin, his mind lost in thought.

"Or perhaps they are still obeying the same old shepherd they had before… we never really found out whether the brothers were the leaders or not."

"Please… those two were amateurs," Black chuckled involuntarily, somewhat offended to know that such a formidable warrior as Kotal Khan would ever consider M'horel and Pareedis to be capable of commanding such an intricate syndicate as the Rebel-Seekers'. Understanding that the Emperor had only turned to him because he was desperate, Erron turned around and decided to leave.

It was pointless for him to stay there – he had been punished and damaged already.

"You know this is your fault, right?" The Kahn yelled, sensing the obvious: he was about to lose the battle.

"No, of course, it's not," Black replied sharply as he turned around to exhibit the defiant look in his eyes. "The Rebel-Seekers; this breeding ground… this is all on you, Kotal. You may think that I don't give a rat's ass about politics and you're right – I don't, but the fact that I don't care about politics doesn't mean that I don't understand the game of a puppeteer like you. You needed a cheaper force, so you turned your own citizens into underpaid soldiers, then you took it all away from them and now they are retaliating. Same thing goes for me: you may have fooled the people into thinking that I overstepped my own duties and obligations, they may believe that I have abused my power but you don't care about any of that, you don't care that I killed that boy – this is a personal vendetta, Kotal, this is about Kano. This is the price I have to pay for disobeying your orders." Darkness took over his features as the ex-Earthrealmer approached the emperor, his blood burning inside his veins. If there had been any trace of hope inside of him now that they had temporarily released him from his imprisonment, now it was lost to his own anger – he knew he was bound to regain the emperor's trust yet the cowboy mercenary had had enough of Kotal's elaborate chess of crossed politics: he still was a pawn trapped inside a game that wasn't even his, he had lost everything and nearly everyone in the process of quenching a thirst that was not suffocating his own throat. No, they hadn't released him because he was needed outside: he still was a tool, now more than ever, and that fact was making it impossible for the nearly bicentennial man to stay calm.

"That's why Ermac had to cover my head for me to be here now; that's why you couldn't come to my cell to see me: you're no longer a fighter, you're leader, a ruler – you're a politician now," the word, propelled from his irascible mouth, had been polluted with such unparalleled disdain. "You needed to make sure that no-one other than your closest allies would see you anywhere near me – it's just not good for politics for the emperor to be seen seeking advice from a delinquent, I see it now."

Even though Erron was speaking the truth, the Kahn had had enough of his improvised outburst of honesty. He connected his enraged fist to the gunslinger's jaw; the first hit in a concatenation of rhythmical punches meant to quiet the voices inside his troubled head. The ex-Earthrealmer landed on his back, his fists rose to defend his now-weakened body from the shower of anger raining over him with the might of a hundred thunders. Kotal seemed blinded by his own impotence now that Black's unwelcomed eloquence had confirmed his every suspicion: he was the one responsible for the attacks, he had created the Rebel-Seekers; an underground association meant to make his job easier. Now things had gotten out of hand, every decision he had made had only made things worse. Abashed, Kotal took a good look at his own knuckles, now coated by the mercenary's blood – that body there, on the floor, begging for his mercy, was light years away from the man he had hired way back then.

And that had been his fault too.

Black's misfortune was his own misfortune.

Black's made up tales were the stories he had chosen to believe in.

Black's secrets were the embodiment of his own carelessness and lack of interest – as long as the gunslinger delivered there was no need to ask, no need to know, no need to interfere.

In a way, Black himself was the emblem of Kotal's complete indifference.

Powerless, and feeling his strength slowly leaving his shivering body, the emperor kneeled down on the ground in front of Black. The gunslinger flinched at the sudden proximity now that those large arms were not towering over him from a distance anymore. With his cheeks cut open and bleeding from the thrashing, Black ran his fingers through his skin acknowledging his own blood as the sigil of his truth – Kotal's reaction had been nothing but the feeble pantomime of his frustration; his enraged fists had motioned through his every misplaced emotion and Black had only been the uninvited ghost breathing life into the shadows tormenting the battered ruler.

"You done?"

Erron stood up, his hand still pressed hard against his swollen jawline – as weak as he was now, there was no way for his body to fight back, and they both knew that.

"This has been my fault, not yours," Kotal finally asserted, the impending migraine and the shame caused by the sudden realization of what he had just done to Black were debilitating his otherwise solemn tone. "I feel compelled to ask you now, since praise is usually a bad advisor," he lifted his chin stoically, as if trying to endorse his words by a cultivated halo of stoicism, "I have hindered everything and everyone you had by imprisoning you – that makes you a resentful man and resentment can potentially lead to the truth I'm willing to hear from you now that you don't need to be condescending: am I a bad leader? Has power corrupted me? Have I become the smoldering example of what I myself have tried so hard to destroy?"

His power compromised, the Kahn was left with no other choice than to seek truth in a condemned man. Black sat up again, stretched his numb legs and used his thumb to brush off the intrepid stream of blood still cascading down the corner of his mouth.

"It takes two to tango – one has to corrupt the other, but the latter needs to allow that corruption to take hold." He raised an eyebrow; the ardor in his lips vivid through his diction as crimson stains became visible, contaminating his teeth and gums.

"Not fighting it also does the trick, y'know? I mean, you don't necessarily have to welcome corruption - if you just choose to turn your back on it, it's basically the same."

Intriguing as ever, the mercenary had not only described the true dynamics behind the shared correlate between the emperor and the Rebel-Seekers but he had also described the bond uniting him to his former employer, the same bond between him and his wife, the same bond that had defined his days alongside the missing doctor.

"This problem is that all this has gotten way beyond the limits of your power," Black declared, "I think they still move inside your own ranks so I would definitely suggest you to get rid o' them all – the only problem would be, who would be left for you to hire? This attack has not been coincidental, not today."

The emperor's pensive gaze unfocused slowly until Black became a mere beacon of grey and white scattered on the floor. The mercenary was right; the date had not been whimsical: a whole year had passed since M'horel's execution, the attack had been their sad expression of a nefarious first anniversary. The place they had chosen to strike had also been symbolic enough to catch their attention: they had chosen to destroy the Marketplace, the very same place where Pareedis' body had been found, more than a year ago.

Their leaders and their cause were clearly not forgotten.

As Kotal Kahn stood up, he extended one of his arms to help Black up – the gunslinger took it, cautious yet somehow more at ease now that his voice was finally being heard.

"If anything, I think I might have helped you by keeping you behind bars," the Kahn reflected as he retreated to the settee and Black's brow furrowed rather despondently at the sound of those words; it was hard for him to imagine his own situation as beneficial.

"You represent their failure; you are the embodiment of their defeat."

The mercenary scratched his head, contemplative.

"I'm not so sure this can be seen as a defeat."

The destruction of the Marketplace, combined with the countless lives that had been lost because of the Rebel-Seekers' twisted logic and mad attempts at retribution were solid pillars in a path of desolation and uncertainty – the Kahn had disbanded the initiative, officially at least, yet their thirst was not quite quenched yet and, deep down, Black knew he had been their Waterloo but still, and far from surrendering, they were determined to fight back the authority, erasing the order and the stability that Kotal and his rule had provided the realm with.

"In a way, I think I'm happy that the Earthrealm doctor is dead. I'm not trying to be rude; I'm not even trying to say that it was a good thing those ingrates murdered that poor woman," The emperor let out, his voice almost a timid whisper hovering in the empty space between him and the mercenary. "I just can't imagine the hell her life would be right now; the horrors they would have made her go through just because she was with you – you are safe behind those bars now but I doubt I could have done anything to protect her."

After spending a whole year, his first year of many more to come deprived of the outside world, it finally weighted heavily within his most private core: time and distance were factors that moved like silent predators, almost as if they had a mind of their own. His reactions were also changing – if someone had dared to vociferate such an honest thought about the missing doctor, he would have had pressed his bare hands against their necks. Now, summoning her through time and distance seemed to be innocuous enough for him to keep his impulses in check. Now, his own uncertainties were making it impossible for his dormant senses to finally wake up: after their truncated encounter, the doubts inside his mind had increased significantly, forcing him – even if unconsciously – to detach his thoughts from the woman. Like Amanda, Alex was now a prisoner of his most intimate, darkest pending issues and unfinished business. Yet nothing, absolutely nothing seemed to be powerful enough to rescue her from that ghostly obituary he had created with his indifference and his hesitation.

The Population Census had come and gone – Alexandra was now a simplified past tense moving further and further away from him with each passing day.

Still, caught up by the unknown and unable to fight the good fight still raging from within himself, Black took a few seconds to assimilate the facts he had gathered so far: his own predicament had indeed weathered the convoluted memories he had of the time they had spent together. Her figure, now a mere disassociated shape with no true meaning or validity was becoming gradually blurrier with each passing day. Her voice was nothing more than a distant echo; the impossible treasure of her laughter now a confusing fragment of his own existence. Her fear and her bravery were now nothing but disjointed ideas, interspersed in the seemingly endless shortcuts of his own conflicted memory, a memory that had already seen too much, lived too much to try to hold on to the ashes of a particular someone that had never been actually his.

The doctor, following in Amanda's footsteps, was now embedded deep inside the eternal shadows of ignorance; encompassed inside the complete lack of awareness that had sprung all over him, unwilling to let him go.

What was it like – to walk down the corridors of their last days?

Their last days, alone, without him, were now a cross for him to bear knowing that in both cases, he had held the power to turn things around. Instead of crying like a small child, he knew he should have taken Amanda by the hand and forced the girl to leave Arroya with him instead of waiting in vain at the station. Instead of abandoning the doctor, he should have stayed with her.

"What was her name?" The emperor asked, his voice weak and serene now, as if acknowledging Black's inner turmoil.

"Please... Now you care." A timid grin curled the gunslinger's upper lip but it was far from being a tender offer of his peace; far from it – it was the materialization of all his bottled-up resentment.

"I do, believe it or not. She saved your life and she was there with you, in your cabin. I can only assume she was the prey that made you want to go hunting so often."

"Was that some sort of an insinuation, Kotal?" The ex-Earthrealmer retorted yet the emperor shook his head, one of his hands moved slowly as if dismissing Black's sudden tenseness.

"I can understand your attachment to this woman; perhaps she triggered something inside of you that counterpointed your otherwise sexist mannerisms – not love, I know you're incapable of experiencing such a feeling," Kotal explained, "that is yet another reason why I hired you; you've lived for so long now that emotions do not really get to you. But that's about it, I know your personal life can surprise me from time to time but your professionalism always exceeds all those bumps along the road, you're just not built that way."

The emperor stood up again and approached the quiet mercenary.

"I see you like a very old tree, Erron. Remember what I said earlier about your layers? Each year has thickened your bark yet the vital sap flowing inside the structure remains inalterable: it defines you as a man on his own, with his guns, his perfected skills and his unquenchable thirst for money as his sole credentials. That's why I was so angry at you, you nearly gave it all up because of this woman; she represents nothing but a desire gone wrong, she's nothing but a skirt blown out of proportion."

"She saved my life."

"And for that, she shall be forever in our debts," the emperor retorted darkly. Now that he was being honest about what he truly thought about the supposedly dead woman, there was no need for him to hide his true colors any longer.

"If you truly want to show some appreciation you should not be hiding her. Now that she's gone, she should be remembered, she should be honored. But you chose to erase her instead."

"I never saw you being so appreciative of our healers," the emperor added, his commanding tone now reproachful. "You have a wife, everybody knows it now – there's no place for extramarital affairs. You should have known better, it's clear that whatever happened between you and this woman went far beyond the limits of her clinical concern. You lost your mistress in that cabin – I'm really sorry for the both of you but you do have a wife whether you like it or not; I will not build an altar to commemorate a corrupted enforcer's fallen lover."

Like a hammer hitting the back of his head, the marksman felt pained to know that, to the eyes of the emperor, the doctor could only be remembered by something that had never even happened. He opened his mouth to protest but succumbed to his own receding energy, as the little strength he still had in him slowly began to abandon his body. He could have explained that she had been so much more than an untouched mistress – she had tried to ransom his doomed soul and had failed miserably; she had fallen victim of her own good intentions.

Yet he couldn't really blame the emperor for considering her a mere basal necessity for him.

His reputation had always preceded him, after all.

Still, it was immensely painful to acknowledge that nothing had happened between him and the doctor; that every time he had tried to kiss her she had branded his skin with her indelible, irascible fingers – that the loveliest memory he had of her was also the bitterest: lips against leather, hands everywhere and nowhere at the same time, the flames creeping up on them and her longing for him, only to find the impervious blazes of his abandonment in return.

The man she had dusted off, the one who really cared, had gotten lost during that night by the fiery mountainside. All that was left of him was yet another man, the one that had been trapped behind bars, forever doomed to fight oblivion; a man creating memories from lies.

He moved his lips but no sound came out.

"We're trying to change some misconceptions – family comes first, Erron. I don't care if your marriage is as strong as an air castle; you are bound to honor our social politics: family comes first."

Politics, again, was corrupting the life force of everything that should have remained immaculate.

"And speaking of family, where is the boy?"

Black cursed under his breath, perplexed yet mildly infuriated.

"She told you, didn't she?" He raised a suspicious eyebrow – even though he knew he could not blame her. She had the right to know, after all.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

His coffee-colored eyes were subtly betraying his false determination now that they seemed surprised and bewildered.

"That puppy would have followed its master, Erron. That boy would be sleeping at your feet in the cell – and don't even bother telling me that he's away or that he doesn't know: the news of your imprisonment traveled very fast, I highly doubt there's a single soul out there that hasn't heard about it."

Corralled and helpless, Black lowered his head in silence.

"She doesn't know, does she?" The Kahn was still balancing the scales in his own favor; more leverage had been gained in a seemingly effortless manner.

"I need to take care of her." The gunslinger reckoned, ashamed.

"You can barely take care of yourself now," the emperor retorted, "but I won't be the one to tell her; I give you my word." Kotal patted Black on the shoulder as the troubled gunslinger flinched underneath the unwelcomed touch. "A part of me wishes he was here, though. That brat, just like his father, was a great advisor; definitely better than you."

Ermac entered the room to find both, the Kahn and the mercenary grinning lightly – their bittersweet gestures professing a silent homage to the young Edenian they had both held dear.

"I'll ask you one last time, Black," Kotal said as Ermac's green force became tight around the gunman's wrists. "Is there anything you might have forgotten to tell me? Think about your wife; she's nothing but a common citizen… if there's something you want to tell me, this is the right moment, this is how you can take care of her."

Black chuckled disdainfully as an ironic gesture took over his face. He turned around and started to leave, immediately followed by Ermac who was still carrying the dark piece of cloth that was meant to cover the gunslinger's head.

"Funny, I thought I heard you say I can barely take care of myself."