A knock on the door startled Naz. He'd been making a late lunch for himself, leftovers of which would be breakfast for Ancom, whose sleep schedule (late o'clock until 3pm) still baffled him. He turned down the heat on the pan and tiptoed to the door, peeking through the curtain.

Staring back at him was a man in a fedora and a golden suit with purple embellishments, wearing sunglasses that blocked his eyes completely. His eyebrows raised above the rim of the shades as Naz tilted his head, deciding whether to open the door to him.

"Excuse me, I'm from the government," the man said smoothly, muffled by the door but still audible.

"Woah, okay! Sorry!" Naz fumbled with the latch. He respected the state, and well, any authority, greatly. "What do you want, sir?"

"I'm looking for a man named Post-Left. He was last seen around this neighborhood."

Post-Left. Those words rang a bell somewhere in Naz's mind, but he couldn't place where he'd heard this name before.

"Have you seen someone about your height, messy brown hair, grey eyes," the man paused, checking a notebook, "wearing a black hoodie and carrying a baseball bat?"

Ancom nearly fit that description, but quis eyes were green now, and the only colour of quis single, slightly tattered hoodie that que'd stolen from a dumpster recently was pine green, with a college logo on the front. Ancom always joked that it'd motivate que to go to college, but que hadn't done anything about it.

"He loves pot, weed, DMT, and LSD."

Ellis Dee? He remembered Ancom telling him about that. The facts seemed to point in one direction, towards quem.

On the other hand, Ancom wasn't a he.

"Sorry, I haven't seen anyone like that."

"...I see." The man stopped completely, and a tear leaked out from under his glasses. "Well," he continued, voice shaky, "let me know if you do." He pulled a business card from his suit pocket, handing it to Naz. "Tell him Ancap misses him."

Before Naz could respond, the man turned abruptly and made a signal. A roaring noise began to fill Naz's ears, and a helicopter descended from the sky. A ladder dropped down, which Ancap grabbed onto. He'd obviously done this many times before. In moments, he was in the chopper, and it disappeared into the sky. It was gone before Naz could blink.

"What was that all about? And what's that in your hand?" Naz jumped. A bleary Ancom had walked up behind him without him noticing. "Also, you burnt the eggs again."

"Oh, um," Naz stammered. "This guy, Ancap, right? He's looking for someone named Post-Left, and he gave me a card with his number on it to call if I find him, and then he left."

Without warning, Ancom grabbed the card and ran inside. Naz followed confusedly, finding quem next to the landline, dialling the number with shaky hands. Que stared at it, trembling, but didn't press the dial button.

"Are you okay?"

Que dropped the phone, obviously forgetting that Naz was there.

"I…"

Ancom burst into tears, grabbing Naz and holding him tight. "I can't do it, I can't, I can't go back," que cried.

Naz hesitantly wrapped his arms around the anarchist. "It'll be okay," he mumbled through quis hoodie. "Want me to call him? What should I say?"

"No, it'll be fine," Ancom sobbed.

"It doesn't look fine," Naz frowned, guiding the anarchist to a couch.

"I have to call him. It has to be me… but I can't. I can't do it."

"Maybe not today," Naz started.

"Huh?" Que looked at him, eyes glistening and red. But deep in them, hope sparked.

"But you can just call him tomorrow, right?"