Nearly two weeks had passed since the job at Dupont Circle. Charon had been counting. Every day felt like an eternity, and that's because Ahzrukhal was ignoring him.

The last time they spoke was when he returned. Charon had every intention to reign himself in, but he didn't even get the chance to show contrition. He expected more mind games, more punishment, more lectures, maybe even a chance to turn the other cheek. But Ahzrukhal did something he'd never done before. He'd backed off entirely. The whole thing was strange. Either this was another game, or Ahzrukhal really was afraid of him.

Charon suspected the latter. He'd never seen Ahzrukhal crack before, but something changed. There were no new orders. Not one. After chewing Charon out one last time, loud enough for all of Underworld to hear, Ahzrukhal had given him a wide berth. The most he got from his employer was the occasional wary sidelong glance, which Charon returned with every ounce of ire he could manage.

He'd been doing this for days - one hand on the strap of his shotgun, another in his pocket, barely brushing the old cigar he'd tucked away. He could still smell it, that sweet smell, and the discomfort it brought paired well with tormenting Ahzrukhal. He never let his employer from his sight. It was his own kind of game, a staring contest, an outlet for his angst. Charon trailed his every movement. Ahzrukhal was tense, fidgeting. Every now and then, his gaze flicked to Charon's shotgun.

He should have known Ahzrukhal wouldn't humor him for long. The nervous glances soon stopped, and Ahzrukhal busied himself with customers as if Charon never existed in the first place. Charon stared at the back of Ahzrukhal's head, refusing to accept defeat. Ahzrukhal knew he was watching. His shoulders were more rigid than ever, and he tapped his foot on the damp mat next to the bar. Still, he never once looked back. Even as the door to the bar creaked open, Ahzrukhal refused to look up, buried in his work. Charon glanced over in his stead. He was the Ninth Circle's bouncer after all, and without his staring contest, he needed something to fill the time.

He immediately regretted it. A horrid chill ran up his spine. A ghoul stepped into the bar, one he'd never seen before. He passed just a few feet from Charon, and looked at him with black, slitted eyes. Something wasn't right. He obviously didn't belong there - he was too good for Underworld. The museum was a trash bin for ghouls long tired of immortality. This ghoul was of a different breed. He wore a fedora and a dark, well-tailored suit, free of travel dirt or sweat stains. From afar, he didn't smell much like rot at all, the stink masked by some kind of cologne. Everything about him screamed money. Ghouls didn't come into those kind of caps. Stranger still, a smoothskin boy stuck close to the ghoul's heel, his close-shaved head sticking out of combat armor too big for his frame. He kept his chin tucked and stared at the ground as he passed. A masked sentry entered behind them, then stopped beside the double doors. He stood guard with a gleaming plasma rifle in hand. That settled it. The ghoul was a drug runner, Charon guessed, or he was somebody important before he turned. In any case, he wasn't someone to be fucked with.

Charon shot a desperate glance at Ahzrukhal, but his back was still turned. For the moment, the new guest went unnoticed, choosing a table not far from Charon. The ghoul was looking at him, undeterred by the nasty glare Charon threw in his direction. Charon gripped the strap of his shotgun and tried to ignore it. The familiar knot in his stomach was back again, paired with a cold sweat.

"It's been awhile," said the ghoul.

Charon watched them from the corner of his eye. It wasn't a mistake. They addressed him. He crossed his arms tight against his body. Ahzrukhal was clear about these situations - don't talk to customers. It was one order Charon didn't resent. As he glowered and backed against the wall, the ghoul smirked, his black eyes twinkling.

"None of that. Let me get a better look at you."

He took another step back. The ghoul's smile faded.

"Come here."

His words shocked like a cattle prod. A pulse shot through Charon's brain, locked up his muscles. He'd gone completely dumb. He took one uneasy step forward, then another, whittling away the few precious inches he'd put between them. He stopped just an arm's reach away. The ghoul rose to his feet.

"Moody, aren't you?" he said quietly.

He reached out and pressed a thumb into Charon's arm, clucking his tongue at the stained bandage that covered his laser burn. Charon jerked back and reached for his trench knife. This ghoul didn't have a fucking clue how many lines he was crossing.

"Don't move," the ghoul ordered.

Charon went stiff. So stiff, in fact, that he couldn't breathe. His fingers stopped short of his knife handle. This was bad. Very bad. The ghoul released his arm and pulled out a cigar case from his breast pocket, lighting one with a few lazy puffs. Even without breathing, the smoke crawled up Charon's nose. It smelled sweet, like vanilla. Like the cigar he'd been too reluctant to pull from his pocket.

"Do you remember me?" the ghoul asked. He waited for a moment. Charon's empty lungs started to burn. The ghoul took a long pull from his cigar, then spoke again.

"Answer me."

The order freed Charon from the previous. He gasped for breath as the command ripped a word from his throat.

"Yes."

Charon wrinkled what was left of his nose. That didn't seem right. He knew the smell. But not the face, and definitely not a name. He strained for his knife, but all it accomplished was a painful cramp. His hand didn't budge an inch. How could this ghoul have power over him? It wasn't like anything he'd felt before. Ahzrukhal's orders didn't come close to this.

"I'd imagine you've started to sort things out," said the ghoul. "You've given your employer quite the fright..." The ghoul chuckled. "But you and I both know there's nothing for him to worry about."

Charon swallowed. He knew condescension well. Ahzrukhal had no shortage of it, but this was different, cloying. It was a hundred times worse. The ghoul talked to him like he was a pet.

"Not much for conversation," the ghoul said. He laughed softly. "I always liked that about you."

Charon mustered up a spiteful look.

"Now, now," the ghoul chided. "You can give that look to other people. But not to me."

He glanced fondly at the smoothskin boy who'd followed him into the bar. The boy stood next to him, eyes on his boots. The ghoul patted him on his shaved head, thumb brushing along a purple scar that ran across his temple.

"Listen up, Subject 06. Next time you give me lip, I want you to remember this. Watch closely now."

The boy pulled his eyes up from the floor. The ghoul ashed his cigar.

"Charon."

Charon stiffened. He knew his name. Why did he know his name? He racked his brain. Nothing. No memory. Just a crawling sensation that worsened by the minute. The ghoul cleared his throat and fiddled with his lapel, not bothering to look up.

"I have a favor to ask," the ghoul said. "Kill yourself. You'll do that for me, won't you?"

Charon swallowed. His voice came out before he could stop it.

"Yes."

Hell no. This wasn't happening.

"Use that shotgun you've got there. Go on."

"As you command."

He couldn't think enough to panic. Charon unclipped the strap and pulled it around his shoulder. There wasn't a resistant muscle in his body. Everything moved on its own. He flipped the safety, pumped it, and pushed the barrel against his jaw. A hush fell over the bar. A few ghouls stood up, wide eyed. A chair clattered over. He screwed his eyes shut and put both thumbs on the trigger. This was really it. He was completely fucked.

"You can stop there."

He froze, the trigger pressed halfway down.

"Excellent. Put it down. That won't be necessary, thank you." The ghoul shuddered and looked down at the boy. "Could you imagine? What a waste. Take note, 06. Obedience, to the letter. Even after all this time. You could stand to learn a thing or two."

Charon's shotgun clattered to the floor. Ahzrukhal was looking now. He stalked out from behind the bar, his face twisted in incredulous rage.

"Charon," he barked. "Explain to me, in as little words as possible, what the fuck you think you're doing."

Charon couldn't answer. Whatever that ghoul did to him kept him quiet, and it was for the best. His first impulse was to plead for help. He'd always figured something like that was beneath him. Thankfully, he could only look from Ahzrukhal to the ghoul, desperate. The ghoul stood calmly, meeting Ahzrukhal as he approached.

"It's alright, sir," he said.

"It's alright?" Ahzrukhal's eyes widened. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" He disregarded the ghoul and set upon Charon. "I want an explanation," he said gravely. "What are you thinking, pointing that fucking shotgun at your face? You're upsetting people. And not in a good way. You're putting them off their drink. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, but-"

"I don't think this is necessary," the ghoul interrupted. He sniffed, the only sign of his mounting irritation. "I'm sorry, I... Haven't been forthcoming with you. May I introduce myself?"

Ahzrukhal narrowed his eyes. The ghoul extended a hand.

"You can call me Worth."

A name should have brought something back, but as much as Charon clawed for some shred of recognition, he came up with nothing. It didn't register with Ahzrukhal, either, who kept his hands firmly in his pockets.

"Ah, well, Mister... Worth. I don't take kindly to conversation with my bouncer. It's not what he's here for. What's more, he's been having... Behavioral issues, lately. I'd advise you to keep away from him for your own safety."

Charon stared at his employer. For once, Ahzrukhal's short temper came in handy. The prospect made him a little sick, but he felt grateful. Worth blinked, taken aback.

"Forgive me," he said. "But I'm not terribly concerned."

Ahzrukhal paused, looking Worth up and down.

"You... look like a man of means. You'll have to understand... He's a priceless asset to my business. I know you've got the caps, but that's not how it works with this one. If you want to hire him, with all due respect, I'll tell you to kindly go fuck yourself. Make yourself at home, by all means... Do settle in. Drink all you please. But if you talk to him again, I'll have to point you to the door."

Worth laughed softly and adjusted his cuffs.

"Priceless? Well, I'm glad you feel that way. When you contacted me I was concerned you'd be handing him back."

Ahzrukhal looked like he'd been smacked in the jaw. Any gratitude Charon felt towards him went up in smoke.

"I've... I've made a terrible mistake," Ahzrukhal gasped.

If only Ahzrukhal knew how right he was. Though still frozen, Charon's muscles were coiled tight, waiting. He glanced at his shotgun, where it lay just inches from his feet. He bit his tongue and looked up, before he could entertain the fantasy. He wasn't going through that again.

Ahzrukhal shook his head, whipped out a handkerchief from his suit pocket, and dabbed at his forehead. Seeing him sweat gave Charon some satisfaction. Maybe their little game was wearing on him. Maybe Ahzrukhal was cracking. Charon hoped so. He'd never seen his employer this flustered. Better still, when Ahzrukhal noticed the smoothskin boy, whatever blood was left in his decaying face made a hasty retreat.

"I'm so sorry," Ahzrukhal insisted. "I can't apologize enough. I... ah. You're a busy man. I didn't expect you, it's just... I didn't expect you so soon. Ah... Shit, where are my manners?"

He reached out gave Worth a double-gripped, enthusiastic handshake. Charon growled.

"Ahzrukhal. Charmed. Totally charmed. Really. It's an honor."

Worth smiled politely and pulled his hand back.

"No, no. There's need for that. Glad you're protective of my handiwork."

"Yes, well. Hah. I always say, caution is the mark of a wise man." He glanced over at the bar, then back at Worth. "E... Excuse me for a minute, will you?" He shot Charon a look as he passed by. "Get back to work and watch the bar. I'm busy."

He hurried over to the bar. A few eavesdropping ghouls looked away quickly. Ahzrukhal reached over the bar, grabbed a bottle of pre-war bourbon and two glasses. Charon didn't move. He couldn't even if he wanted to.

"Charon, don't make me tell you again," he barked.

Ahzrukhal set the bottle on the nearby table and frowned. Charon stayed put, staring daggers.

"Getting worse by the day," he said. He looked at Worth. "You see what I have to deal with?"

Worth pulled up a chair and puffed on his cigar.

"Now, don't be so hard on him. He's deferred to my authority."

"He's- What did you say?"

Worth gestured for Ahzrukhal to take a seat. He followed suit, his brow pinched in disbelief. Worth smiled reassuringly.

"It happens by default," he explained. "I understand if that's a bit disconcerting. I can undo it if you like. But his presence here is no nuisance to me. In fact, I'd prefer it."

Ahzrukhal leaned back in his chair.

"Suit yourself," he said. He uncorked the bottle and poured them both a tall drink.

"You know, I can't apologize enough," Worth said. "I should have come long before this. An earlier meeting, maybe, and your concerns wouldn't be so dire..." He clasped his hands together somberly. "Forgive me for not introducing myself when we settled our business. You understand. People take issue with my line of work."

He gestured to the sentry at the door.

"My security has improved, but I still never know who will try to hamstring me."

He beckoned to the boy, who stepped closer. Worth placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"What's more, my latest project has been a handful," he explained. The boy stared ahead, not reacting to his touch. "He's a work in progress. Sixth one to make it this far, but nowhere close to employable. I wasn't sure if he was ready to leave the facility, but he's done much better than I expected."

Charon looked the boy up and down, and immediately felt sick. His skinny arms were covered in needle scars. Every now and then, he twitched.

"I figured I'd give him something to aspire to. A little glimpse of his future. A learning experience, so to speak."

Worth smirked into his glass as he took a drink.

"I'm joking, of course," he continued. "Subject 06 is totally vacant. Capable with a weapon, mind you. Raw instinct. Very dangerous... But also very stupid. Won't remember any of this. The only lessons that stick are ones taught with a mesmetron."

He snapped his fingers in front of the boy's face. Not even a flinch. Charon watched, feeling colder by the minute. That braindead kid was the tipping point. He could place it, now, why just the sight of Worth made him sweat. The smell of those vanilla cigars, the chill that ran up his spine, his voice. That voice had called him by a number, once, too.

"Truthfully, I thought you'd be interested," Worth said. "For all the caps you paid me, it's a shame you missed Charon's formative years."

Ahzrukhal watched the boy with a wretched smirk on his face.

"Now, that explains a lot." He looked up at Charon. "Life's always a bit fuzzy for you, isn't it?"

Charon scowled, daring Ahzrukhal to keep talking. Ahzrukhal narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe that's changing," he said. "To put it mildly, Charon's gotten a little testy for my liking. I guess I share the blame. I give him a little nudge every now and then, just to see how he takes it. This time? Not well."

Charon grit his teeth. Despite the slight tremble of the glass in Ahzrukhal's hand, despite the sheen of flop sweat on his face, he had the nerve to talk like that. Charon set to glowering in his direction as much as possible.

"I see what you mean," Worth remarked.

"Oh, yeah. That." Ahzrukhal jabbed a thumb at Charon. "You can fix that, can't you?"

Worth nodded. Charon clenched his fists. The situation was coming into focus, and it didn't look good. Ahzrukhal spoke about him the same way he spoke to Winthrop when the fridge was broken. All it took to fix Charon's defiant streak was a few swapped out parts, and Worth was a capable handyman.

"We'll see what needs fixing," Worth said. "This really isn't unusual. He was due for a rude awakening any day now. He might develop an attitude, but it's nothing personal."

"Somehow I seriously doubt that, Mr. Worth," Ahzrukhal muttered.

"Ah. My mistake. I suppose you're right. Yes, I suppose, given the rather... messy circumstances of his employment."

Worth smiled at Charon. The ghoul was teasing him just like Ahzrukhal, dangling things in front of his face that he'd long forgotten. But Charon realized all too quickly - he couldn't treat him like he treated his employer. He made the mistake of looking Worth in the eyes. His skin crawled, then prickled unbearably. He broke away and stared in Ahzrukhal's direction, conjuring up the most ornery look he could muster. It helped, if only a little.

"Oh. My. I see. Does he look at you like that often?"

Charon debated it for a moment, then tried again, shooting a similarly vicious glare at Worth. The discomfort came surging back - this time, wringing his guts like a wet rag. He endured it for a few seconds, then dropped his eyes to the ground.

"Charming," Worth laughed to himself. "Charon, do you hate your employer? Be honest."

Ahzrukhal frowned, set his elbows on the table, and leaned in.

"Perhaps you shouldn't-"

Worth raised a hand and cut him off.

"No, I think you need to hear this," he said.

Worth spoke quietly, but he may as well have shouted. Ahzrukhal ruffled his suit jacket, visibly flustered. Charon couldn't suppress a shiver. Ahzrukhal knew he was pathetic. He inflated himself, he raised his voice, and all it took was a few terse words to cut him down to size. Worth was different. He wasn't compensating for anything.

"Answer me, Charon," Worth repeated. "Do you hate him?"

The words came up before he could stop them. Charon made a point to only look in Ahzrukhal's direction.

"Yes," he choked. "I do."

Ahzrukhal scoffed and filled his glass. He pretended not to notice Charon's lingering stare, and he was doing a poor job of it.

"Care to elaborate?" Ahzrukhal asked. His voice dripped with bile.

Charon clenched his teeth.

"Explain," Worth ordered.

"I am not... certain I can."

That was the truth. He didn't have the words for the kind of hatred he felt, not to mention a concrete reason.

"Bullshit," Ahzrukhal snapped. He jammed his fidgeting hands in his pockets.

Worth ignored the interjection, leaning back in his seat to take a long drink.

"Straight to the point, Charon," he said at last. "You never were terribly articulate. How about this... Have you thought of killing him?"

"Yes," Charon said.

"Often?"

"Yes."

Charon knew he couldn't lie to Worth, as much as he wanted to. Not even a half truth would be enough. He hated how familiar this was, being interrogated by him, not being able to hold his tongue for even a second before he spit out an answer. All that was missing was a table, a mesmetron, a light in his face. In this situation, as it was in that awful memory, he had a feeling there were right and wrong answers. So far, he'd answered wrong.

"How would you kill him?" Worth continued.

"A bullet in the face."

Charon clenched his fists. Wrong again. Ahzrukhal finally looked at Charon, his eyes narrowed. He lit another cigarette. He was burning through them at a record pace.

"He had a straight answer for that one," he muttered.

Ahzrukhal's expression darkened. Charon ignored it. Ahzrukhal couldn't intimidate him, not with that act. Charon saw the graveyard of cigarettes in the ashtray, saw the way he picked at his fraying cufflink as he smoked. All the mugging in the world didn't mean anything. Charon's heart raced like he'd been sprinting, but it wasn't Ahzrukhal he was afraid of.

"Bear with me," said Worth. He turned his black eyes on Charon. "Tell me. What's stopped you?"

Charon locked eyes with him again, bracing for another wave of unease. It didn't come. To his horror, something worse took its place. There was something familiar, oddly urgent, about Worth's face. Something about the eagerness in his eyes. He wanted Charon to impress him, and the thought of doing anything less made Charon's legs go weak. He'd never felt this with Ahzrukhal, never felt an urge to please. It was vile. Worth's cigar smoke seeped up into Charon's eyes, and he squeezed them shut. It only gave him a moment's relief. He was free from Worth's stare, but that splitting headache was back, turning the blackness behind his eyelids into something else.

He was on his back again, tied down to a gurney, in a room so dark it was almost black. A metal door beeped, then hissed open. It flooded everything with white light.

He squinted, eyes adjusting to the dark. There was a silhouette in the doorway, rotting flesh and black eyes coming into focus. It wasn't the first ghoul he'd seen. But it was the first time he'd seen eyes like that. They watched him with unsettling fondness.

"Hello," the ghoul said. "It's only polite to introduce myself. You can call me Director. Everyone here does."

He punched a code into a nearby terminal. The door latched with a hiss.

"They never did provide me your name. Not that it matters. We'll call you Subject 03."

"Subject... 03?" His voice came out a prepubescent squeak. "B-But my name is-"

The ghoul clucked his tongue and laughed softly.

"No, no. That won't do. We're not concerned with who you think you are. We're concerned with who we'll help you become."

"But... Wh... Where am I?"

He pushed against his restraints, straining to look around.

"Think of it like a school, Subject 03. You're here to learn. We have but one simple lesson for you. It takes a long time to learn it correctly."

The ghoul brushed his fingers across an object on a nearby table, a large metal box covered with plugs and wires.

"What... is that?"

"It's called a mesmetron."

The ghoul smiled and picked it up. His black eyes twinkled.

"I've always loved machines. Don't you? Terminals, robots... It's typical of boys your age. I suppose that's why you've all carried on so well with me..."

"What... what does it do?"

"This is a tool to help you learn."

"What are you g-going to do to me?"

"Full of questions, aren't you? That's a good sign. You're a little old for my purposes. I prefer younger boys. More curious, more impressionable. Boys your age are set in their ways. But you are inquisitive. Who knows how this will turn out?"

The ghoul grinned wider.

"I guess I'm full of questions, too."

He pressed a few buttons on the mesmetron. It lit up with a blue glow and hummed.

"Answers don't always come right away. You and I, we'll have to be patient, won't we? Let's begin. We'll start with our first lesson."

The ghoul pressed another button and aimed it at the gurney. A pulse of blue light erupted from the mesmetron, a series of concentric rings that passed straight through him. He felt strange.

"Condition one. You are obligated to serve your employer. Repeat."

The ghoul looked on, watching him with eager eyes, willing him to speak. His mind was blank. It was just a few words. Why couldn't he remember it?

"I can't..." he stammered. He could barely form a sentence. "What... What did you do to me?"

The ghoul frowned.

"I'm sorry, Subject 03. I can't accept anything less than perfection. Now, let's try that again. Condition One."

The ghoul leaned in. He fired up the mesmetron again, aiming it between the eyes.

"I'll ask you again. Why haven't you shot him?"

Charon shuddered. The memory faded, but Worth's expectant look pinned him in place all the same.

"Charon," Worth chided. "Don't make me repeat myself."

He'd hardly come to his senses, but he spit out the answer anyway.

"Condition Seven. Violence against an employer is strictly forbidden."

Worth brightened.

"Absolutely right! Excellent."

Charon pressed his lips together. Condition Seven. They never had numbers attached to them before. But they'd always been there, tucked away in his head - the terms of his contract, the rules he couldn't help but regurgitate. Now he knew why. Worth had hammered them into his brain personally, one by one.

"You see?" Worth continued. He topped off his drink and gave Ahzrukhal a polite smile. "At this point, the conditioning is permanent. There's nothing he can do about that. We've given him a sort of... Mental failsafe. He'll shut down before he can carry out a single act of violence against you. A grudge, no matter how severe, shouldn't change that."

Charon grimaced. Worth's words rang true. Just listening to him made him dizzy, brought back the throbbing in his arm.

"He's talked back to me," Ahzrukhal said with a sniff. "Fought against my orders, actually. He grabbed his gun. I had to knock it out of his hand. What makes you think he wouldn't have enough time to get a shot in before whatever you did to him kicks in?"

Worth laughed quietly.

"Oh, dear. He is a... Mmm. How should I put this? A special case?" He took a drag from his cigar and gestured at the smoothskin boy. "Sometimes this one talks back. I've learned not to blame him. I don't have anyone to blame but myself. I've been too easy on him. After Charon, being a disciplinarian lost its allure."

"Lovely," Ahzrukhal seethed. "Care to elaborate on that? Or does being vague get you off?"

Charon glared at Ahzrukhal. His employer was a walking contradiction. He could dish out cryptic rambling, but he certainly couldn't take it. Worth's mouth curled up slightly at the edges.

"Charon had quite a violent streak," he said. "Culminated in a little... tantrum. Lost me one of my best assistants. Maybe it was his personality. Oh, don't look like that. Everyone has their flaws. But it could just as easily have been my methods. The mesmetron's technology isn't perfect. When Charon came into our care, we'd hammered out most of the kinks with our equipment. But as is the nature of my business, things don't always go the way we planned. We adjust accordingly. He is a prototype, after all."

Worth took a drink, ignoring Ahzrukhal's frigid stare. Charon stifled his own ragged breathing, fighting to stay quiet. The bits and pieces of memories started to line up - the dead smoothskin in a lab coat, the mesmetron in his hands. He remembered being angry. He remembered wanting revenge. Charon was fixated on Worth, obsessed, hanging on his words as if he could piece them together like a puzzle.

"I do wonder, though... He was cross with me for most of his upbringing. I don't suspect he remembered how he came into my possession. The first few weeks of our regimen did away with much of his memory. Nothing left but habits to scrub out at that point. But I suppose circumstances like that can leave quite an imprint even after the memory's long gone."

Charon twitched. That anger, the same anger from his memory, came back in waves. It was Ahzrukhal's reaction that drove it home. His eyes flicked towards Charon, then back to Worth again. Charon had seen that look before, but he hadn't pinned it down until now. Ahzrukhal was terrified.

"I-I'll have to stop you there," Ahzrukhal stammered hastily. "Are you sure he should hear this?"

Charon narrowed his eyes. It was starting to sink in. There was something Ahzrukhal would never mention. He dangled scraps of Charon's past in front of him, leaving out bits and pieces to keep things opaque. But he never talked about that. He'd always avoided that. There was a big black spot in Charon's memory, and all that went along with it was rage.

"Oh, if you rather he didn't, then that's just fine," Worth said, smiling patiently. "But if you've got concerns about his conditioning, I'll advise you to soundly tuck them away. Wiping his memory was essential for my methods to stick. But now that my work's been done, it doesn't matter what he recalls. He may remember things on his own. Maybe he already has - it would explain the testiness. The brain heals. It doesn't change anything. He will always be loyal to you."

"Maybe loyal's not the best word."

"How could I put it... Subservient? Yes, utterly so." Worth leaned forward on his elbows. "It really comes down to the simple questions, Mr. Ahzrukhal. Has he laid a finger on you? In the very - and I mean extremely - unlikely event that it ever comes to that... I'd be obliged to take him in for some tweaking. Free of charge, of course."

"Would you, now?" Ahzrukhal kept his eyes on Worth, weighing the proposition, unaware of the bloodthirsty look Charon sent his way. "I'd rather not wait until after he's pulled that shotgun on me."

Charon bit his tongue. He still had his pride. He wouldn't beg Ahzrukhal to reconsider, but he sure as hell wanted to. He wanted it almost as much as he wanted to grab his shotgun and turn Ahzrukhal into a bloody pulp. He looked from Worth, to Ahzrukhal, and back to Worth again. An unexpected expression crossed Worth's face. The ghoul pressed his lips together in a line.

"Are you certain?" Worth said, after a moment.

"He's been daydreaming about putting a bullet in my head, so forgive me, but yes. I'm fucking certain."

Charon felt like he'd been socked in the stomach. This was it. Ahzrukhal's end-game. He'd provoked Charon enough, pushed him out of line just enough to warrant this. All the memories he'd painstakingly pieced together would be wiped away. All because he took Ahzrukhal's bait, all because couldn't keep himself in check.

Charon clenched his fists until it hurt. How much of it was lies? There was never a time limit on their arrangement, there was never an arrangement to begin with. How could there be? He didn't have a say in any of this. He belonged to Ahzrukhal, a slave, bought and paid for. Knicknack was right about that, too. Ahzrukhal could say whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, as long as he could wipe Charon clean like a chalkboard at the snap of his fingers. It was just that simple.

Charon looked at Worth, utterly defeated. After another moment of staring at the back wall of the bar, Worth shut his eyes and shook his head. Charon was at a loss. It didn't make sense.

"No, I think you've misunderstood," Worth said. For once, his words took on a defensive edge. "These measures are a last resort. It'd be a terrible waste. His mental capacity... A shame to dash that to pieces just as it's begun. No, I don't think it's necessary. I went to great lengths to break him."

Ahzrukhal frowned.

"I called you for damage control, and now you're telling me you won't fix the problem?" He scoffed and tossed back his drink. "Fine. You're the expert. I'll take your word for it, but if I end up full of buckshot and live to tell about it, it'll be more than Charon's precious mental capacity that'll be dashed to pieces. I'm not fucking around."

Charon could hardly stop himself from shaking. He'd been holding his breath this whole time, and he let it out all in one go. The conflicted look on Worth's face passed. He looked at Charon, and his eyes twinkled with amusement. He brushed off Ahzrukhal's threat as if it were a well-meaning jab between friends, and leaned over to fill Ahzrukhal's cup. Ahzrukhal slouched in his chair, narrowing his eyes as the silence dragged on. Ahzrukhal flipped open his pack of cigarettes and scowled miserably. Only one left. He lit it and rapped his fingers on the table.

"It doesn't add up," he said.

"Oh?"

Worth brushed off his suit, not looking up. Ahzrukhal took another drink and set his glass down with extra force.

"If you knew this was nothing to worry about, why did you come so quickly?"

Worth put his elbows on the table and puffed lazily on his cigar, unfazed by Ahzrukhal's suspicion.

"I do have a reputation to uphold, don't I? I can't have people unsatisfied."

Ahzrukhal leaned back skeptically. Worth laughed, finally releasing Charon from his gaze.

"To be truthful... I'm also an indulgent man. I've invested a large portion of my time and caps into Charon's upbringing, you see. I'm a little attached."

Charon watched his employer. Ahzrukhal shifted and took a drag of whiskey, wrinkling what was left of his rotted nose. Despite his desperate attempts to appear gracious, couldn't hide his disgust. It was one thing they could agree on. Charon tasted bile.

"I regretted taking him at first, you know," Worth said. He looked at Charon fondly. Charon cringed. "He was a bit older than I'd hoped. But he had potential, I saw it almost immediately. I tend to mind my capital vices. But I can't help being proud of my handiwork..."

He trailed off. Ahzrukhal shifted again, and Worth chuckled to himself. Charon glared at him, but it didn't dampen his mood. As Worth's smile widened, it hit Charon like a ton of bricks. The ghoul would never give Ahzrukhal what he wanted, not in a million years. There was nothing to fix. Worth wasn't the type to doubt his work. No, he enjoyed Charon's disobedience, and he only came to see it for himself. Worth's craft, the brainwashing, didn't mean anything if Charon didn't fight against it. It was a stress test, visible proof of quality. As long as Worth's rules still bound him, Charon could struggle all he wanted. It didn't make a lick of difference.

"You know, a museum is fitting for him," Worth added. He ignored Ahzrukhal's bored stare. It didn't matter if he listened to him or not. He wasn't the intended audience. He looked at Charon, his horrid smile unwavering.

"It's a marvel how ideas endure," he continued. "Ancient myths, pre-war technology... All things worth keeping are crafted to stand the test of time. Naturally, Charon necessitated the same treatment."

His eyes sparkled, and the rotted flesh around them crinkled. Charon looked away. The headache came first, followed by rings of blue. He fought it this time. He recognized the memory before it took shape, and there was no way in hell he'd give it the chance. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Charon," Worth began.

Charon grit his teeth, fighting back until he pushed it down. He didn't envy the other ghouls, not when it came to this. He'd bite his own tongue off before he remembered what that much radiation felt like.

"Charon."

He opened his eyes. The last of the blue circles faded.

"There he is," Worth said. He looked at Charon expectantly. "Head in the clouds?"

Charon blinked at him. Worth smiled.

"Give us some space, won't you? I'd like to speak to your employer in private."

Finally, Charon moved. He didn't have to be told twice. Every step between him and Worth helped him bury the memory deeper in his brain. He retreated to his usual post, ignoring the customers' stares. Worth finished up quickly. He wasn't all that interested in Ahzrukhal. When he spoke, his eyes often wandered over to where Charon stood, and only a few minutes passed before he got up and made his way towards the door.

"Remember what I told you," Worth said to Ahzrukhal. "If he's too much of a liability... You could double our original price, passing him on. Easily. Although I'd advise you to keep a receipt. I'd like to follow up in a few decades. See how much of his attitude has to do with your... arrangement. A new contract holder could change things. It's in your hands, of course."

He nodded to his sentry at the door, and paused to look back as he passed Charon.

"Subject 06," he chided. "Don't drag your feet."

The boy sped up, following inches from Worth's heel. Worth turned to Charon.

"When we cross paths again, this pretty little smoothskin will look more like you. Another twenty years, maybe?"

Charon glared at Worth one last time. Worth smiled.

"Typical," he quipped. "Won't even perk up for a goodbye."

He sighed and pushed open the door.

"Don't look so sullen, Charon. An eternity is a long time to sulk. "

Charon wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come. He opened his mouth, and only a choking sound came out. Worth looked back one last time, flashing the same wide grin from before. Charon withered. It was just as the ghoul said. Coming here was a self indulgent exercise. In that sense, Worth wasn't any different from Ahzrukhal. He was merely playing a game.