A/N: Sorry I took so long for this update. I had some other stuff to get done and I had to take a break from this. I should be able to get back to updating every two weeks from now on though.

As a prosecutor and former death-row inmate, Blackquill can say he's seen his fair share of suspicious people. And few of them have looked quite as dodgy as the man he's staring at right now.

"Of course, I really hope the ship's captain and crew know nothing of this awful business," he says, wriggling his hands. "That a such thing could happen on a Cohdopian ship is terrible. You have my full cooperation, of course."

The Chief Prosecutor nods, apparently not at all put off by the man's slippery demeanor and by the amount of coupons that's been piling up on his desk through the meeting. There were moments Blackquill had to wonder if those coupons were meant to be an attempt at bribery, but if that was the case he assumes either the Chief Prosecutor or Agent Lang would have said something; they both seem to think it perfectly normal, though. Having already met Palaeno, Blackquill has to assume they know best.

"We hope that's the case, of course," Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth is saying. "We'd like nothing best than securing these people to justice without having to tarnish your country's name. However, we can't be certain the ship's captain and crew are not involved, either. The stakes being what they are, I'm certain you understand we cannot take risks."

"We wouldn't be asking if secrecy wasn't essential, Ambassador," Lang says. "Without authorization to be there to investigate, we'd have no more authority than on Cohdopian soil. We need permission to get a few of my men, myself and the hawk lawyer here on board without going through the captain," he adds. While Blackquill can't say he cares much for Lang's nickname for him – apparently, Mr Prosecutor is reserved to Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth alone – he wastes no time in arguing it.

Ambassador Palaeno immediately nods. "Oh, of course, I understand. I'm certain I can arrange for that. Of course, all I can do is pulling the strings – doing it all on my own would go well beyond my power. A few people outside this room would have to know, you understand."

"Unless your government is somehow involved with YggdraCorp as well, that shouldn't be a problem at all," Blackquill speaks up for the first time in several minutes.

His words cause Palaeno to shake his head once again. "No, not at all! That's simply impossible, I'm certain."

Lang nods. "I can confirm we found absolutely nothing linking YggdraCorp with Cohdopia at any level."

That's good to know, Blackquill thinks. He glances at Lang. "How many men do you plan on bringing in?"

"Ten of my best, plus myself and you. Don't you prosecutors usually work with a detective?"

"Hmph. Fool- Detective Gumshoe would be worse than useless in an emergency. I'll be on my own."

"Twelve people it is, then. We'll use fake names, obviously. Is that feasible, Ambassador?" Lang asks.

Ambassador Palaeno rubs his hands together. "Oh? Oh, yes! Your request is quite feasible. Lave it to me, agent Lang!"

"Speaking of requests," the Chief Prosecutor says. "I requested for a few copies of the passengers' list. Did you bring them with you?"

"Of course. I already gave them to you, actually."

"You already... oh. I see," Edgeworth mumbles, and starts flipping through the coupons on his desk. Blackquill is rather sure Lang's cough isn't a cough at all. Finally, Edgeworth pulls out a few pieces of paper from the pile. "Here they are. It does seem that several important people from YggdraCorp are on board," he muses, passing the list over to Lang and Blackquill.

Indeed, there are more than a few names Blackquill has seen already while looking into YggdraCorp. The CEO, obviously... and, among others, the chief of staff – Harrison Fire.

That causes Blackquill to frown. He still remembers clearly the talk he had with the man, how shocked he seemed to learn of Stan Doff's involvement with unethical experiments on human beings. If YggdraCorp was truly up to something on that ship, as the anonymous caller seemed to imply, then he must have known at least something. Could it be that he fooled him, that his shock was an act? It may be.

As LaRoche proved, fooling him is not impossible.

But, as LaRoche will prove, fooling him also has dire consequences.

You'll rue the day you were brought screaming into this world, Phantom.

Blackquill sets his jaw and is about to put the list down, but he pauses when his eye catches something, something he didn't expect – the glimpse of familiar names near the end of the third page. He pauses, thinking that it can't be, that his eyes must be playing tricks on him. But there is no mistake: that much becomes clear the moment he looks again. In a sick jest of fate, there are other names he recognizes on the list. Four names that don't belong to people from YggdraCorp. Four people who shouldn't be on the list.

Trucy Wright, Pearl Fey, Apollo Justice...

… and Athena Cykes.

"Athena?" Apollo's voice causes Athena to recoil and look up form the Mood Matrix's screen. Having focused on it for so long, her sight is a bit blurry for a few moments as she looks at him across the room.

"Hey. Is it noodle time yet?" she asks.

Apollo tilts his head on one side. "... That was two hours ago, really. Mr Eldoon is off somewhere else this time. What's so urgent that it made you forget about lunch?"

Oh, Athena thinks, and glances at the time. It's almost three in the afternoon.

"Whoops. Sorry. I was just... going though some logs."

Apollo's gaze shifts to the Mood Matrix's screen. "The Phantom's sessions?" he asks quietly.

Athena gives a sheepish smile. "Only a quick look," she says. Apollo lifts an eyebrow. "... Okay, fine. A long look. I just... there are things I can't get out of my mind. I want to understand."

He scowls. "He lied to you. That's all," he says, his voice suddenly so much harsher than it usually is... but she knows it's not her his anger is for.

"The emotions were there. I know they were. He wasn't faking them, I'm sure of it," she says, suddenly desperate to make Apollo understand why she can't stop going over the logs of LaRoche's sessions with the Mood Matrix and her own notes about them: it's proof that it wasn't all one huge lie. "I think... well, it's obvious that he must have known his execution would be faked, but there were both fear and pain when he talked about it. I felt them. And I'm sure they were real."

Apollo is frowning, but he doesn't object to her claim; not aloud, at least. "But then, why would he feel either? If he knew he was not about to die, he shouldn't have felt like that."

Athena looks back at the logs showing on the screen. "He was, in a way. Robert LaRoche – the identity he fought so hard to regain – would have to be left behind. He would have to die. Shedding it can't have been as easy as just taking off a mask. That was his name, that was... it was him. He was leaving behind everything he had desperately wanted. It hurt and scared him almost as much as a real death would."

There are a few moments of silence before Apollo nods. "But not quite as much in the end," he says. His voice is still a bit cold, as always when talking about LaRoche, but he's making a clear effort to tone it down.

She shakes her head. "No, not as much. He must have feared real death even more. He feared it too much to hold onto his identity and face it."

Apollo scoffs. "A coward," he says. Athena looks away.

"... It can't have been an easy decision," she says. She knows that Apollo is right, that it was the escape of a coward, but she can't bring herself to feel the same fury he's rightfully feeling. His anger is justified, as is Simon's. She knows she has just as much right as they do to feel angered, and – in Simon's case – betrayed.

She does feel betrayed in a way, but on the other hand she's had a window to LaRoche's mind and emotion that no one else had. She knows just how intensely he felt each emotion: after so many years hardly feeling anything, experiencing any emotion at all had to feel like a physical blow. That was proven by the pain he'd be in after each memory he could bring back to surface showed. It's not hard to imagine how something that would put fear into anyone's heart would turn into utter terror for him... and LaRoche, the man who emerged from the shell the Phantom was, was not a brave man. He lacked the strength Simon had, lacked the courage to stare at death in the face, to accept it. A coward, yes, but one she can't bring herself to hate.

"Athena?" She recoils when Apollo's voice reaches her, and she realizes that she fell silent, lost in thought.

She turns back to him and smiles. "I've been looking at this stuff for long enough. I should get some rest," she says, and turns off Widget, causing the Mood Matrix's screen to disappear. Her gaze stays fixed ahead for another moment as she wonders if Simon is letting himself see what's plain to her: that Robert LaRoche – the person they both learned to know – was not a lie. That he did not, could not fool them all along.

… No, she's sure he's not; he feels too betrayed. It's like LaRoche's trial, all over again.

I chose to be blind to his humanity. I willed myself not to see it because it was so much easier to think I was dealing with a monster.

Athena tries to imagine what may happen should Simon actually manage to corner LaRoche once again, and she has to hold back a shudder. She can't imagine the outcome to be pleasant, and it's not for Simon she's worried. At this point it's plain to her that LaRoche wouldn't harm Simon; but the other way around... she can't feel so certain at all.

She would like to believe there are lines Simon would never cross, she truly would... but she can't believe it as surely as she knows she should, and the thought frightens her more than she'd like to admit. What if-

Her cellphone suddenly rings, snapping her from her thoughts. She glances at the caller's ID and blinks.

Well, speak of the devil.

She takes the call. "Hi, Simon! How-" she starts, only to be cut off when Simon speaks, his voice tight.

"Cykes-dono," he says gravely. "We need to talk."

"Ta-daaa! Say hi to Yves Dropper. So, what do you think?"

The Phantom takes a long look at the woman standing before him. She's more heavy set than the Yatagarasu truly is – body padding, no doubt – and has hair of a dirty blonde barely reaching her shoulders. Her eyes are a rather unremarkable gray. All in all, the only familiar thing is her annoyingly wide smile – but that's something she'll wipe off her face when it will matter, he knows.

"It's good," he concedes. "Isn't 'Yves' generally considered a male name?"

The Yatagarasu shrugs. "Let's say my parents didn't know. I needed it to work in the pun."

"And is the pun strictly necessary?"

"Yes."

"Allow me to doubt it."

"Sheesh, relax. Only the first letter of the name goes on the name tag. I doubt anyone will ask. I'm just a bartender, remember? I'll mix their drinks, smile and be nice while they go ahead with their auction. Besides, Deep Throat is okay with it. Or at least they like it better than my first idea."

The Phantom doesn't waste any breath to remind her that their contact's code name is Proteus and certainly not Deep Throat. "And your first idea was...?"

"Yata Garasu."

"... I don't know what I was expecting."

That causes her to laugh, as most thing do. "Hahaha! Don't be so dour, Robb! I will get a laugh out of you some-"

"Don't," the Phantom snarls, causing her to trail off. She blinks in surprise and he he pauses, his anger dying down just as quickly as it flared. He exhales before speaking again. "Don't call me that."

She stares at him for one more moment before nodding. "... I won't. Sorry," she says before changing subject entirely. "Have you had any other episode?"

The Phantom shakes his head. "No."

"No more hallucinations?"

"No."

"Memories?" she asks.

He could lie, he knows as much, and she wouldn't know better. He could. But there would be no point in it. "... One, last night. But it caused nothing but the usual headache," he says, and that is the truth."I believe the dream suppressant's after effects are fading."

She throws back her head and, predictably enough, laughs. "Hahaha! You could lighten up when you say that! It's good news. Just on time, too. With the auction in three days and all."

The auction and Blackquill, he thinks, suddenly feeling tired. He showed no surprise when Proteus told them both the Interpol and Simon Blackquill would be on board of the Thessaly to investigate YggdraCorp's dealings; truth to be told, he wasn't truly surprised. Part of him had expected Simon Blackquill to turn up on board since them moment Outis had made it plain he meant to involve him.

But it's a good thing that he knows: he'll be able to take the necessary steps to keep him safe, if needed. And, as Lang will be on board as well, he knows he can count on the Yatagarasu's cooperation.

"Has Proteus been able to figure out who this Outis may be?" the Phantom asks.

The Yatagarasu shakes her head. "No. They say that there is no clue at all. The name he goes by is entirely new, his face doesn't match any on the database, he's got no fingerprints... not even the DNA they got out of that cigarette butt you brought in was enough. The government is just as lost as we are."

"I see," the Phantom says. It bothers him that this man knows of him while he has no idea who he may possibly be, but it will cease to matter soon enough. Before this mission is over, whatever the outcome, he'll personally make sure this Outis won't be able to involve Blackquill into anything ever again. One bullet will be enough to ensure that.

He rarely, if ever, misses his target.

Umber is pleased to see, from the very first day at the shooting ground, that Johan's aim is excellent. Then again, it is to be expected: he's been a killer for hire for a few years, and he's clearly had plenty of practice. He's no sniper, but he's still the next best thing.

"Excellent," Umber smiles, reaching to put a hand on Johan's shoulder as he pauses to recharge. Most trainees' targets look like Swiss cheese, but the holes in Johan's own target are all in the same two areas – head and heart. "I believe there is little point in keeping up this training for you. We'll move on to other weapons," he adds. A normal gun can be relatively easy to handle, but spies don't often work with traditional guns: they're too large, too difficult to hide.

Johan nods, although he shows no amount of interest or pleasure for the praise.

"I've had practice," is all he says. Umber is about to speak again when there is a sudden yowling sound and something drops only a few steps from them. The trainees on the shooting ground all pause to see what the commotion is about. It's a cat, Umber sees, a big gray stray that wanders around the facility from time to time, and it seems to have caught something – something small and black that struggles futilely to get away from its paws. A blackbird.

"Looks like Lou got himself dinner," one of the trainees mutters, and there was a few laughs, but Umber doesn't take notice: he watches with some fascination as the bird tries to fly away only to be struck and pinned to the ground, over and over. A predator playing with its food; it's something Umber has seen often, with men and animals both. But it seems that the game is at its end, for the next moment the cat opens its mouth and-

Bang.

There are a few surprised cries when the shot rings out, but Umber barely flinches and just watches and the cat is suddenly thrown off its prey, leaving a trail of blood in the air before it lands some distance away with a graceless thud. While the blackbird immediately takes flight and darts out of their sight, the cat stays unmoving as blood begins pooling on the dirt around it.

A few moments of stunned silence follow. Umber is the first one to move, and he turns to face the shooter. Johan keeps looking at the cat's still body for a few more moments before meeting his gaze. His face is blank as always, and his voice is flat when he speaks. "May we resume the training now?"

"Why... what the fuck is wrong with you!" one of the trainees yells, his features contorted with anger, and a few more open their mouths, most likely to ask a similar question.

Umber won't have it. "Quiet," he snaps, causing everyone to immediately fall silent and look at him. He stares at each and every of them, his hands folded behind his back. "Don't be ridiculous. You'll be required to kill people without flinching if the situation calls for it. Much like Johan has already done multiple times before even landing here," he adds with a half smile, barely glancing at his creature. He's standing there in silence, gun in hand, no expression at all on his face.

"But that was just-"

"If you're going to get emotional over a cat, you may as well shoot yourselves now for all the use you're going to be as spies," Umber cuts off the recruit. This one is showing some potential, but he speaks far too much. "The cat disrupted the training; Johan dealt with it accordingly. There is nothing more to it. Get back to your your shooting practice. Not you, Johan. Dispose of that thing first," he adds, jerking his chin towards the cat's dead body. He does dispose of the cat and the shooting practice proceeds as though nothing happened, a few angry glances aside. But Johan doesn't take notice of those, and neither does Umber.

By the time practice is over, the incident is almost erased from Umber's mind.

It will take him years to realize that what Johan – Robb – did had nothing to do with the disruption of his training. It had been for the blackbird caught in the cat's claws, in a way... although even that wasn't the whole truth.

In the end, even if he didn't consciously know it, it had all been about Seymour Blaxton.

Robb doesn't really like poetry.

Back in the orphanage, when they had to read and memorize a bunch of poems for school – because they wanted them to get some education even though most of them wouldn't get to do anything with it – he found them both boring and pretentious. Aside from a few times when he had declaimed some poem they had to learn in a perfect imitation of the director's squeaky voice – one that made even the teacher laugh until he teared up, even though the first time he tried to be stern – he found nothing interesting about poetry at all. He could learn poems easily enough because he has a good memory, but he'd forget them the moment he knew he'd no longer be asked to repeat them.

But he finds it's a lot better when someone else is doing the reading and he can just listen, letting the sound of the words wash over him. Especially when Seymour is doing the reading and Robb can rest his head on his lap. Even better when Seymour is holding the poetry book with just one hand and happens to be stroking his hair with the other.

Yeah, when put like this he doesn't mind poetry at all. It's raining hard, too, so it's not like they can do much else than just staying inside, and the drumming sound of rain makes for a nice background noise.

"Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys," Seymour is reading on, and Robb tilts his head to get him to stroke his hair just the way he wants it. "Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap; And seeing that it was a soft October night-"

"Birdbrain?"

Seymour's voice trails off, and his hand pauses. "What?" he asks, looking down at him.

Robb grins. "A little to the left. Yeah, there. Thanks. Proceed," he says, closing his eyes when Seymour sighs and strokes the hair barely above the nape of his neck.

"I get the feeling you're in more for the head rub rather than the poetry."

"Guilty as charged."

"Then you won't mind if I keep reading in silence."

"Aww, but I like it when you're reading!"

"I bet you don't understand most of the poem."

"Oh, blah blah. Bet you don't, either."

Seymour doesn't try to argue that point. "Fine. But stop interrupting," he says.

"I'll try," Robb says, causing Seymour to sigh with the air of a long-suffering parent before he resumes reading, still stroking Robb's hair. "And indeed there will be time / For the yellow smoke that slides along the street; Rubbing its back upon the window-panes..."

"Since when does smoke have a back?"

Seymour's hand stops stroking his hair. "I thought we said no interruptions."

"Okay, okay," Robb mutters. "Sorry. Will shut up," he adds, tilting his head to get Seymour to stroke his hair again. Seymour shakes his head, rolling his eyes a bit, but in the end he resumes stroking and Robb closes his eyes with a content sigh.

"There will be time, there will be time / To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands / That lift and drop a question on your plate..."

"... And, so far, we know nothing more."

Blackquill's words are met with a long silence from everyone in the Agency. Athena is staring at him with wide eyes, as though she's still processing all she just heard, while Justice turns to look at the wall with a scowl. Wright stares at Blackquill for a few more moments, his mouth pulled in a tight line, before he exchanged a glance with Maya Fey and then looks over at his daughter.

Blackquill isn't surprised when Trucy Wright is the first one to speak up. "I'm still going!" she says, folding her hands over her chest. Beside her, Pearl Fey is biting on her thumb. "So don't look at me like that!"

Wright frowns. "I know this is important to you, Trucy, and you practiced so hard, but-"

"See? So I'm going. I'm eighteen, dad. I can go if I want to!"

"But it could be dangerous," Wright adds, a little more forcefully. "Prosecutor Blackquill just said as much. Two dangerous spies may be on board, and whatever business this company has there-"

"But it has nothing to do with me at all!" Trucy protests, and stands. "Look, I can't just tell them I'm not doing the magic act anymore. Not three days before the ship leaves – I have a contract and all. Also, Prosecutor Blackquill said that this company, Igg... Egg..."

"YggdraCorp," Pearl Fey supplies helpfully.

"Yes, that. Thanks. You said they reserved the two upper decks, right?" she asks. Blackquill nods.

"That is correct. Whatever their business there is, it should be limited to those two decks."

"Then I'll be nowhere near them. Really! I'll be several decks down all the time!"

"I think Mr. Wright isn't as worried about YggdraCorp as he is about the Phantom," Justice speaks up for the first time. He's scowling, and not really looking at anyone else in the room. "He knows whose daughter you are, and Mr. Wright had a hand in exposing him to the court. He may decide to use you to get back to him."

That causes Athena to finally turn away from Blackquill and shake her head. "No. No, he wouldn't do that," she says, not a trace of doubt in her voice.

"You can't know that," Justice points out, causing Athena to sigh.

"That's true. I can't know that. But I'm still sure he wouldn't do anything like that. Not for revenge."

Justice scoffs. "He's a murderer!"

"That he is," Blackquill says quietly. "He's a murderer, a liar, a coward. Still, I must agree with Athena's opinion. Vengeance holds no interest for him. He's had countless chances to visit harm upon each of us in the past two years, as we all believed him dead. He never took any. Wright-dono," he adds, turning to him. "While I do understand your worries, I don't believe the Phantom would be a threat to your daughter. As you cannot legally forbid her to go, I hope knowing this will put your mind at ease."

"That kinda helps. Thanks," Maya Fey replies before looking back at Trucy and Pearl. "Pearl, you'll make sure she doesn't happen to wander too close to the upper decks, right?"

"Aw, c'mon! Who do you take me for?"

"You can count on my, Mystic Maya! I'll keep her safe, Mr. Nick!" Pearl Fey adds, looking at Wright.

He chuckles. "You don't really look the part of the body guard, Pearly, but thanks," he says with a smile. He turns to Apollo and Athena, his expression sobering up. "What about you?" he asks, and he doesn't look surprised at all by the answers he gets.

"Of course I'm going! He... he owes me an explanation!"

"Clay's murderer is there – I can't just sit here and wait!"

Blackquill sighs. "Truth to be told, I had hoped the two of you would choose not to board the ship," he says. That much was true, but to be entirely honest he had known from the start it was a vain hope. He knew that Athena would want to be there... and so would Justice. They have such different reasons, and Blackquill can't blame either of them.

Athena gives a somewhat strained smile. "Hey, you know me. Bet you didn't really think there was one single chance I'd stay off the ship."

"... Not really, no. But it goes without saying that neither of you is to get involved in the Interpol's investigation," Blackquill says. "Even my presence there is a stretch. I'm fairly certain that, wasn't the Phantom involved, Agent Lang may have decided not to let me on board either. Obviously," he adds, this time glancing at Justice, "if you happen to notice anything that may help, do let me know."

He knows full well that nothing will keep the two of them from actively looking for the Phantom if so they choose – especially Athena, since with her capability to listen to one's heart she may truly have a shot at recognizing him no matter what mask he's wearing. Still, he feels it's his duty to tell them not to.

Justice nods. "Of course," he says, his voice tight.

There is a brief silence, finally broken by Trucy Wright. "... I'm sorry, Polly. I wanted to let you have a nice vacation, but it looks like that backfired spectacularly," she mutters, eyes downcast.

"Hey, don't say that! There is no way you could have known," Justice says, and within moments everyone is joining him to reassure her that she did nothing wrong, nothing at all.

Everyone, except Athena – whose gaze stays on Blackquill. She stands and reaches to put a hand on his arm. "Simon, I promise I won't take stupid risks. Promise me you won't, either."

He smirks. "Of course not. I have no intention to-"

"If you catch him, promise me you won't harm him."

Her request catches him by surprise, and he finds himself staring at her for a few moments before replying. "I'm afraid I cannot promise as much," he says slowly.

Her grip on his arm tightens. "Simon, please. We had to go through so much to prove you're not a... a... please. I don't think he'd harm you."

Blackquill looks away, his gaze still dark. Does she truly think the Phantom would have enough decency not to cause him harm? Part of him scoffs at the thought, and yet he wishes he could believe it as well.

"He will not come quietly, I suspect. He may try to fight; even rats fight when cornered. But..." he pauses and finally looks back to her. "You have my word I'll use no more force than necessary if it comes to securing him to justice by my own hand."

Athena doesn't seem entirely reassured, but she lets go of his arm and makes an effort to smile. "Thank you."

Blackquill can't bring himself to answer with a smirk of his own.

When the Phantom – Harrison Fire – walked inside the meeting room for what he knew would be the last meeting before they boarded the ship the next day, he didn't expect to find trays of caviar tarts in the middle of the meeting table. Nor did any of the others, if their surprised reaction is of any indication.

"Not that it isn't nice, but whose idea was this?" the CEO is asking with a half-laugh, although there is some strain to it. The Phantom can tell she's the kind of person who doesn't like it when anything is done without her approval in her company... even something as harmless as bringing in some tarts.

"I took the liberty," Outis speaks up, pulling something out from under his jacket – a bottle of champagne, the Phantom can see. "Well, I figured a little celebration was in order, since this is the last meeting before we set sail. Literally," Outis says with a shrug, holding up the bottle. "Who better than the CEO to open this?"

Dr. Dote seems still surprised, but no longer displeased. Eventually she chuckles and reaches to take the bottle. "I'm not good at this. You may want to stay out of the way," she adds. And indeed, when the cork pops out Harrison Fire ducks just on time under it, causing a few laughs.

"Since when are your reflexes this quick, Harry?"

Fire laughs as well, straightening himself. "We had a fair warning," he says with a shrug. "Now, we're supposed to drink the champagne, aren't we?"

The next several minutes are nothing but pleasant; some small talk over champagne and caviar tarts. Outis may find it amusing that these people are on to sell a deadly toxin off to an auction, but at the moment he can't allow himself to be distracted. Even as he talks and laughs, he has to pay close attention to who's eating the caviar tarts... and even closer attention on whoever is not doing so.

It's not difficult: soon, almost everyone has had at least one tart along with their glass of champagne. All except one, actually. The pleasant smile still on his face, Outis excuses himself from the chief of security and walks up to the odd one out.

"Aren't you having any tarts, Mr. Fire? Don't you like caviar?" he asks, causing whatever conversation had been going on between Fire and the company's chief systems designer to pause. "Perhaps I should have given you a wider choice."

That causes Mr. Drawers to laugh. "Harrison could live on caviar if you let him. Remember when we celebrated the opening of the new R&D department two years ago?"

Fire makes a face. "I was hoping you'd forgotten all about that episode. It was rather embarrassing," he says.

"I'll refrain from asking for details," Outis says with a brief laugh. He reaches to take the almost empty tray from the table and holds it before Fire. "I do insist, though. They're really good."

Fire sighs. "You shouldn't be tempting me like this," he says, and reaches to take a tart before he nods at him politely and resumes his conversation with Mr. Drawers.

Outis puts the tray back on the table and moves a little away... but he still watches.

He watches Fire as he talks and talks and drinks some more champagne, and still doesn't take one bite from the tart in his hand. He watches as he approaches the table to put down the now empty glass... and drops the still untouched tart back on the tray with the same motion. It's a very practiced move, nothing short of a magician's trick, one untrained eyes wouldn't even notice. But Outis' are all too trained, and he sees. He sees all he needs to see, all he wanted to see.

As he focuses his attention back on the CEO and dutifully nods at her, he has to struggle to keep a shark-like smile off his face. Well, well. Here's our little mouse, he thinks, feeling all the world like he's once again standing over a frightened, wounded boy in an old warehouse back in Borginia, a gun in his hand and no idea of what he was about to create.

Hello, Robb. Johan.

Got you.

Blackquill doesn't see the picture on the floor until he almost steps on it.

He pauses on the doorway, hand still on the light switch, staring down at the photograph for a few moments before he reaches down to take it. Someone must have slipped it under his door, no doubt. He looks back to the hallway through the still open door – no point in it, though; the hallway is empty, and he's just come from there – before closing the door and looking more closely at the photo.

It shows a tall, lanky man with black hair barely sprayed with gray, slicked back with what's likely an exaggerated amount of hair gel. He's wearing an immaculate gray suit and laughing at something happening off camera. Behind him there is nothing but a white wall; nothing to show where the picture was taken.

Blackquill frowns, wondering what that may be about, but his frown turns into something else entirely when he turns the picture to take a look at the back of it. There is something written on it with a handwriting he's come to know well after seeing it on various confessions and testimonies – a handwriting so impersonal it almost looks like the printing from a book, and therefore absolutely recognizable to him.

LaRoche. LaRoche was here, standing before his very door, and as the coward he is he left a message rather than facing him. Anger boiling hot and bitter in his chest, Blackquill needs a conscious effort to keep himself from crumpling the photograph in his hand and just read.

And as he does, anger turns into complete, utter confusion.

I know you will be on the ship. You must look out for this man. He goes by the name of Ulysses Outis, and he has shown an uncanny interest in you. He is, I'm sure of it, the man who put you on my trail in the first place. He's a spy as well; YggdraCorp hired him to find me. While I don't know who he precisely is yet, I can tell he's dangerous. Show this to the Interpol. Don't confront him yourself if you can avoid it.
I won't give excuses for my escape. I have none. None but this: I never thought you'd come to know the truth. I hoped you'd be content in your ignorance and move on with your life. I know that is no longer a possibility now that you know I still live.
I won't spend this life waiting for you to find me or die in the attempt. Once this matter is over with, I'll turn myself over to you.
Until then, be careful.