"Someone help–!" Yan turned his head away from the sweeper reaching for his ponytail, tripping over his feet to scamper down an alleyway. There were still fresh corpses about, the smell was pungent enough to taste it, something that caused bile to gurgle in his throat yet the instinct to survive pushed it down and kept him running. Until he hit a wall.

' This isn't… a wall. ' His sight turned to the thick piece of navy leather that had stopped him, and then up to the sweeper that was over twice his size; two pincers on its hands instead of the usual hooks he'd seen on their waists when they weren't drinking bodies. It didn't have hands like the rest, but looked down upon him with six red eyes and made a low static noise. The sweeper chasing him had caught up now– he was cornered.

"1#3}30…3¬4]120\ – 23[%(8'!" The sound it made as it opened its mouth and screeched into the air made Yan cover his ears and gasp from the feeling of his breath being pulled from his lungs. He felt a piece of parchment press up against his face when his senses came back to him,

"…I–I have to get to district 18!" Yan shied away from the group of sweepers, pulling away from a hand that attempted to grab his shoulder. Their red eyes never faltered nor blinked from him, when he quickly did the only thing that came to mind and held up the prescript for them to read— if they were even able to understand the words in the first place.

They garbled static between each other, the gurgling and churning of blood and organic matter made the child cringe and gag. The large, hulking one that carried its hooks like claws between its fingers twisted its head at the piece of paper, plucking it from his fingers. It blubbered and growled, showing it to the other sweepers around it. They made similar enough noises, turning back to him. The air around them was as mysterious as it was horrifying. One of them raised a hook above its shoulder to swing down at the child.

"H-Hel–!"

Yan's cry was cut short as the taste of blood filled his mouth, a clear liquid that seeped into his throat and the sudden darkness that took over his world. The sensation wasn't what he thought it'd be, less painful and more like the vomit he'd been holding in had finally come out; not to say he felt painless, his throat and gullet felt like fire right now.

But Yan felt rather lucky.

Because the sweeper never killed him.

Because it wasn't alive enough to do so.

The first color to reach his eyes was red; the alleyway and floor, hell, the sky and air was covered in it too. The second color was brown. Hazel to be specific. His eyes started to defog, the tears wiped away by a far more nurturing hand that wore leather all the same.

"You shouldn't be out this late, kid. Did your parents never tell you about the Night in the Backstreets? You're lucky I heard you."

Yan saw before him, through the thick red mist that had swept over the alleyway he was surely about to die in, a woman with long red hair, wearing black gloves with a creepy sword on her back that seemed to have muscle pulsating on its blade, a large eye staring into his soul. Yan paled and looked away, feeling like his soul had just been stabbed through.

"They–They're dead." His father was by now, surely.

"That so? Hold on tight. I'll bring you to the closest orphanage." The fixer –Yan assumed, for what else could she possibly be?– knelt down to take his hand.

"No!" Yan yelped, stumbling backward. The prescript. His dad's prescript. If he showed it to her, maybe she could help him? His eyes darted around on the dirty backstreets ground, struggling to see past this red mist.

"Lost something?... If it's something important, I suppose I can give you a few minutes to find it."

"No.. No it's… it's not that. My dad was part of the index and…" Yan wiped some vomit from his mouth with his hand, his taste having come back at last. "And I… don't feel well…"

"Sorry. I was in a bit of a rush. You probably inhaled some blood. I was about to look for somewhere to eat, actually. If your father was part of the index I'm assuming you'll be pressured into following in his footsteps." She hummed at his nod, thinking to herself for a second.

"What… blood?" The alley was coated with a thin veil of a red fog. There was leather with scorch marks and misshapen glass sticking out of a dumpster, embedded so deeply in it was almost like they'd been hammered halfway through.

"Don't worry about it. We don't have all night. Follow me or don't."

' I don't want to die… ' Yan thought grimly, quickly following behind the red-haired fixer.

~~~

"And… that's all I know." Yan had finished his recounting of the last day and a half, having spat out the last of his stomach's contents and washed the taste away with a refreshing hot chocolate, and a side serving of a warm fried egg on toast to fill him up again.

"Sounds like you're being put through the ringer then. I can't afford the time to help you kid right now. Sorry. I can get you to R-corp in about ten hours, but that's it. I can't afford to break my schedule more than it already is." She snubbed out a cigarette on an ashtray she kept to the side. "But I can't just leave a kid to get hunted down by the Index, either. I'll get you there before the next Night in the Backstreets."

"But… It's almost on the opposite side of the City. With the warp trains down— Not that I'd wanna ask that much of you anyhow— it's a few days journey by metro without rest…"

"Warp trains are down?" She raised her eyebrow. "I didn't plan on getting a ticket for either of us anyway. There's not really a reason to with them being so expensive. Tell me more, though." The fixer scratched her chin, a more thoughtful look on her face.

"I don't know much, but I was passing by the station a few hours ago when I heard people shouting. They were trying to get in, but there were fixers stopping them." People had been shouting rather loudly about it, voicing their complaints. A rare occurrence in the City.

"That's interesting. They're usually never down for more than thirty minutes nowadays. Evem of we could take a WARP train it'll be faster to just pick you up and run you over when the sun rises. I don't want to get lost and leave you in a hell-hole like district 23 or something."

"Thank you very much Miss… O-oh, right. My name is Yan. Vismok."

"You shouldn't bother with introductions when you're talking to somebody five times your age, kid. You're not nearly paranoid enough." She sighed, lighting up another cigarette. "It's cute though, seeing how unprepared you are. Kali."

Kali sighed when she looked at his face, a distant yet nostalgic look. The child reminded her of somebody.

.
.
.
.
.
.

Roland let out a little sigh, a slight blush on his cheeks as he recited as told, avoiding the expecting eyes of an audience lingering on them. Not that he paid them any mind. The only thing that mattered in the whole world, was right in front of him.

His eyes shimmering with a happiness he didn't think he'd ever feet again. He stared into those perfect blue eyes across the altar. "I, Roland, take you, Angelica, to be my lawfully wedded wife. And to have and to hold you from this day forward— for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part."

The conductor blessing their marriage, a man pulled in by a favour by Ogier, turned to Angelica, having her repeat the same process.

"I, Angelica, take you, Roland, to be my lawfully wedded husband. And to have and to hold you from this day forward— for better, for worse, in sickness and heath, for richer or poorer, and to love and cherish you, until death us do part." Her hands squeezed his, and his heart raced with joy.

A cheer from the crowd, and an especially embarrassingly enthusiastic clap from his best man, Olivier. Even the outlandishly expensive (and snobby) conductor was clapping before proceeding with the ceremony.

The ceremony. Marriage. It was something special when he proposed– and money wasn't an issue. Even if finding somewhere in the backstreets like this was hard, it was well worth it.

"I now pronounce you Husband and Wife. Angelica, you may kiss your bride." A series of laughs, and a small chuckle from Roland that was immediately squashed out by the warm feeling of peach tasting lips and the feeling of Angelica's hands wrapping around him, as he did the same in return.

He was a little startled, but pushed his grievances aside and embraced Angelica.

This moment might have been fleeting, and even vain to the eyes of the City dwellers. But could they ever understand this love and warmth? This escape from the hell he'd lived in for so long? To him, this moment was worth every second of that pain.

Our tears that wash the land,

Because my sorrow is not one bearable alone.

Roland washed the cold tap water over his face, the taste of bile at the back of his throat. Despite being the dead of night, the bathroom was still foggy from the constant heated showers Elena had taken.

Speaking of, the bloodfiend was drooling away on one of the beds. Salvador had insisted he'd taken the couch and Roland didn't feel much like sleeping at the moment. He looked up at the mirror, seeing some very subtle signs of stubble on his chin. He sighed.

But beyond that, he saw something melting into his features. On his face, a black mask circular mask covered his features; a void that drew his awareness in. He could help but feel like he was missing a part of himself— the mask that once kept him safe he'd foolishly discarded when he had taken off for his first day. He wondered if he could go back and get it, if his stuff wasn't already cleared out from his apartment. "This is this, that is that. Might get some air while I'm up. Sweepers should be gone by now."

He'd have to beg for Salvador to bring them shopping for clothes later. Walking around in a torn up shirt, patched up and bloodied coat and ratty trousers made him feel like a… Well, like a rat.

The street was nice and calm with a few pigeons about, and an ever so slight sun breaking through the smog that made his hand sizzle ever so slightly, forcing him to withdraw it into his pocket. He was glad he could still see it with his remaining eye though. Having bloodfiend parts on him was a pain.

"Going for a morning jog, Roland?"

He stilled, the voice filled the air with an overwhelming feeling that wasn't too unfamiliar to him. He let his shoulders drop with a shake breath. "Hey. Iori. You've got a bad habit for surprising me."

' I should be careful. She's not the kind to do check-ups without some ulterior motive. Hopefully she doesn't whisk me off to the opposite side of the City. '

"I saw your trail in the area and decided to pay a visit. I knew you'd be around— that or you'd have died, but I know you're reliable enough to take care of yourself for at least a few days… Take a seat" She took one look at the nearby bench and, swiped some dirt from it with one of her weapons before relaxing onto it. "You smoke yet?" She offered a cigarette, lighting up her own.

"Stop trying to soften me up." Roland turned his nose up. "You want something from me. I can't exactly oppose anything you force onto me. Just spit out whatever you're about to say, yeah?"

"Something is different about you. I don't remember much of my time training you, but I doubt there's a single fixer in the City with as little experience as you, who acts with such… experience." The Serpent licked her lips before continuing. "We've gone over this before, I feel. As you might have heard, something has happened to your previous residence? It was a few days ago that it happened."

"Heh, maybe it's because you're super-rich and stuff, but evictions usually aren't that rare in the back—"

"District 17 is almost entirely destroyed."

Roland paused his mouth, frozen. The street was completely quiet, a literal miracle considering the heavy noise pollution of the City. He pinched his own check after a few seconds to make sure he wasn't dreaming still.

"D–Destroyed…?" ' Maybe she did it? She said something about that plague when she caught me off guard in that cafeteria. I can't assume though; the Iori here and the one of the future would act in a similar fashion. She could be lying .' Roland hid his thoughts with a bewildered expression, deciding to play along with his Grade 8 fixer role. "By what? What could have possibly destroyed a district?!"

"The Index. They were able to create a 'superweapon' that stays within the boundaries the Head had in place against such things. To destroy a complete district of the City, one that was rather firmly under their control, would heavily affect not only them, but the rest of the City and nests. It's a foolish decision in almost any way you spin it. The reason why they'd bring themselves to such a desperate degree is because of you. Because they're scared. Of you." Her tone had taken that dark, intimidating voice when they'd first met. Roland's hand nervously held onto Durandal's hilt.

"Eh? I haven't done anything, though. I've been trying to get back to the City for the last week or so, and I was just lucky enough to be hired by my first office." Roland kept a firm grasp, quickly moving when he felt the intimidation turn into murderous intent.

He was not nearly strong enough to stop her blunting sword from bashing him across the empty street and breaking a streetlight with his back, making him groan. ' She's still being cautious. I need to form my E.G.O before she can kill me. The Index aren't the only ones that are scared. I guess that plague thing she was talking about was more dangerous than I thought. Shouldn't have let that slip on me, even if I was still confused about my circumstances. She's a color regardless… '

Roland managed to pry his back from the jagged metal that had stabbed into him, unsheathing Durandal. A black mist weaved its wave from the contact of hilt and hand, forming into his oh-so familiar gloves, trailing halfway up his arms before stopping, the beginnings of his two-piece suit blossomed on his arms. No mask, but that didn't matter

Iori appeared before him, he ducked on instinct and felt the air around them shimmer with strength as her rapier pierced the streetlight. Seeing her move through the street with such overwhelming power put it into perspective for him.

' One solid hit and I'm dead. '

Sparks boiled his skin as he quickly stepped away from her. Not quick enough; his stomach had the air driven out of it as he was launched above the buildings, gritting his teeth in pain as the sun began to char his eye. His back suddenly met a stop, crashing against a concrete floor. Iori dashed at him through the portal and Durandal was sturdy enough to deflect a killing blow that blew him to the other side of the room with the recoil. Without the E.G.O on his arms, they'd have surely been pulverised by now.

She seemed to recognize that too.

"That's…"

She appeared before him, having completely slipped past his guard. Before he could attempt a grapple, her hands caught his claws and held them with force enough to bend steel. "Ghk!" Roland groaned, he went to kick her legs from under her but she remained still in thought.

"You… are from the future, aren't you, Roland?" Her eyes turned to him, and she let his hands go. "A future where a great light shone over the City for six days. Filling the people, fixer, worker, murderer, child, parent— with warmth and feelings long forgotten. Before people with strange, incredible strength on par with the Red Mist started to appear."

Roland grit his teeth. What was she talking about? The white nights and dark days? He shouldn't tell her. If he admitted to it the Head may come after him, and that's a fight he doesn't think he'll ever win. "The hell are you talking about? This is— just some gear I found near the Ruins."

"You're lying." She noted, her look unchanging. "That's fine. I can just probe through your brain, should I truly have to. You've forgotten that you're not that future of yourself, haven't you? Your brain should still remember. If you don't tell me right now, I'm going to kill you Roland. Do you understand?" Her tone was clear and decisive. There was no room for argument.

The Purple Tear's threats were falling on deaf ears as thoughts of dread circulated around Roland's head. If he had actually changed or not. It was such a small thing to get stuck up on, especially in a situation like this, but…

' I have changed. I know that I'm not that monster. I'm not the Roland that lost Angelica, that betrayed both of my best friends and almost killed them both in the name of empty revenge. I'm not the one who destroyed entire families just because That was That— it's been so long, I've changed. I'm different. I've evolved. '

A black mask began crawling onto Roland's face like a fog as the Purple Tear watched with interest. Her eyes widened slightly. "This feeling… You are overflowing with mystery, Roland. I was right to let you roam around as you had for now."

The floor below them cracked like glass, Salvador deftly rising from the shards and bounding out of the building as he sheathed his blade with Roland in hand. He landed atop a building where Roland had to swiftly shut his eye, releasing a deep breath.

"Thanks, old man." Roland nodded, feeling the black space fade away from his cheek and chin.

"Don't thank me yet. She may continue after us. And you're bleeding badly." Salvador stayed on guard, with Roland still under his arm as he jumped down to the streets. "Oh, how convenient. I'll get something to stop the bleeding." Roland was slung off his shoulder, left to feel the pain of having a metal spike jabbed through his back. He wished Salvador didn't take too long in that pharmacy.

"Looks like Iori's not too fond of me, huh? That's gonna be a pain in the ass later. Nothing I shouldn't be able to handle though; I just need to train this body." He could kill her, like he did in The Library. He just needed to work harder is all. Maybe if he found Angelica…

"Here, Arnold." Roland turned his face up just in time to get hit by some ancient brand of healing cream. He caught it before it hit the floor. "Just apply it to your wounds." Salvador added, watching Roland attempt to read the text on the small con container. "The Purple Tear might still be nearby, but stores are beginning to open and if she continues to pursue us any further she'll cause a fuss with Hana."

"Not the best insurance." Roland groaned. Luckily the wound was close enough on his back to reach by himself. "Never seen stuff like this before. What Wing makes this?"

"Wing? Oho, this cream is actually from a rising workshop from H corp. This type isn't the highest quality though, it can only seal wounds and not heal them. Hm, I'll have to put off testing you for a few days. However, knowing that you may have held out against the Purple Tear of all people is a quality of its own rank."

"How the hell'd you even find us? Don't tell, she brought us into the hotel?" She was still cautious. Roland wasn't sure why she might have retreated but he was glad she hadn't straight up killed him. She would need his brain intact if she wanted to poke through it, so turning his mind to mush would be off the table if she came back.

"Precisely. We should go to the WARP station again, and see if the maintenance has been completed."

"We shouldn't. It'd be the perfect time for her to attack." Roland could remember, Pluto from the ensemble did a similar thing with The Puppeter and Elena. He fancied she could do the same thing. "On a small condensed train, where we'd be strapped into our seats on different carriages. It's easy pickings."

Salvador stilled. "I see. One moment." Salvador hastily took out his phone. Looks like he was texting his wife. "There. We should get your cousin and head about in that case. We'll need somebody on high alert at all times, too. Hoho, this is rather exciting."

"I'll go get Elena— Bwah!" Roland recoiled, and arched his back with a groan as he felt his wound re-open.

"No need." In her hand, she held a half-eaten brioche. Creamy too. Roland grit his teeth and sorted the cream into a freakishly oversized pocket in his coat.

"I'm surprised you don't look like a prune. Weren't you having a bath for like… four hours?"

"Ha, I'd never be affected by such a thing. My body is simply advanced enough to not be afflicted by illness!" She proudly declared, though she quickly pulled her hood over her head to shield herself from the sun.

Roland smiled and raised his eyebrow. Elena hissed at the morning light.

"Anyway… Does your office have any dress codes?" Roland turned to Salvador. From what Roland remembers… A brown or grey dominating color, and limited overall vibrance.

"Not any I'm strict on. Though I'd prefer something dark-gold or auburn, perhaps a nice black detail to go along with it. Truthfully, I'm not all too fashionable these days. I know of a good tailor in V corp's Nest, but, well…"

"The WARP trains broke. Yeah."

"They'll be back up soon enough though, right? I really wanna go on one!" Elena piped in. ' No, you don't. ' Roland thought.

"We've decided that it's for the best that we don't use them to get back to V-corp. Even if they're convenient, they're mightily expensive." A blatant lie from Salvador, who changed his reasoning at the approval of Roland's nod.

If Elena knew about The Purple Tear, Roland wasn't sure on how she might react. The thought of her hunting down the color fixer raced through his head though. He couldn't let Elena die such a useless death.

"So, shopping?" He changed the subject, beginning to walk down the side-walk. "The sooner the better. The crowds will be coming out soon."

"Oho, indeed. We won't be able to go too overboard, but I'll see what I can do. Getting you into proper business clothes for your Hana Fixer examinations takes priority for now."

Roland let Salvador lead the way, pacing himself aside Elena in their hunt for a proper place to shop. She'd begun to hide in his shadow now, keeping her hands hidden like he was.

"What's so important about some clothes anyway? As long as they keep me out of the sun it shouldn't matter…" She pouted. Her red eyes seemed fixed on him, his back in particular.

"Proper clothes and uniforms are signs of professionalism. If a client sees us meander into them with a contract, they'll lose confidence and worsen the deal." Luckily for Roland, he'd gotten that message drilled into him, alongside the other nuances of making deals in The City. Not everybody had, however.

Elena remained silent, watching him. He looked back at her, curiously.

"You're injured." She spoke, her hand leaving its confines to pat his back; the injury of where the jagged metal had stabbed him.

"Ey, hey. That hurts." He stepped to the sit and slapped her hand off him. "I'm still recovering, you know?"

"From what? I healed you from the fight a few days ago." She looked at him with a scrutinising glare. Fierce, Roland noted. She moved closer to him, reaching. "Let me see."

"Listen, it's nothing– Ghh! Get your bloody hands off! That hurts you— Eaagh!" Roland cried out. He hadn't realised, but his arms were exhausted from defending himself earlier. Despite only having taken a few hits.

"Stop squirming, you're making it worse."

"Hell are you even doing— BAAH!" Roland shrieked when he felt a finger run over his now freshly opened wound, his arms going behind his back to stop her. He pushed her off after a second, taking the ointment out again. "What the hell… You did that just to make me scream, didn't you?"

When Roland braced himself with a hand of cold ointment, he found himself decently surprised at the lack of pain. He could feel his skin having been pressed and welded together like metal, which probably wasn't healthy, but definitely didn't make him feel as shite as before.

"Oh."

She clicked her tongue, and with a superior look about her, walked off to Salvador's side, who was chuckling at their encounter. Roland turned a bit red from all the eyes on him. "You're welcome."

"This is probably the worst morning of my life."

"You never know what tomorrow may bring." Salvador chided.

The Purple Tear pieced out his… time travel dilemma. Too fast. Far, far too quickly. He should have been more guarded. ' I can't let just anybody see my E.G.O. Need to be careful .'