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The subject of what had happened last night had been completely whisked away by algebraic equations, mental disorders, and various dead presidents. It quietly sat in the back of her mind, tucked away by how the human mind likes to form walls around things it doesn't quite understand.

Sometimes fate has no consideration for the human mind.



"...do you?"

Those two words jerked her violently from a nearly-sound sleep. Aysel's mother set her hands on her hips, cocking an eyebrow.

"Maybe you should sleep in your bed as opposed to on your books, huh?"

Aysel sat up grumpily, quite irritated at being disturbed from such a good nap. "Erh. What were you saying, Mom?"

"I said, 'You don't want to have lasagna tomorrow, do you?'"

"I-" Then the walls fell down, and she remembered that she <i>still</i> had no idea what had happened. A knot of apprehension twisted itself into existence in her stomach.

"I was hoping we could postpone it until Sunday or so. It's closing week again, and I'll be especially late since one of my co-workers is on vacation."

"Sure thing, Mom. Sunday's fine." she trailed off.

"Good, good." The woman bent and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Good night, Ays. It's almost midnight."



Pavel sctratched his head, wincing. "Yeah, the look on your face says that you have. Even though you haven't been here that long."

"Are you...serious?"

"I might be serious, but I'm not completely <i>certain</i>." At the sight of his friend's shoulders slumping, he shook his head. "No, it's not hopeless. I know somebody who'd know something like that, or who'd be able to find it out for you. In fact, he might just be able to plain help you out." Pavel brushed hair from his face, and refocused his thoughts. " His name is Detective Westwood. Incredibly smart guy. Connections everywhere. I take it you've heard of him too?"

The boy nodded, surprised. "I thought he was kinda an urban legend... You know him?"

Pavel looked embarrassed. "Not exactly. I have a buddy who knows where he lives." One arm stretched into the air, and after a few moments a very small bird alighted on his sleeve. "Just follow him, and you should get there. Though what you do <i>after</i> that, whether you get there in one piece, and how you convince Mr. Westwood into helping you is entirely your concern."

"Gee, thanks, Pavel..." he said, flatly. The little bird hopped towards him, cheerfully warbling. At least <i>this</i> little guy seemed like a helpful one. At Pavel's urging, he extended his arm, and his avian guide hopped up it to take residence atop his left shoulder. Conradin stood and started down the side of the building, feeling both a little shakier and a little more confident than when he first climbed up.

"And Conradin?"

He stopped, poking his head back over the top of the fire escape—then immediately ducking back down again, covering his head. "Gah-!" Ten thousand black birds flew from the roof in all directions, leaving Pavel alone in the center.

"She <i>is</i> coming, you know," he warned. "I'd prepare yourself, if you intend to stay here."



Icarus, as Pavel had so affectionately called him, had a tendency to mimic the legend whrom which he took his name. Several times he'd flown much too high for Conradin to keep track of him, only to dive back to the ground several minutes later, innocently chirping. "As if he didn't know I can't fly," the boy muttered.

This was about the seventh time, and Conradin sat waiting for him on the sidewalk of a nearly-deserted street. Icarus had managed to lead him into a part of the city he didn't recognize, and judging from appearances, it'd be best not to wander around exploring. The clouds were beginning to thin out, revealing a darkening sky. Now that he 'd stopped to think about it, the whole thing was kind of ironic. Night in a city where the sun never shone. The latter had never bothered him too much, but some people just couldn't take the lack of light.

He pulled up his sleeve and checked an imaginary watch (cursing the fact that he'd forgotten to put it on that day) and decided that he might venture out a few paces, just because. Surely Icarus would be able to find him even if he'd moved a few feet.

Much to his surprise, peeking down a side street yielded a small figure with a shuddering outline. For a moment, he wasn't sure that it was a person—then it solidified, and standing in the shadows was a rather small boy with short, messy hair.

"Hey!" Conradin hailed him, jogging into the shadows. It might not yield any result, but asking this kid for a nudge in the right direction couldn't hurt, either.

The boy turned around, eyebrows elevated in mild curiosity, and then tightening in unwelcome surprise. "Watch out!"

Conradin looked over his shoulder for only a split second before diving out of the way. Looking back again yielded a more complete view of the unfolding situation. A hulking, humanoid monster with slimy green skin half-oozed, half loomed over his much-smaller prey. The boy whipped a pistol out of his front left pocket and trained it on the monster. He was too late, and it was too strong; one huge hand easily slapped him backwards, sending his weapon skittering along the asphalt. Satisfied with its progress against this new distraction, it turned back to its original prey—who jumped to his feet, opened his mouth, and let out a (very sharp) F.

The monster threw him to the wall, knocking the sound out of him.

"It isn't...affected by song?!" he coughed, backing away. Then his shoulders ran into something, and there was nowhere else to go.



Another figure cast its long shadow into the alley, smaller than the monster yet larger than the little boy. The movement caught his dizzy eyes, and after a quick sizing-up of the situation, he realized that she held the key to their safety.

"You!" the boy shouted, and Aysel nearly jumped a foot in the air. "Toss me my gun!"

Her eyes ficked back and forth from wall to wall, "Ah-ah-" Then the obvious sank in, and she bent at the waist and picked up his pistol, throwing it to him. He caught it, fumbled with it, and then turned it on the towering beast, firing once, twice, three times. Each shot elicited a howl of pain and rage, until at last the beast fell backwards onto the ground. Dark green-blue blood oozed thickly from its wounds.

Her stomach turned, and she had to look away, focusing her thoughts elsewhere. The little gunner lowered his weapon, letting out a deep breath. Conradin scrambled to his feet, back still pressed against the corner made by the wall and a set of steps. Then his head turned to her, and she could feel his gaze on the back of her neck.

"Aysel?" he gasped, incredulous. "What are you doing here?!" She turned around, slowly, making sure not to catch a glimpse of the lump of flesh on the ground.



His eyes spoke volumes to her, and they angered her.



<i>Do you want that thing badly enough to get killed for it?!

Do you?!</i>



"You know what, Conradin?" However resolute her tone may have been, it didn't help that her voice was shaking. "Maybe I'm selfish. So maybe I <i>do</i>."

After a moment of confused silence, he finally recalled the question she was answering. "It wasn't a question you were supposed to actually consider!" he yelled. Yet the boy he stood with shook his head and held up a hand, indicating that he should quiet.

"That's called a 'rhetorical' question. But more essentially, it's not your decision to make—regardless of who you are, or what the situation is. It's hers." A small smile, deliciously sly, pulled at the corners of his mouth. "And she will have to determine whether her choice was a mistake or not for herself."

Her classmate lapsed into silence, only glancing once more between the two of them before fixating on his shoelaces.

She'd won...but as she stared into the eyes of this mischevous little savior, it sure didn't feel like any sort of victory.