Back in Haven, Xole sat in Patchwork’s office. The doctor had just finished bandaging his right arm again, as well as removing the rest of the other bandages he placed on his body minutes ago. He stuck a few needles in his arm and gave him the thermometer again. Xole hesitated. Patchwork rolled his eyes.

  “Yes, it’s clean. Thank you for asking,” He said.

  Putting it in his mouth, Xole watched the doctor tap the needles, making his arm tingle. He took them out and held out his hand for the thermometer, which Xole gave back. The doctor checked the results and raised an eyebrow and began making a note. Xole made a concerned face. “Uh, that looked bad.”

  “Depends on your definition of ‘bad’.” The doctor replied. “When we first spoke, your Gi levels registered as a perfect balance, ‘50/50’.”

  Xole began to feel anxious, “Yeah…”

  “Well now they report as—and don’t panic—‘63/37’.”

  “HUH?!”

  Patchwork squeezed the bridge of his nose, “I just told you not to panic!” he sighed and went back to writing, “You’ll be fine. This is a common occurrence for most Talent users who over-stress their Talents.” He slipped the note in his pocket and looked up, “Though the only difference with you is your numbers don’t round to the nearest five, instead they show as is. Oddly malleable. Though my guess is it’s probably due to your Talent.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Xole said. He looked down to the floor, “I…I really don’t know what happened back there. I was supposed to stop him, I was gonna stop him. But then my body just…”

  “Gave out?” Patchwork said.

  Xole rubbed the back of his head, “Yeah, pretty much.” He then noticed the hand he was using was his right. “Wait a minute. My arm’s back already?”

  “To address both your comments and questions, yes,” Patchwork faced Xole. “I’ve come to the conclusion that your severely Gi deficient.” He held up one of the needles, “These needles carry trace amounts of pure adrenaline, after using my Talent to enhance them they become compatible with Inner-Gi, which can then be used to replenish it.”

  “So like the bandages you used for the lot of us who got injured back at the bank?” Xole asked.

  “I suppose I never did tell you how my Talent worked.” Patchwork leaned back. “Along with my unmatched knowledge, I use my Gi to enhance healing done through modified materials.”

  Xole began to look confused, “But doesn’t that mean anyone could do that.”

  The doctor put up a finger, “You misunderstand. Healing is my Aculty. It’s something I’ve worked towards my entire life to perfect, that’s what Talent is, remember?”

  Xole nodded, “okay…”

  “So because my Inner-Gi compositions leans more into defense, I can use more Gi to enhance healing procedures done that others, especially offensive types, typically can’t do. Not to mention I have pristine control over my talent.”

  Xole’s head dropped again, “Control…you’re starting to make me jealous here.”

  Patchwork shrugged, “Well if you’d just let me discover what caused your Talent in the first place…”

  “I’d probably be a freaking vegetable!” Xole said. “Oh, unless you were gonna apologize for trying to electrocute me earlier.”

  “Of course not,” the doctor replied. “What I was going to say is I should’ve gotten close to you before attempting such a feat. That way you’d conceive me a, troubled ‘ally’, rather than a threat and had been more willing to hear me out and hopefully comply.”

  ‘This guy’s a snake!’ Xole thought.

  “The point is that’s how I use my talent.” Patchwork said. He motioned for Xole to get up so he could wipe down the operating table, “I suggest when you leave you should ask the others about theirs. In fact if Abbas was even half competent he would’ve given you such knowledge before he tossed you into a team brawl.”

  “Yeah, I kind of got the feeling you and him were the kind to butt heads a lot.”

  “For good reason I may add.”

  “But do you even, you know, like him? I mean, you defended him when we talked to those other Underground guys.”

  “Because they’re the only people in this world I dislike more than him. However, I still don’t agree with either.” The doctor said taking out an old rag. He sighed, and began wiping down the table, “I don’t hate or dislike the man. I believe he’s severely misguided. He thinks everyone should get the right to stand on the same pedestal and receive the same treatment, no matter what.”

  Xole scrunched his brow, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Isn’t that what you both should be striving for? A fair and equal world?”

  “Fairness and equality, I can’t believe people still have the audacity to use those two terms in the same sentence.” Patchwork dropped his rag on the table and faced the older boy, “Let’s say there were two individuals, one a murder and one a rapist. Should they both receive the same punishment?”

  “Well obviously,” Xole shuddered, “The thought of both makes my skin crawl.”

  “Good. Now let’s say the rapist was falsely convicted. Do you still believe both deserve the same treatment?”

  “Well I don’t think he would’ve been.” Xole folded his arms, scrunching his face. “I’m pretty sure if the victim says—”

  “For God’s sake, kid!”

  “Alright, alright!” Xole put his hands up. “If he was innocent then he deserves to be given a chance. But it’s not the same as the original question.”

  “Why does it have to be?” the doctor said throwing his hands up. “It’s these variables Abbas fails to understand. Why did the murder happen? Were they actually a rapist? Is it really just to smash an unarmed cop’s head in?”

  “But Abbas explained why!” Xole said. “I didn’t like it either, but he said that guy and his squad killed a bunch of you guys!”

  “To which Abbas would justify their deaths as ‘evening things out’ isn’t’ it, Xole? Just think for a second, does that even make any sense?”

  Xole looked at the man. His mouth was dry for words.

  “Equality is just another excuse for revenge.” Patchwork went back to his desk. “I’d do you some good to really get to know Abbas before you make claims for him.”

  “…” Xole left for the door, taking the handle before hearing Patchwork’s voice once more.

  “And Xole.”

  He turned around, “What?”

  “Next time, be sure to use your left arm. Your composition will even out soon, but as long as your Gi management is poor your arm could still be seriously injured. Or worse…”

  ‘Worse?’ Xole thought leaving. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  At the Groundwater stand, Mr. Holdover downed another cup and leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘Damn, this stuff keeps my Gi up better than coffee.’ He thought while looking into the cup. He swished it anxiously, the image of the document edged in to his mind: Haven, aka the ‘dangerous Talented’.

  ‘Assassinating Sam, huh? No wonder he was at the airport that day. Whoever put out that request clearly wanted these guys stopped—but not killed.’ His fists clenched, remembering the stupid explosion that took out the room—and the files. He cursed. ‘It’s a good thing my memory’s still half decent. I know a transaction can only be done in the same state it was requested in. On top of that, whoever this guy was seemed pretty aware of what’s going on in this city, narrowing my options.’

  He reached for his cup to take a sip, but stopped. He knew something was still off.

  ‘But, having no state attached to the receipt means not only is this person unregistered…’ his eye glanced from right to left, carefully inspecting the happy people, children, and pets roaming by, ‘…but also under the radar.’

  To his left, he saw Salamander take a seat next to him, lighting a cigar. He held out his hand to catch a cup slid to him. He took a large swig.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  “Mmm, mmm! Always taste good afta a long night o’ roastin’!” he said. He slammed his empty cup on the table, “Anotha one, Mr. Citrus!”

  Smiling, the old man poured him another, “You know, Michael,” he said, “I’m usually only busy when you and the Groundhogs go to work.” He motioned to Mr. Holdover, “But since this gentleman and his friends came in, I’ve always been working. Reminds me of why I loved doing this in the first place.”

  “Ha! Glad ‘ta hear dat!” Salamander said.

  Mr. Holdover looked at the man, “Your real name’s Michael?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Just an ol’ tag my folks used ‘ta call me.”

  ‘That’s what a name is dumbass,’ Mr. Holdover thought shaking his head.

  “Hey, fool,” Salamander said. “It ain’t ever gonna happen again so I’ll say it now, thanks for gettin’ there when ya did back at dat bank.”

  Mr. Holdover looked at the man for a second, then shrugged and went back to his drink, “Just doing my job.”

  “Heh. Ya know, we was wonderin’ what was talking ya so long.”

  “Just trying to grab whatever shit I could.” The man said. His tone shifted, “Say, how well’s the security of this place?”

  “What, Haven?” he looked around, “I’d say da best. Ain’t no one getting’ past me, ha!”

  “So you’ve never had a break-in or information leak?”

  “Huh? Info leak? Where’d ya get dat from?”

  “I’m just saying with the stunt tubby pulled last night—”

  “Abbas, fool—”

  “You don’t have any records or run-ins with anyone besides the basic Blues?”

  The man eyed Mr. Holdover. He then turned back to his drink. “No, and I make damn sure of it.”

  The two men sat there. Suddenly, Salamander laughed, “Y’know, I had a feelin’ you’d be da guy ta say somethin’ like dat!”

  “Had a feeling?’ Mr. Holdover said, “Are you trying to read me?!”

  He put his cup down. Mr. Holdover could tell he seemed more grim. “Listen,” he said, “da boys and I was talkin’ about what happened and we decided ta leave da kid outta da next operation.”

  Mr. Holdover swirled his cup, “Yeah I figured.” he took a sip, “It’s that damn Talent of his. Can’t get a grasp of what the hell it’s doing half the time, so now the kid’s probably mad at me ‘cause I promised to help him with it.”

  “So why don’t ya tell him da truth?” Salamander asked.

  “Because I made a promise,” Mr. Holdover said. Finishing his cup, he slammed it on the table. “I don’t know what it takes, but I’m gonna make sure I get to the bottom of this thing!”

  Salamander eyed Mr. Holdover. He smoked his cigar down until it was gone, blowing a puff of smoke forward. “There’s a notebook in da couch. Prime Hill.”

  Now Mr. Holdover gave him a glance, “Huh? The hell are you talking about? You’re saying the big guy keeps his—”

  “Look, I’m just givin’ ya a choice.” he said, leaving the table quickly. “Take it or leave it. Good luck.”

  Mr. Holdover felt his upper lip quiver in anger. ‘Is every homeless person here half cryptic or something?’ he let out a breath, watching the man leave. His mind went back to the bank. ‘Still, why’d he decide then to give me that info now? Does he know there’s a traitor here too? Maybe it’s a trick. Yeah, it’s gotta be a trick. Or maybe he wants me to think it’s a trick…no, no he can’t be that smart.’ He looked up at Prime Hill and sighed, ‘Trap or not, I’m out of options. Ugh, this shit’s getting complicated.’

  He then glanced behind him to see Xole walking amongst the crowd of people, heading towards Salamander’s direction. Mr. Holdover raised his hand, “Hey, boy!”

  Xole kept going.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you!” Mr. Holdover said louder, “I know you can hear me!”

  Glancing behind him quickly, Xole began to walk faster. Mr. Holdover neck craned.

  “HEY!” Mr. Holdover yelled much to the startlement of the nearby people, “BRING YOUR ASS HERE RIGHT NOW AND DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE!”

  ‘Gah! Dang it!’ Xole thought, ‘I was really trying to avoid him this time.’

  He made his way back to the Groundwater stand and watched Mr. Citrus smiled at him, “Hey there sonny boy!” he slid him a fresh cup, “Heard what happened at the bank, this should fix ya right up!”

  Xole felt his stomach wrench, though he tried not to show it. He smiled and nodded at the man before directing his attention to Mr. Holdover, “It’s been a bit Mr. Holdover,” he said glancing between the man and the table nervously. “Look, if it’s about leaving you at the bank—”

  “Huh?” Mr. Holdover’s brow furrowed, “The hell you on about?”

  Xole bit his tongue, “Oh, never mind.”

  Mr. Holdover shook his head and began to drink his third cup. “I just wanted to see if you were…doing good or something like that.” He took a quick sip. “After what the fat-ass said back there—”

  “Abbas,” Xole said.

  “—yeah him. I was just trying to making sure your head’s on straight.”

  ‘So now he wants to talk,’ he thought. “Yeah I’m doing fine.”

  There was a long difficult pause between the two. Even Mr. Citrus stopped cleaning his cup. After eyeing the two he whistled cheerfully and went to the back. Xole continued to stare forward as Mr. Holdover could feel his arms begin to shake in frustration.

  “Ok fuck this shit!” he said. “Boy, do you agree with what he did or not?”

  “What Abbas did?” Xole said, “I mean he didn’t make a bad point but…”

  “But what?”

  “I just don’t think I’m in a position to answer that right now, ok?” he said bitterly. “My Talent’s barley working, remember? Maybe when I finally get a better grasp I can give you a clear response.”

  Mr. Holdover looked down at his cup, “No, you won’t.”

  Xole looked at him, “What?”

  “The fact that your Talent isn’t fully manifested here shows that your mind’s still open. Because you lack power, you’re willing to change your ideas and beliefs.” He took a gulp, “I mean granted this can apply to anyone, but it’s a lot easier to justify something when you have the means to do so.”

  Xole was quiet for a few moments. He then raised his head, “You seem to be really worried about me turning into a killer, Mr. Holdover.”

  “It taints your soul,” he replied. “It stains and shows every time you use your Inner-gi, like a constant reminder of what you’ve done.” He stared ahead himself and swirled his cup. “Look, what I’m saying is no one your age should ever be forced to kill anyone. Like with Bran at Amesworth.”

  Xole looked at him, feeling a cold sting down his back. “Forced?”

  “Yeah,” Mr. Holdover said, “I mean it’s not like you did it to him on purpose or anything.”

  “…Yeah.” Xole said.

  Mr. Holdover finished his drink and sat up from the table, “Well, that’s off my chest.” He turned to leave, “Just think about what I said, alright?”

  “Where you off to now?”

  “Oh uh…gonna check out some of those stands over there. Maybe hit up the archive after—”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Eh?” Mr. Holdover turned back, seeing Xole looking at him, his fist on the table.

  “I heard what you and Salamander were talking about. I know you don’t trust me—”

  “What?!”

  “—but you could at least try to trust the Groundhogs, Mr. Holdover!” he said. “I mean they bring us here, let us eat here, sleep here, live here—!”

  “Just what’re you getting at, boy?” he demanded, placing his hands to his pockets. “It’s called business. We help them, and they give us shit.”

  “You’re stealing from them!”

  “Listen, boy, you need to quit being so buddy-buddy with randoms you meet off the street!” he said, jabbing his finger. “This ‘Abbas’ guy talks a lot and does even more shit under the table. Not to mention he hasn’t payed us yet.”

  “…Abbas helps me train.” He said, getting up, “They all took time out of their day to make sure my Talent could be useful on the street. If it wasn’t for them, I probably would’ve died back at the bank!”

  “The help that did!” the man snapped.

  Xole gritted his teeth and looked away, his fists shaking. Mr. Holdover shook his head and turned to leave, but the idiot in the kufi flashed in his head. He sighed. “Alright, what’s really on your mind?”

  There was a pause, “Do…do you trust me?”

  “…” Mr. Holdover stared ahead, “’Course I do.”

  Xole heard his footsteps disperse into the crowd, leaving him alone.

  ‘…but the fact is that you still can’t trust us, so naturally I can’t seem to trust you anymore.’ Shakar’s words echoed in his head.

  ‘Well if you’d just let me discover what caused your talent in the first place…’ Patchwork echoed.

  It’s that damn talent of his. Can’t get a grasp of what the hell it’s doing half the time, so now the kid’s mad at me ‘cause I promised to help him with it.’ Mr. Holdover’s voice said.

  Xole continued staring down at the table. The without warning, he shot up from his seat and stormed off, ‘Yeah right! You know damn well why! You saw the looks they gave you when they discovered your talent. They just wanna use you, use you like Yesfir did. Use you like what Brandon did to Gus—’

  “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  Xole jumped back at the familiar voice, only to see Yesfir standing behind him again, smiling at him innocently.

  “How are you here?!” he yelled, “You’re making me look crazy here!”

  “I’m not the one yelling in a public space.” She said motioning to the people now looking at him.

  “Thanks a lot,” Xole said, shaking his head. He spun and began to walk away towards the train station, “Just leave me alone would you?”

  “Why should I?” she said stepping in front of Xole, hand on her hip. “So you can whine and moan about how tough it is while ignoring all your free handouts?” she scoffed, “Brat.”

  Xole gritted his teeth, “You got some nerve—”

  ‘Smack!’

  Xole’s head reeled back as the woman’s hand struck his cheek. The growing crowd watching him gasped.

  “After all I’ve given you,” Yesfir growled, “Amesworth, the spitting man, and the Blue Collars. I’ve saved your life every time since then and this is how I’m appreciated?” She smacked him again. “Your friend in the funny hat was right. You don’t deserve their trust, nor any more chances!” She smacked him again hard enough for him to flip to the floor. Xole crawled backwards.

  “It wasn’t you!” he said. “It was the spiritual talent! My—Gus’s…” his voice trailed off, “Gus’s Talent…”

  Yesfir leaned towards Xole, smirking mockingly. “And you were soooo close.”

  Xole stumbled back to his feet, now running in full on sprint away.

  “Get away from me!” he yelled. “Get away!”

  The confused crowed watched him disappear below the steps and glanced at each other.

  Xole ran down the stairs only to see the train just leave, leaving him alone in the station. Without a thought he darted left, running along the tracks.

  ‘There was a door here somewhere,’ he thought, ‘I just need to confuse her long enough—’

  “This is becoming so sad.” Yesfir said, standing in front of him. Xole stopped in his tracks. The woman slowly approached him, “It’s almost as if I’m dealing with a child again.” She spat, “You and your so-called problems are nothing more than a farce created by your own useless self!”

  Xole tried to run, but she was quicker, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him against the brick wall, “But you already know that,” she said, “don’t you?”

  Xole grit his teeth.

  The woman narrowed her eyes down at him, “Nothing anymore, hmm?”

  “…”

  “I don’t think…” She raised her arm to strike him again, “I gave you permission to stop speaking—“

  “It’s me,” Xole said. “Is that what you want?”

  Yesfir lowered her arm.

  “You’re right, you were never here,” he said. “You never were here because the ‘you’ I wanted never existed in the first place.” He swallowed hard, “And Gus is dead—he DIED right in front of me! And it’s all because of this…stupid…stupid Talent!” he felt his clenched hands relax, “Yet I always thought using it…was like seeing you two again in some way…”

  Without a word, she let Xole go and watched him continue.

  “But every time I used this…this Talent, it was always me. Never Gus’s, or you, it was all me.” He returned her gaze, “Are you happy now? I’m terrified, okay? All these people are asking for is so simple yet I’m too scared to do it because every time I get close to them I see YOUR faces!” he looked to the floor, is eyes growing heavy and hot, “You guys already abandoned me once…what’s stopping it from happening again?”

  He could only shake his head, feeling his breathe come fast. “Why…just why?”

  Dripping water echoed in the tunnel, cold as it was empty. Yesfir pulled him close to a hug.

  “Gus’s role is played, and soon so will mine.” She said, “But I won’t leave you yet, my love. You still have work to do.” She squeezed him, “Or in this case; remember.”

  “…”

  Slowly, Xole raised his head. Yesfir was no longer there, but instead, Abbas.

  “Young one,” he said. “I believe it’s time we spoke.”