Wind back the clock several days. It was a few hours after the impromptu press conference. In between the time they’d reported to the league and the time they’d had to deal with the media, and now Margot and Monty were able to settle the last issue of the job. Handing in a portion of their loot to boost the already considerable payout.

All the reporters had finally left the team of two professional players and one teen alone. Changing their target to the group of seventy or so, dazed and confused rescued victims.

Thomas had walked over to the side. Monty had printed up a phone so that the young man could call his parents and let them know that he was alive.

“Um...I need to do something.” said Margot.

“Sure. Let’s just head back to the apartment first. Maybe let me grab a quick nap and we can get whatever it is, done like your mum...Why did I say that? Sorry about that. Sometimes the words don’t work.” said Monty. Shaking his head and furrowing his brow.

“Er,... n-, no problem. Everyone has to roll a one in charisma sometimes, even smooth operators like you. Uh...a-, anyway, what I’m trying to say is that this time ‘I’ need to do something. I kind of wanted to do it alone. It’s something to do with my family and well, there's some stuff I need to think about.” said Margot. Biting her bottom lip. Clenching and unclenching her fingers, rubbing them against each other as if there were chalk on them.

“Well,...why didn’t you say so?! And you let me babble on like that? I know what family’s like. I’ll let you know I’ve had quite a few of them. So yeah, you go do what you need to do and I’ll hold down the fort. I’ll get a just-in-case pack ready for you to take.”said Monty. Patting Margot on the shoulder.

“Tha-, Thanks.” said Margot. Feeling a great sense of relief when she didn’t see any disapproval or disappointment on the aeons face.

“No thanks needed, M. What’s a familiar for, eh?” said Monty. Smiling and winking in his usual good humored fashion. Chuckling as if they’d both said something witty.

The aeon’s response put Margot at ease, but it also made her feel just a little anxious. Later during her brief return to their apartment, she’d lie in bed half-wishing he’d asked her stay because it would have given her an excuse not to go.

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Flashforward. Smooth jazz played over the bus station speaker system. An exhausted Margot sat in the stiff and uncomfortable plastic seat. In the last few days, she’d had to take three plane rides and a taxi to reach this one bus station in the middle of a small heavily devastated country in eastern Europe.

The expansion of the planet’s scale meant it was harder to travel than it had been pre-ENE. The existence of monsters and anomalous no-fly zones filled with creatures that ranged from suicidal murder-birds to lightning breathing sky-kraken made travelling even harder.

At this point, Margot was seriously regretting not letting Monty just pop her over to where she needed to go but at the same time she knew that if she’d let him do so she wouldn’t be anywhere as put together mentally as she was now. Which was saying something considering that right now, she suspected that she was a hair away from falling apart inside.

All through this trip she’d done a lot of reminiscing and soul searching and she found that the things she remembered and the things she’d found herself thinking about weren’t pleasant things.

Yet it was something she’d had to do because that was pretty much just what being a Wallace was for her. An obligation that was hard to duck out of. Though her parents had certainly managed to figure out the trick behind that.

The bus came. Margot swore as she realized that she’d intended to use the restroom but her stupid brain had forgotten that. Fortunately, loading and unloading passengers took a few minutes.

It also helped that she’d recently reached a stage in her cultivation where her body had become so efficient she no longer produced physical waste.

Thus hopefully she could be done and back before the bus left.

Ten minutes later, Margot was on the bus. Watching a desolate looking city roll by. Eastern Europe had been hard hit by the ENE and you could still see the scars that were left on its countryside and in the cities.

It had been a close call. She’d almost let the bus leave without her. Contrary to what one might think women’s restrooms weren’t or nicer than men's restrooms by any means.

Men had the option of standing to use the restroom. Women didn’t, at least not generally. Meaning that most public women's restrooms quickly became a nightmare of filthy stalls with filthy toilets, covered in unmentionable materials and the occasional spattering of blood.

This was made even worse because this was bus stop bathroom, where restroom etiquette goes to die. As a result, Margot had the unlovely task of choosing which of the toilets looked like it was least likely to give her a million and one diseases.

Ironically, this bathroom had aided her by narrowing the choice. Of the five stalls there’d one with no door. There’d also been one that was blocked to the point of nearly overflowing. With a used tampon and a you-know-what circling around each other in the water like a pair of fighting fish. Thus reducing Margot’s choice to just three toilets.

Now having safely found her seat on the armored vehicle, Margot felt the energy drain out of her body. Chasing down her mother had been hard. Though she had Monty and his intel to help her find the woman, it had taken some time for Margot to be able to reach a place where the woman was supposed to be, while the woman was actually there.

Again, Margot could have asked Monty to help in that area but Margot’s half-hearted feelings regarding the whole situation made it so that she was almost happy she’d missed meeting up with her mother all those times. It gave her more time to try and figure out how to untie the knots within her heart.

Eventually, Margot drifted off to sleep. Her consciousness fading. Her superhuman physique could carry her through the physical strain of her journey but there was nothing that could be done for the mental strain.

As she dreamt, she dreamt of a familiar face and the comfortable place that they’d built together.

At some point something disturbed her. Seventy-five years of being a noble always on guard for the threat of assassination. Seventy-five years of being a cultivator living and dying by her blade. Seventy-five years of being a ninja assassin living and dying by the code of perfect vigilance.

All those simulated lifetimes together, plus her own personal experience being wary of her cousin Bernie’s mean pranks, meant that there was no way Margot wouldn’t wake up and notice the hand trying to slip itself into her satchel.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” said Margot. Her tone sharp. Her exhaustion and world weariness cutting away her normally shy demeanor.

She looked up and saw a young face staring at hers. The young man had the grace to look sheepish as he stood there with his arm unmistakably trapped in Margot’s vice-like grip.

Margot sent her spiritual sense flowing through her person. She mentally checked her personal wards and saw that they hadn’t been disturbed.

Looking at the youth of the pickpocket and the rough look of the city outside, Margot considered the possible consequences of making a big deal out of things, and then just ilghtly shoved the boy away because she couldn't be bothered.

The teenager fell back into a seat across the aisle, disturbing the passengers sitting there. Then he scampered off.

The bus came to stop at yet another bus station. Margot pulled her smartphone out of satchell to check the gps and was bemused to find that she had arrived at her destination.

There was a certain Clown-fairy Burger, franchise restaurant, right across the street. After checking the time and the amount of money she had with her, Margot decided that she’d stop to grab some breakfast or at least a cup of coffee, before meeting her mother.

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Margaret Wallace-Cooke sat in a cell in an underground facility controlled by a certain eastern-european country. She’d been put there by a certain family of mages that she had been doing business with in hopes of earning enough good will with them and their superiors to gain her access to a relic that supposedly granted wishes.

Alas, things between herself and her friends in the Lukic family had soured. The two sides butting heads after a small disagreement centering around some missing money, some contractual terms, and what did or did not constitute domestic terrorism.

The only reason Margaret wasn’t dead or in one of the facility’s “interrogation” rooms was because her own name and the split prestige of the Wallace and Cooke names was enough to keep the Lukics from getting too zealous.

It also helped that she’d hidden away, and booby-trapped, a certain must-have item of the Lukics. Resulting in a situation where the little mage family didn’t dare press her any further than they had already.

Margaret sat on a cot that was covered in things that she’d rather not think too hard about. She wasn’t sure, but she had a feeling that something was happening in the prison.

For the last few hours guards had been passing through the area. Sounding hurried. Sounding worried. Sounding confused. The few times she could be arsed to get off of the bed she’d realized that many of those guards were wearing full combat gear.

If it were two days from today, she’d have guessed that the group she’d arranged to have break her out of her had botched their quiet option and were moving to their plan B.

Since it wasn’t two days from now, all Margaret could suppose was that something else was happening. Something that had nothing to do with her and was none of her business. Considering her current tenuous position it was best to keep her head down if that was the case.

If she started hearing the gunfire get closer to her position, she'd hide beneath the bed, shifting her profile to avoid catching a stray bullet. Literally keeping her head down.

During the life she’d lead she’d found that boldness and caution were both virtues. Being successful and staying alive was a trick of knowing which virtue to lean on.

Oddly enough, no sounds of gunfire were ever heard. Even the sounds of the other prisoners gradually began to fade. An eerie and unnatural silence was filling the hall of the prison. Swiftly swallowing up all the other sounds.

Just as it became dead silent, Margaret realized that there was someone standing in front of her cell door. Their shadow seeming to pierce through the gloom. Casting an incongruous clear silhouette, as if the door wasn’t even there.

Suddenly the door wasn’t even there. It was simply gone. Melting away like a dream during the day time. Leaving naught but a glowing pool of red hot metal.

“....Hi.” said Margaret. Not sure what else to say because as far as she knew the thing that was happening right now could either be a good thing or a bad thing.

“Are you Margaret Cooke?” said the figure in the door. Their build short but muscular. The rest of their features hidden by their body armor and the hood they wore.

“Yes.” said Margaret. Deciding not to bother lying since whoever this was had managed to find her cell despite the prison’s administrators new making any record of her being brought to the prison.

“I have a package for you and a message.” said the figure.

“I’ll take the package first, I suppose.” said Margaret. Pausing a moment to decide.

The figure responded by throwing something at Margaret’s chest with enough force to ensure that there would be definite bruising. Margaret caught the item before it fell onto the floor and saw that it was a ring. A ring identical to the one she was wearing on the ring finger of her left hand.

“....And the message?” said Margaret. Her aura surging despite all the willpower she was using to try and keep her reactions under control.

“Your husband’s alive...Father is alive. He sent me to give you that ring and tell you how to summon him back into our world.” said the figure. Seeming to hesitate before giving the second half of the message.

“Father?...Who are you?” said Margaret.

The hood of the suit slid downwards, disappearing into the suit. Margaret found herself looking at a face that was both familiar and unfamiliar. Looking the spitting image of her own face, except greatly refined. With just a few touches of Vergil’s face mixed in as well.

“I suppose it ‘has’ been a while, hasn’t it? Hello, mother. Good to see you again.” said Margot. Her voice devoid of emotion.