The rattling of metal rings slithered across a bar. Bedroom blinds shot open. Sunlight poured in and assaulted both eyes. I groaned, rolled over, then pulled the nice sheets up and over my head. The attack kept going as someone stomped around the room. Each footfall vibrated through my skull like a jackhammer. Items were picked up and slung about like bricks.

Nothing was in focus, my head refused to coherently think, logic was impossible. Minutes passed by as my brain tried to sync up with reality.

"Hung over?" Rachel's voice cut through the layers of cotton I'd bundled in.

"Hnngh." was my grandiose response.

"Didn't your father teach you anything?"

The question was like a cold splash of water to the face. More effective than even that. Rachel didn't pause to notice anything. She wandered around, opening windows, grabbing garbage, shoving clothes into a basket.

She stomped out, stomped back in, and kept on straightening up the few meager possessions in the room. Her room. In her house. The plump woman had every right to be upset about how it was being treated.

Still, regardless of her huffy actions, my brain was stuck on the question. Hadn't my father taught me all sorts of things?

I scratched at my arm and felt, irritated. My cheeks tucked back as I tried to remember the old man’s face. Parts of my mind could almost hear his words sliding around in the foggy patches of my memory.

They were lessons that had been repeated so many times I felt like they were part of my bones. Sayings that had rumbled through my core as a babe. The deepest voice in my universe. But what those exact words were escaped me.

"Well?" Rachel demanded.

"Sure." I lied.

"He teach you that the drink is dangerous for you?"

"Probably." I didn't remember but admitting that was unappealing.

"Well, you're failing your old man, kiddo," she shook her head. "Bring a clean face downstairs and I'll feed it. Food will do you good."

Rachel left me to sit alone and slowly adjust to the natural light. The sensation was unpleasant but deserved. I shouldn't have been drinking at all. Spending time with Steven had been a bad idea. That man talked endlessly about nothing interesting.

I migrated to the bathroom and tried to clean up. A lukewarm shower helped but I couldn’t turn it up to scalding. Passing out from too much steam felt like a real possibility.

My brain tried to pick apart the building questions of my family. Tried to recall exactly what had been said over the last few weeks that had me so bothered. Then an itching on my wrist distracted me.

Eventually, I made it downstairs. I was hungry, thirsty, and no wiser as to the mysteries plaguing my life. Rachel had a meal set out that would solve at least two of the problems. Her tall chairs made it easy to sit at the island in the middle of the kitchen. There was probably a real table around but I hadn't used it once.

As usual, the television was tuned to a news channel. I glanced over at a list of candidates vying for the open Tribunal seat. Two females, two males. The other two who had thrown their hats in the ring weeks ago were not talked about. Probably dead. No one would question vampire politics. If they wanted to off each other then it was perfectly fine.

The newscasters were speculating on two of the current contenders now. Comparing policies and practices, history and future expectations. Boring nonsense.

"I don't know why they're even trying to vote on it. They're all old, stuck in their ways, and likely to make the same mistakes their predecessors did."

"Don't like vampires either?" I asked between bites.

"Not a bit. Wolves, vampires, elves, they can vanish and I'd throw a party."

"Mmh." I didn't know what to say to the brief flash of hatred in her voice. It was strange to see racism first hand.

"They've done more damage than good," Rachel said.

"Sure." Violent accidents were just as often human only. The extra races rarely did anything to humans, except for the odd case like Steven had mentioned.

"Don't placate me, kiddo. People nowadays just don't understand, haven't studied their history. The Purge was an awful, destructive, thing that didn't save anyone."

"Genocide," I said the word used by history channels.

"Multiple levels of Genocide, deliberate plagues, wars, burning entire villages to the ground," I hadn't been aware of all the destruction Rachel started spouting. "Those four came out looking like roses. What nonsense."

I was getting bored of all these people talking. Hopefully the exercises tonight would break up and practice sparring or something. There was a certain need to hit people that had been creeping up on me over the last week.

"I wouldn't know, Rachel,” The last of my plate went down in two bites. “I wasn't there. Maybe these other races were really as terrible as it sounds."

"You're telling me it's okay to kill someone because of what could happen?" Rachel looked wounded. "Even their children?"

I sighed. It should have been obvious that Rachel didn't care one ounce about their temperaments, just the children. She certainly was a kind person. Taking me in, feeding me, and now taking offense at something that started two thousand years ago because it might involve children.

"No. I'm not." My head shook slightly.

"Good. Don't let me hear you say otherwise either. Not in my house. Or I'll put you out on the street." she shook a whisk at me. Bits flew off from the cookie dough Rachel had been mixing.

"You ought to know better by now, kiddo." Rachel continued.

"I do."

"Good." she turned away.

I gulped down my glass of water, snuck a cookie out of the jar, then hustled out of the house before Rachel could further chastise me. The weather outside was downright terrible. I didn't have a jacket, though, only a sweatshirt that was reserved for running on cold days. Walking in the rain was an experience all too familiar. Yet again, my arm itched.

I jogged through a light downpour to work.

Henderson was catching a smoke under the awning. He clapped me on the back with a wet hand then ushered my soggy form into a truck. The man was even kind enough to throw an extra umbrella my way.

Our deliveries were all across the country, same as always. This time, the normally silent driver actually spoke to me. It was disorienting, wrong, and completely unexpected. He had to repeat himself before I noticed.

"You're quiet," he stated. His name escaped me even though we had been working together for awhile now. The idea that I couldn’t remember a person’s name felt weird.

"You too," I said.

"Yeah."

He went back to saying nothing. We handled another delivery before conversing again.

"I wanted to warn you." his voice wasn't that loud either. Like talking was difficult.

"About?" I asked.

"One of our deliveries. It goes to a weird place." he didn't stutter or seem mousey. The driver wasn't shy but was unused to speaking and instead relied on eye contact with quick nods. He was also pretty short.

"Okay."

"Just keep to yourself. Follow what they ask. Don't cause any trouble and we'll be fine."

That made me pause. People with those requirements were often bad news when crossed. "Is this place dangerous?” I asked.

"They usually stop deliveries at the gate,” he spoke a bit clearer. “Then someone brings a flatbed around and offloads everything."

"Alright. Thanks." I paused to see if the driver would say anything else. He didn't. Maybe there was nothing else to talk about.

We drove for another hour while I tried not to over analyze the man's words. Was this place bad enough that he needed to break the pattern of silence? Or he had a bad experience here before? Finally, we headed down a long dirt road. It wound between trees, over potholes, and across barely graveled paths. The truck we drove wasn't a full semi, only twenty feet in the bed. It was just enough to make it past some of the twists and turns. Worse, the driver's posture grew hunched and withdrawn. He was uncomfortable just approaching this place.

When we got to the gate it was pretty clear what the problem was. The fence was a dirty chain link that reached up ten feet with barb wire topping it. Two men and a female stood at a large rolling gate with very clear guns on their sides. Not small ones either, assault rifles.

My skin started crawling. I tried not to panic. People playing with guns like those were not the kind of guys I wanted to be around. No wonder I was warned to keep my mouth shut.

We rolled to a stop but the engine was kept running. The driver was probably ready to bolt at a moment's notice. One of them saddled up to our side window and motioned for it to be rolled down. The two men walked around the car, checking underneath the edges.

"What's this?" the female stopping us asked.

The driver didn't respond but handed her the clipboard with a pen. His actions were clearly a silent plea to sign the paperwork.

"Oh yeah? Delivery then?" she asked while jerking her chin in our direction.

He nodded.

"Alright, open up the back."

The driver looked at me. I stared for a moment. This had to be a joke right? No way did I want to be the one getting out of a the cab with a bunch of crazies. One of the males rapped his gun against the passenger side door making me jump.

"Let's go!" he yelled through the rolled up window. The man’s whiny voice tore at my ears and made me want to punch someone.

My glare at the driver caused him to flinch but he showed no signs of helping. I blinked rapidly and tried to calm myself down, then got out.

"Hold on." the militia member nudged me with one hand. His other on the firearm. This was not even remotely comfortable. I hadn't done anything to warrant him being hostile. Not that my generally cooperative actions stopped his attitude.

"Arms up!" he didn't even wait for me to finish moving before the pat down. I wasn't in a position to argue since the second male was just off to the side, both his hands on the rifle.

Sickness hit me hard. My empty belly began to roll and everything around me started to feel disconnected. I struggled while both eyes lost focus and my mouth shut. I successfully avoided shuddering at the clumsy hands checking me for whatever. This was so far into my personal bubble that I had to fight not to knee him in the face. A voice in the back of my head was growling, threatening to do unspeakable things to the man.

The glint of polished metal kept me well in line.

"He's clear." the man said.

I didn't carry anything besides some cash. These pockets were devoid of identification or a cell. That might be bad in this case, if these men killed us and left me in the woods then no one would know. Not that anyone cared what a wandering vagabond like me did.

"Get moving." one of them motioned.

I walked to the rear of the truck and unlocked the back. Then slid up the door and climbed in. The men joined me, one up in the top, one down below. Again they checked through the compartment. This was our last delivery so there was nothing else to paw through.

Leaving this place for last had probably been the plan. Any sane person would do this location towards the end, or not at all. Still, those people standing around with guns had me rattled. The situation made me angry and frightened at the same time. I did well to hold myself in check while they sorted things out.

"Alright. Cargo's clear. Bring around the truck." one of the armed men said to the other. They both wore the same sort of stupid paramilitary gear. Even the female was clothed along similar lines. It’s like they were out here in the woods pretending to be an army.

I was extremely thankful when they brought their own people over to our truck and pulled out the furniture. What they wanted with a couch and matching recliner I didn’t know. Even zealous gun nuts might want something comfortable to sit on. Once done, they escorted me back to the front of the cab, then cleared us to drive off. I watched out the rear view mirror feeling mixed about what had happened.

That isolated compound definitely made Tennison, and this entire county, gain a huge black mark in my book. Worse, the bartender from where I had gone with Steven was one of the people taking away the furniture. I don't think he noticed me or even looked in my direction.

I shuddered again and tried not to think about it. Henderson's driver just looked at me out of the corner of his eye. Hopefully, we never made a delivery there again. The whole episode made my mouth taste like ash. Something told me that troupe wasn't out to sell cookies.

Neither one of us said anything for the rest of the drive.

I made it to the park, feeling antsy, agitated, and extremely disturbed. My upset feelings carried over for the next two days, throwing all my attempts at going with the flow into disarray. The hours went by with me trying to lose myself in the movements. Trying and miserably failing.

"You alright, James?" Tal's gravely voice snuck up on me. I blinked a few times, trying to figure out where I messed up the transition between two poses but not making the connection.

"No, he's not." Roy's words were clearer than his father's. I hadn't even noticed that our main instructor had returned.

"Rough week," I responded

"Some get like that." Roy agreed.

Finding the rhythm proved difficult. I desperately needed to lose myself in something. A third night carrying these emotions would capsize me. I needed to get lost in the dances. Our main meeting ended and again I hadn't been able to relax. Sleeping tonight would be hell.

"Here. Like this," Roy took a stance next to me and deliberately spun through the first two steps I was working on. "Foot down, pivot, shift the weight back, arms switch positions. You know this one." he curled his hands like there was something in them. One slightly to the side. Almost like a drummer holding a large instrument.

I tried to mimic the movements and failed.

"It's all on the back foot," Roy sounded upset. So was I. "Do it again, slowly."

Three more attempts made negligible progress. Seeing that compound of people had bothered me fiercely. We had been there less than thirty minutes, a normal person might have gotten over it.

"You've been doing fine until recently," Tal said to me.

"Like I said, rough week."

"You've done well considering." Roy agreed.

"Considering what?" I asked. They sounded like they knew all about my hardships. Maybe the quiet driver had explained what happened? People in this small town might all feel the same way.

There was a pause while the larger man debated how to answer.

"Well, we've all had trials. Some harder than others. I expect much of this is strange to you." Roy's words were hesitant and vague.

"I guess," I said. Maybe the feeling crawling through me was new town blues, and a countdown before my feet hit the road to greener pastures. These last few days had me thinking about moving on. Rachel had been fantastic, having steady income was good too. I could save up for a week or two then cut ties.

"Tell you what. Tomorrow's Saturday. You want to go on a trip?" Roy said. The large man seemed positively giddy. "It’s about time you got some excitement."

I grunted and tried to do the stupid motion once more. After another failure, I shook my legs then asked, "What kind?”

“It’ll be a surprise, but a man like you will enjoy it,” Roy said. He clapped a hand on my back which made my shoulders twitch in annoyance.

“Okay,” I said feeling strangely at peace with Roy’s suggestion. It felt natural to agree to whatever he planned. Part of me wondered what the hell was wrong with my head that I trusted both Tal and his son with such ease.

Disturbed would have been a kind word for my gut feelings. Everyone felt like strangers from an estranged family. As always, when memories of the past floated by, my wrist itched. I scratched absently and tried to figure out what was going on.

The next day arrived. I met Roy and his father at the park. We chatted while loading into a car. The thought of being trapped in a vehicle for hours made my teeth grind together. At least Roy’s car was more spacious than I had expected. Something about him felt strangely together, focused, the kind of man who carried on because he only knew how to go one direction. Roy moved forward in a steady and unshakable march.

Tal prattled away while we drove. He calmly spoke about the weather, people, politics, culture, and everything else under the sun. He seemed like the sort that had been reserved until old age made him question the need for stoic silence. I was interested enough to respond occasionally.

He asked me all kinds of questions. Did I know that there used to be stories about people who controlled the weather? He talked about great beings of immense power and ability with silly rivalries. My response was, 'no, I hadn't known at all'. Tal chuckled and called them Gods, not singular, not like the Churches referred to a single God. Multiple, and he implied they were a petty lot who had almost all been killed.

Did I know that wolves used to exchange leadership with fights to the death? I told Tal that the practice wasn’t new to me. According to television documentaries the succession by blood trials had been outlawed nearly two hundred years ago. Roy and Tal both expressed their disappointment at the leadership by combat being removed.

The old man kept going with one about vampires. He said they truly did need blood to survive. It was greatly reduced as long as they never abused their powers. Sounded like bullshit, and the kind of story a racist old man might spout. I didn't oppose Tal's view with anything more than a snort.

Tal laughed, seeing my disbelief for what it was.

He tried another tidbit of racial knowledge. Tal claimed elves had a way to turn their illusions into real objects. That was old news. Elves performed alchemy and transmuted all manner of things, it was a tedious process, but worth it. Only some of their more powerful elders actually had the skill. Their efforts had nearly cornered a huge swath of the rare minerals market. Silver prices especially were impacted by their constant production. Scientists had only recently figured out it had to do with the periodic chart and similar elements.

He kept on rambling away. For some reason, the old man was eager to get my opinion on everything under the sun. He asked what I thought of various political leaders. From there he went on to racial offices, such as the vampires running for the open Tribunal spot, local pack Alphas, and elven royalty. I hadn't met a lot of anyone nonhuman so it was difficult for me to comment. Still, he gave me names and because I saw their faces on Rachel’s television, I had opinions.

What's more, it seemed like the old man respected my choices. I told him that most Alphas I saw on television were very driven people. They cared for their family members. The only issue was that pack came first, the rest of us be damned.

Tal and Roy nodded.

"Family always comes first." Roy said.

"My boy's got that right." Tal's garbled words came. I just shrugged. I didn't really have a family anymore.

The vampires were harder to talk about. All the candidates annoyed me, especially the youngest one, a man by the name of Reginald. For some reason, he had a face badly in need of a fist. Roy and Tal smiled at my expressed dislike, but it felt like a strained smile. Maybe they were his supporters, or they were just worried about crossing a vampire.

We drove into an unfamiliar city. I froze with panic, what if they were just going to dump me here? Had Tennison finally decided to evict me? My mind rationalized the issue by counting how many days it would take to walk back. The rain would make me miserable.

To say this neighborhood was questionable would have been kind. Dilapidated houses lined one side. Convenience stores with boarded up windows stretched across the other. Roy parked the car in a rather full lot then got out. Some of the cars were fairly nice. I shrugged to myself and got out as well. At least this was mildly interesting.

I expected people to be watching the cars for a sign of weakness. Maybe some shady looking guy would stand in the darkness looking for an easy vehicle to rob. There was no one.

We wove around the building to an empty space between buildings. Tonight’s forecast included muddy dirt, humid air, and shouting. The source of all those yells became obvious as we cleared the last corner. There was a circle of people gathered around other men. Loud people cheered while waving their arms. Other people stood off to one side, money exchanging hands under an umbrella.

Roy headed straight for the money counting man. Tal was slower but led me in the same direction with a gentle hand. By the time we got there the large instructor was already deep in negotiations about something.

"Next round?" Roy asked.

"Buy in's five hundred, win tonight, next week's buy in is three hundred. Flunk out and the price stays at five." the man said. He didn't even give us a full look over. There was a hefty looking guy behind him who was clearly the muscle.

I would put money on Roy if things got rough.

"Got it." came Roy's gruff reply. He looked fairly calm, but his tone implied the money counter wasn’t worth respect. I never had a problem with gambling officials myself. Either way, currency changed hands.

"You'll be on deck in two rounds. Be ready. And hey, good luck!" the guy sounded sincere but his smirk told otherwise. Maybe he deserved a punch in the face too.

"Let’s go, James." Roy ushered me to the main ring where even now people were yelling and faces were being pounded.

"You headed in?" I asked.

"Not me." Roy said.

"Tal?" My eyebrow went up in confusion. The older man was fit, but fighting ready seemed doubtful.

"Not me, boy, you." the old bastard was grinning at me.

"What? Why?"

"You need to hit something." Roy said.

That gave me a pause. With the general sleepiness of Tennison and that compound's weird vibe, I had been stressed out. Hitting things sounded fantastic. The moment that word passed through my head I became even more annoyed. Now a fight was definitely needed.

"Sure," I agreed. Face punches for everyone. Free of charge.

"Good, we’ll watch these others. See if there's and strength in them." Roy nodded.

We found a side of the circle that wasn't overly crowded and watched the first fight. Tal and Roy both grew quiet and studied. Their eyes followed the fight’s movements. Both managed to keep the same calm stance and even breaths, almost like they went into a trace. They were trying to get a feel for something. I found myself watching them more than the match.

Suddenly they found a rhythm. Roy and Tal started moving along with the fight. They swayed, barely, in the same directions. Both of them twitched in the same way or rolled shoulders and tensed fingers. I turned and looked at the two men pounding on each other in the ring then back to Roy and Tal.

Their strange weaving was mimicking the battle. By watching those two, anyone with eyes would understand what was happening. Soon I was moving too. The fighter should pull back in one spot, then move slightly to the left in another. They could feint with a right and pull in with their left. A knee broke off the obvious grapple attempt.

I had never expected either of them to bring me to a place like this. Vague memories of watching fights surfaced in my head. I had seen more than a few but hadn’t actually fought in years. My habits were to stick to punching bags, pads, trees, whatever was handy as I traveled. A few dollars could get me a day or two at the gym when needed.

Now these two had enrolled me in actual combat. Hell. I was game.

My doubts had started to worm their way into everything as the first round ended. The father and son combo here might be able to win a match, but I had no practical experience.

"Five?" Roy asked.

Tal grumbled a bit.

"Four, if he's lucky."

"Me?" I was puzzled.

"No, the younger one over there." Tal waved a disgusted arm at one of the men. The human fighter had a tribal tattoo on his shoulder. It was stereotypical.

"That bad?" I hoped we were on a one to ten scale.

"Too much seasoning. Not enough real meat." Roy said.

"These guys have no edge." Tal grumbled.

"Huh." their explanations didn’t make much sense to me.

"Real men, who've fought for their lives, you see the difference in reactions. These guys measure everything. Think too much. Doesn't just react." Thankfully Roy was explaining. If Tal had tried I might have been lost in his mumbles.

"Sounds familiar." I aired some of my insecurities.

"Don't worry. You're not like them."

"What's my score?"

"Right now?" Roy asked while raising an eyebrow. He glanced at his father with a slight question.

Tal just shrugged. In the background, the second fight was nearly over. One of the fighters had the other pinned on the ground with an arm close to being broken.

"We'll see what's left." the older man said.

What the hell did that mean? The set of his jaw, the focus in his eyes, something serious was passing through his thoughts. Roy grunted and came to a decision.

"James, I'll tell you how to handle it."

"Son..." Tal looked worried. Roy gave the older man a glare. They engaged in their visual pissing match.

"You're up, new meat." the money counter had elbowed his way past the crowd to get ahold of me. He escorted me to the starting point. Roy came with us.

"James, think of yourself as the champion," Roy was high if he thought I was more than a drifter. "Your opposite is trying to take what's yours. The title, the honor, failure here means losing everything."

"How's that going to help?"

"You got ten seconds, new meat." the little man said.

"This ground is yours, this fight is yours, don't think, just react, live in the moment." Roy was getting further away, and understanding him with cheers around us was even harder than normal.

"What?" The circle closed in and a bell chimed. Calloused feet brushed along the ground behind me. I turned around just in time to throw hands up and avoid a punch aimed at my head.

"Hell." I muttered.

The other man stepped in while swinging his other arm. He tried to connect a blow from the outside. I wasn't ready. My opponent's fist rung the side of my head something fierce. I tried to gather myself and pull back.

The other man followed and kept the pressure up. My brain was still trying to scramble through Roy's advice and apply it somehow. Think of this place as mine?

Somewhere in the fog of my mind, there was a twinge. A shift of perceptions. Like a deaf man sitting in an empty auditorium. Peaceful, empty. Only he turns around to find a band has set up behind him. Then someone bangs on the drums and sends an incredible sensation through his entire body. Even deaf he would notice the vibrations.

A flattened foot connected with my side that had been partially blocked by a lowered elbow. Fresh pain caused a half hunch sideways. Whoever I was fighting preferred striking to grappling. That was good I guess. I tried to return a punch or do anything but only felt disjointed.

We slowly circled. Roy and Tal stood in the background. Like before I was watching them more than the fight I was part of. They swayed to the left, then right. I missed cues and took two more hits which helped everything hurt.

Roy's stern eyes were unblinking. He showed no sympathy or kindness. The man expected more. Tal had said my number was up in the air. I tried to remember their advice, to think of this place as mine. But why would that make a different?

Another punch rung my head good. I recovered gradually and stopped worrying about why, and tried to perform instead. Wrapping my sense around owning a parking lot felt both foreign and comforting. It could be, or would be mine.

Mine.

The word pounded, or pulsed. Maybe it banged instead. Its erratic beat transformed into a steady drumming. My ears became numb to the rest of the noise. I was still being hit but the pain was secondary.

Mine.

The word was powerful enough to make me shiver. The other man was trying to keep pressure up but I was getting better at blocking the movements by thinking less. My mind started to slide to a place that existed only in the moment.

Mine.

The concept was easier to picture. Easier to understand. This place was mine, I was the one in control here if only I took it back. Or maybe that was insanity. I smiled. If nothing else, this was different. Exciting. Adrenaline had caught up.

This time when he came in I brushed his hand away. It was one of the movements that Roy and Tal had us practicing in the park at twilight. One arm controlling where theirs went. The other striking in return to the center of the body. Not with a fist, but with the palm's heel. Upward, shocking the rib cage.

Fast. Hard. Stop him. Vibrates. Rattles. Enemy's beat skips as I strike. Shout in triumph.

My opponent stopped then went crossed eyed. His body slipped forward and that was it. Winning had been simple. A connection of pure force to his middle had ended him. My ears were pounding. I didn't understand. There had to be more to this fight than a quick one-two.

Pink Meat's heartbeat flutters. Cheers vibrate me. Feet stomp. Weak noises, but welcome. Appreciation of my superiority. Missed.

I shook my head trying to shake the strange thoughts away. The man in my arms was barely breathing. People were rushing in to pull him away. Someone was shouting while Roy pushed another man off of me. Angry voices pelted my ears, ranting about how hard I hit. Blood welled to the surface leaving a handprint on the man's skin. They were rolling him over in desperation.

Eyes roll. Room noisy. Too loud now. Dislike. Want quiet. I am sleepy.

Sound permeated the region. Roy and Tal, one on either side of me, kept people away as we went to collect our winnings. Their words were hushed but sounded like there was another round being arranged. Both men stood as guardians all the way to Roy's car.

My head was becoming overwhelmed by the excess noise. Too much was going on. Everything tingled. I could swear that people's footsteps were my own. That their arms brushing against the air felt personal. That the shouts crashing through objects were piercing me directly.

It got worse. As we drove the hum of the engine's belts and pistons brushed against me like my hands were wiping each other off. Only more intense, like pulling hair, like a suit of clothes that didn't fit well. I hated it.

"Tal?" The words drug out of my mouth.

"Yes?"

"What's my score?" I was sleepy and so extremely tired. My wrist itched again.

"Mmh. Six, maybe seven."

"That bad?" I asked. The idea that I couldn’t fight well bothered me. That guy had gone down in one good connection. My prey. My turf. Both eyelids fluttered back and started to close. Blackness was crawling across my awareness.

"There's hope. You could be a ten again. Maybe more." Roy’s head nodded.

"Oh." I faded further away.

Consciousness was stuck in that place where a single snore startled me. It was impossible to tell if I had been out for ten seconds or ten minutes. Everything was dark while the two up front were muttering at each other. It was hard to hear. My mind slid slightly and their conversation became clearer.

"There's enough left." Roy’s words weren't directed at me.

"This is dangerous." Tal said. "How are we to hide him like this?" The older man's words were garbled again. Maybe he said something else. Something profoundly deep, such as ‘cow art we to let him bike this’. Those words might make more sense at this point.

"We shouldn't hide him."

"You wish to reveal ourselves, after all our efforts?" Tal asked.

Mountain Elder is shocked. Body shifts, freezes. Last Chief grumbles. Angry. Controlled, though. Barely ticks. Only hint are fingers gripping wheel. Pressure crushes at leather and plastic.

"If he could lead us." Roy said.

"That’s foolish madness. We shouldn't be risking any of this." the older voice devolved into broken protests.

"You're not in charge anymore, old man. You lost that right, unless you wish?" the middle-aged male left his question hanging.

"No, Gods, live long, son. I'll never take that back." Tal muttered.

I shifted my position and felt myself snoring heavily. Roy and Tal both quieted down. Finally Roy turned the stereo to classical music. I hadn't expected him to listen to anything so old fashioned, but lot of things about the big man didn't match my half-formed ideas. My consciousness bled away while a flutist spiraled through endless notes.