"Thank you for your service." Rachel, the Acting Grandmaster's PA bows to us as we hand over the life support capsule.

Several technicians accept the capsule and spirit it away deeper into the Guild's cavernous basement. My fingers tap Love's polymer holster agitatedly, trying to get rid of that pent up, impotent energy that has been building ever since the revelation in the Winter Rift. Seeing that I'm spacing out again, Sam nudges me hard in the side.

"What?" I turn to Sam who gives me a quick warning look.

"As I was saying," Rachel repeats patiently, "If you have any damaged gear, please hand it over to me now. I'll arrange for appropriate replacements to be delivered later."

"Hey Adam," James speaks up as he begins shucking off his damaged breastplate and uniform, "I know Carol's death hit you hard, so if you need to talk ..."

"I'm fine." I sigh morosely, "I just need to work things out by myself." Understatement of the year. Really.

"The offer's open," James begins to strip off his damaged shirt, "Anytime you want to take it."

"We'll arrange a proper farewell for Ranger Carol." Rachel smiles reassuringly, "So your heart can be at ease about that, at least."

"Thanks." I mutter, not sure what else to say in this situation. I take out my damaged jacket and shirt from the luggage and add them to the pile James has made on the floor.

"James!" Sam shouts in alarm, "Why in the world are you naked to the waist?"

"Damn." I murmur, examining James's body. He's got pretty good muscle definition, a sign of lifting in his spare time. But there are also several unsightly scars on his arms and torso. Looks like burn marks. Old injuries.

"Uh, I asked Supply not to pack any replacement shirts." James's scratches the back of his head in embarrassment, "I mean, you guys saw me wearing this ragged shirt back on the van, right?"

"Why didn't you just go for the default expedition set?" I ask, furrowing my brow in bemusement at this sight.

"It was supposed to be a short expedition!" James protests weakly, "And, well, my armor is heavy. I wanted to save on weight!"

"None of that allows you to get naked in front of the Grandmaster's PA." Sam starts rubbing a glabella in frustration, "Honestly."

"I'm not naked!" James actually sounds slightly outraged at this accusation.

"You're just topless." I droll.

"That ... Well ... !" James begins to mount another protest before his brain jams, leaving him stuttering with his mouth open.

"I don't mind." Rachel shakes her head, clearly enjoying the exchange as she directs a nearby orderly to pick up the assorted damaged equipment.

"See!" James crows triumphantly.

"Fine. I'll sort you out later in the dorms though." Sam gives his friend the evil eye and James quickly shuts up.

"That's all I have for you all today." Rachel turns her attention back to us, "Once again, good work on the mission. The Grandmaster's trust in you all was warranted."

"There's the issue of the ambush though." I point out, "And who's in the capsule anyway?"

"I would like to know that too." Sam backs me up, folding his arms.

"We'll be investigating the ambush of course." Rachel nods grimly, "As for the identity of our VIP, that's on a need to know basis. Sorry."

"Is she connected to the Icepolis Imperial family." James purses his lips.

"Like I said, need to know." Rachel demurs again, "So if there's nothing else ..."

"Guess not." Sam accepts the dismissal and begins to wander off, "Let's hit the staff canteen guys. Some proper food would do us a world of good right now."

"Ah, wait." Rachel speaks up again, "James could you stay behind? The rest of you are excused, of course."

"What? Why?" James frowns, pausing in mid step.

"You led the defense of the Package, correct?" Rachel explains, "I'll need you to go through the ambush in detail. Also, you were the most heavily injured of the group, so a full medical checkup might be in order."

"I don't know." James hesitates.

"Please." Rachel's voice is gentle, but there's a demand underneath for James to submit. Sam and I stand silently in the corner, observing the strange interplay between the two of them. Why is James being so reluctant though? Nothing in Rachel's request seems out of the ordinary.

"You guys go on ahead without me." James finally gives in after a brief contest of wills, "I'll see you all later."

And just like that he obediently follows behind Rachel as they depart by way of the executive elevator.

......

"See you." I wave to Sam before leaving Guild HQ. Lunch was a chicken dish, neither good nor bad. Acceptable would be the best way to describe it. Its just that when James left, he took a vital part of our group with him. Sam and I sort of fell into an awkward silence as we ate, which was rather uncomfortable. Like a car where the steering feels slightly off.

I didn't want to head home just yet, revisiting that blasted monorail station again so soon had been something I had been dreading. The scene in Winter Rift came from an alternate dimension, so there was no guarantee that the same events would play out for me. But there's always a possibility of that future coming to pass and honestly, the uncertainty is the worst part of the situation. Never knowing whether I'm safe or being guided to my certain doom. With my mind fully preoccupied, I just let my feet carry me where they will.

And my feet apparently want to visit Bar Boggs. The place is quiet. Not surprising, given lunchtime is just over. The crowd would have dispersed by now. I push the bar's door open and enter. What the hell. I could use a post lunch drink to take some of the edge off.

"Beer." I grunt to the server while taking a seat at the counter.

While waiting for my order to arrive, I idly peruse Boggs's collection of photos of Phoenix Guild's original Grandmaster. A lot of the photos are just of that mustachioed man in various victory poses, though there's a spectacular photo where he's posing against a backdrop of a burning oil field. At the Grandmaster's feet is a hooded man in long robes, looking decidedly beaten up judging from the flecks of blood on the Grandmaster's hands. I squint slightly to read the caption printed at the bottom of the photo.

DELACROIX VS AGA KHAN

"That old fool always had a flair for the dramatic." Boggs interrupts my musing as she places my drink in front of me.

"Where's your staff?" I ask, taking a sip of the beer.

"On break." Boggs shrugs as she looks at the photo as well, "Today's lunch hour was busy."

"There a story behind that photo?" I ask, "Not all of them have a caption."

"Not really." Boggs leans back, playing with her hair, "It was just another bit of bullshit the old fool got himself involved in. He always said he wanted a quiet life, but some people just have a way about them that makes such a life impossible."

"The old Grandmaster kept attracting trouble then." I smirk at this observation.

"More like trouble kept finding him." Boggs settles herself more comfortably, "There would always be some threat that needed the old fool's attention. And he could never say no."

"Anyone can say no." I shake my head in disagreement, "The old Grandmaster must have liked the attention too much."

"Can you say no to going back to work?" Boggs raises an eyebrow in emphasis.

"Good point." I frown, chugging down the rest of the beer, "What was the crisis in the photo about then?"

"Doomsday cult." Boggs chews her lip, thinking back, "I didn't go with the old fool on this assignment. The cultists scared me with their talk about how we were all dirty and needed to be cleansed."

"Sounds like just a pack of violent lunatics that needed to be put down." I say.

"The cultists were more than that." Boggs shudders unconsciously, "Their base was surrounded by a sea of fire, which they would throw themselves into. Many of the cultists died in the process."

"Holy shit." I mutter.

"They claimed the fire was cleansing." Boggs makes a helpless gesture, "That they were cleaning both themselves and the world. So there you have it."

"Thanks for the story." I nod, "Should get going now."

"One more thing," Boggs pushes away the crumpled bills I offer as payment, "Have you had any trouble sleeping lately?"

"Pardon?" I blink at the unexpected question.

"Like for instance," Boggs continues, "you can't calm down. Or maybe you feel an ever present sense of danger about you?"

"How did you -" I jerk back in alarm.

"Or maybe," Boggs smile widens, "you experience a waking dream, involving someone else's past. That ever happen?"

"Who are you really?" I growl dangerously, my hand reaching for the casting focus.

"Me? I'm Cynthia Boggs, your friendly barkeep." my interlocutor smirks, "Isn't that right, Mr Mann?"

"You know!" my hair stands at attention thanks to the electric trill I'm feeling right now, "How?"

"Because I'm like you, Alex." Cynthia pats me on the shoulder.

"I'm Awake."