With a deep sigh, Nate sank into the cab's seat and set our next destination. I responded with a probing stare. He really owed me at least a few answers. After Mr. Oraya had declined Nate's offer for an apprentice, we never mentioned the paintings again and had a nice chat for a bit.

Before we left, Nate also worked down a checklist for Mr. Oraya. Weight, regular schedule, drug use, standard procedure for caretakers. When I had first seen the apartment, I hadn't expected things to end up this... calm. The document had said 'manic depression', after all.

“Okay, I know what you want to say.” Ever the mind reader, Nate explained. “It's not that simple, Brayden. Carlos isn't a raving lunatic. None of our wards are. If they were, we wouldn't be the ones in charge. Caretakers only handle people who can't adjust to society. Most only need a bit of help or some company to get them through a rough patch.

“As for why I didn't want you talking too much? You probably saw how the old Carlos got as soon as we talked about his paintings. And that was me asking the questions. You can't just jump in head first and ask whatever strikes your fancy. Our first goal is to calm our wards and make them feel comfortable, always. Agitation is the enemy.”

“Got it, Nate.” I wrung my hands and nodded my head. I was here to learn, after all.

As a relieved breath escaped his throat, Nate leaned back into his seat. “You must have tons of pressing questions in your head. We have some time now, so ask away.”

“...okay, so...” Since I found the question be a bit rude myself, I hesitated.

“Go ahead.” In the end, Nate's encouraging nod made me swallow my anxiety.

“We didn't really do anything in there, did we? I mean, we barely tried to help at all.”

In response, Nate's smile faded. Before I could see what it turned into, he faced the window.

“I've already said it, but in many cases some normal human contact is gonna work wonders, and that has to be enough To be honest, we're already doing more than the upstairs wants us to. They call us caretakers, but we're only supposed to make sure they're still alive and... 'functional'. The manual's words, not mine,” he added as he looked back over, now armed with a grimace of disgust. Although I had never seen him like this, I was glad Nate was this open with me. “Still, I spend as much time as possible to try and help my wards. Most caretakers do, it's sorta part of our code.”

“...but Mr. Oraya wasn't doing too well I think. I mean, what was up with his house? Doesn't he clean?”

“The man is busy in pursuit of his passion. He'd never waste his time on something trivial like cleaning,” Nate answered with a crooked grin.

“But... the holes-”

“Look, I said he is more dangerous than he seems. You know what Carlos has been trying to paint? What his 'creation' is?”

A shudder ran all over my body as I thought back to that impossible, dark painting in the hallway.

“What?” Almost too afraid to ask, a whisper escaped me.

“The theme of his work is 'chaos'. Can you imagine that? Chaos, here in Astralis.” Again Nate turned to the window. I followed his gaze and saw the clean roads of the city, straight as a razor. In my mind, I compared them with the impossible disarray of the painter's apartment. No wonder his place had felt like a different world. Never had I seen a mess like that before. I hadn't even known something like that was possible.

“Carlos has spent years ruining his place, just to make it look like that. That's because the cleaners don't work the private rooms.” Just as Nate spoke, a small blue bird swooped from a tree and picked a loose leaf off the pavement.

“Behind his own walls, he can make the mess he needs for his work, because that's what he wants to paint: Anything Astralis is not.”

“And he can't sell his stuff to get a second, clean apartment? I guess no one wants to show something that depressing, huh?”

“You'd be surprised. About a year ago, I brought a connoisseur over to have his pictures appraised. I might not know a thing about art, but that guy told me Carlos could get his paintings into almost any gallery, if only because of how unique they are.”

Eyes large in surprise, I turned to my colleague.

“Then why doesn't he do that? He seemed really skinny, like he wasn't getting enough food.”

Nate still looked down as he began to rummage in his worn-down suitcase.

“Yeah, well, Carlos wants it to be 'perfect' first. Carlos Oraya is a very typical case for a ward. We call them ‘the Obsessed’.”

“Obsessed?”

“Well, the manual calls them ‘Type one’.” By now my colleague had found his phone in his messy suitcase, so he sent me another beepy message.

Probably our next assignment, I thought.

However, I was too preoccupied to check. Nate's voice had become serious, so I righted my posture to listen in earnest.

“The Obsessed are a pretty big part of our clientele. Usually, they spend too much time by themselves and, well, obsess over something. They neglect everything else. It's our job to make sure they don't lose themselves in their work, or their hobby, or whatever else. And to make sure they don't starve themselves to death when they forget to eat.”

“...so that's why Mr. Oraya was that thin.” I nodded in understanding.

“No, Carlos doesn't forget about food. Rather than get something to eat, he goes out and trades all his monthly credits for canvas and color. As far as he's concerned, there's never enough material and never enough time. Never enough anything. You remember how he said he's almost done? I've been coming to this place for six years and heard the same countless times. That's what it means to be obsessed.”

Nate's brow furrowed. If only the painter wasn't so stubborn, Mr. Oraya's situation would be easy to resolve. That must have made Mr.Oraya’s case even harder on Nate. To distract my new partner, I decided to ask a bit more.

“So are there any other types of wards I need to look out for?” I tried my hand at an encouraging smile.

“Type Two is basically what you and your sisters were: Kids without parents. Those are usually not a big problem. Just make sure they go to school on time,” he winked.

My response was a calm nod, unaffected by the reminder of my harsh upbringing. It had been a while since our parents died. At this point, I could stomach the pain.

“At least I already know how to handle Type Two then.”

“True. All things considered, you've done really well with Amy. Just watch me work a bit and you won't have to worry about Type Two.”

Again Nate's body tensed as he leaned closer to my face.

“Type three though, those are trouble. Similar to Type Two, but they’re kids who start problems for no good reason, often as part of a gang. We call them ‘Rebels’. They're not often part of our duties, but every now and then, enforcement sends one over for rehabilitation. They can be a bit unruly though, so I’ll handle these until you’re further along in your training.”

Rather than get into an argument over what I could and couldn't do, I stayed quiet to hear what else might await me on the job. Maybe I just didn’t want to think about Lester, and the chance of him becoming my assignment.

“Last is the biggest portion of our wards. The Sleepers.”

I followed Nate's view out of the window, just as we passed a barricade with stationed guardians. Before I could ask questions, a beep from the cab signaled that we had reached our destination.

“When we get out there, be careful and always stay behind me. Don't wander off. This place can be rough,” Nate said before he opened the door and went outside.

At last we had reached our second stop for the day: The Squalor.

As soon as I left the car, I noticed the unfamiliar scents in the air. To me, the unidentifiable mixture of odors smelled of danger and freedom. In school, we had been told that the Squalor was the one area to stay away from. It was a place for the worthless and hateful to gather. Once they spent a night inside, people would give up their right to citizenship and their phone-ID would become invalid. At that point, it would be very hard to leave the place and reintegrate into society.

Once, this place had been one of the many parks of Astralis, but the signposts on the side of the road had been ripped out or scratched off, so no traces of the old park's name remained. Of course, the narrow streets were just as clean and just as tidy as elsewhere in the city, since the birds would pick clean anything under the sun. Even so, the park and its pathways had been overrun with the only things the birds wouldn't touch: humans and their homes. For most, the dirty, unkempt people huddled around the shacks and tents were a stain on the perfection of our society. I had always been fascinated by them.

“Why would they live like that? Don't they get their monthly allowance?” I asked Nate who had gone around the cab and towards its trunk. He used his work permit to open the compartment and began to rummage inside.

“Some do. The reasons for staying in the Squalor are as diverse as the people who live there. Here, put this on.” A bright orange security vest made its way from the trunk into my hands. “Some are just lonely. They want to be together with others, meet others. Real human contact. They have no use for the chat rooms and Aether meetups everyone else uses. Others are here to make trouble and feel important. Type three, remember?”

While I was still struggling with my vest, I felt a helpful tug from Nate. Finally I got the damn thing on, and my sight returned to me.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, buddy.” Nate smiled. “The Type Threes are one reason why we need to wear the vests, together with their gang buddies. That way, the people in the park understand that we work for the city... and we're easier to spot by the drones if anything happens.”

My eyes darted around as a bead of sweat ran down my neck. All of a sudden the huddled masses seemed much more menacing than before. I could feel their countless eyes on us, the two intruders who didn't belong in their world.

“Has anything ever happened? To you, I mean?” I hissed.

“...usually it's fine. Don't worry about it. We're not here for a long visit anyways. There's been some arrangement between the Squalor and the City Council, so we're not responsible for the people here. Government's got a liaison stationed in the Squalor. All we have to do is get there, take his report for the month and conduct a short interview to make sure everything's okay. No one wants to mess with the city. If you don't provoke the Type Threes they won't make any trouble for you so long as you wear the vest. Instead, it's others you might have to look out for.”

“Like who?” With trepidation, I looked up to Nate's stern face. His eyes looked far away, at some event in the past.

“There's people a lot more troubled than the gangsters. Anti-technology activists, religious cultists, anti-government types. Those are the most dangerous ones. Not always, but they can be a big problem. So if you see someone who doesn't wear synthetic fiber and doesn't have a phone, you better watch out. That's why this place is the second station on our tour today. Best to come during midday, when the drones show up and there's good visibility. Never come here at night. The guardians have no control over this place.”

To assuage my fears, I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and checked the tracker. All the small dots were huddled together in groups or lined up along the paths of the park. To me it looked like most of them hadn't turned their back on society yet. A deep breath calmed my heart. When I looked back up, Nate was several steps ahead, but had turned around to wait for me. While I tried to cram my phone into my pocket, I hopped along to catch up.

My steps slowed down once I was back in the shadow of the experienced caretaker. After we had crossed the shacks on the outskirts, I realized just how different the Squalor was from the rest of the city. Tight streets, foreign smells, strange colors. I had never seen so much brown in my entire life, but like a flower stuck in mud, sometimes I could spot bright highlights: Colorful hair, clothes in the strangest varieties or beautiful, glittery embellishments on the simple homes.

Around us, we found the groups grow tighter, to protect themselves from the foreign invaders. Any attempt to listen in on the mumblings proved futile. On any corner, a green-jacketed man would observe the passing people. A tent to our left contained men and women thin as sticks, barely human. From above, I could hear the drones arrive. They would descend and provide the zombies in the tent with their minimum daily sustenance. Although I felt sorry for them, at least they wouldn’t be in imminent danger. No one would have to starve in the city of Astralis, that was the pledge the founding arch-mages had made to its citizens.

Out of nowhere, Nate pressed me to the side and gave me a warning look. Confused as I was, I still stretched my neck to see a group of men disguised in strange robes move towards us.

I pressed my back into the corrugated steel wall while my eyes followed the men in the mysterious robes, fascinated by their otherness. Only when the jagged symbols on their backs disappeared around a corner did I regain my composure, but by then I was transfixed by the mystery of the Squalor.

In this strange new world, wonder was all around me. One stall sold strange, colored beads of glass. Another old, rusty electronics with exposed wires. Strange meats over open fires, hand-woven cloth, with the convenience of modern life so readily available, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what any of these things were useful for. Again and again I would wonder: What is this? How does it work? How would someone come up with it?

On our path, people became less and less frequent, until we reached the front of an especially large shack with many strange, colorful symbols pasted on its sides. Intrigued, I studied them to suss out their meaning.

“They're gang signs,” Nate explained before I could get anywhere. “All the gangs in the Squalor have their sign up there, which makes this shack neutral grounds. It's also the official government agency for the district.” He ripped off a flier on the wall and revealed the Septenary, the official symbol of the city of Astralis. My shoulders scrunched up in reflex when Nate's firm knock traveled throughout the claustrophobic alleys of the Squalor. My head tucked between my shoulders, I looked around to see if we had riled up the locals already.

I could feel countless eyes rest on my bright orange vest, but it might as well have been my imagination. No soul could be found around us. With a sound from the door, my head snapped back around. A slider on the door had been pushed open and a pair of narrowed eyes stared down at me and Nate. After a deep breath I managed to calm myself. No reason to be so nervous. Nate knew what to do. As long as I was with Nate, I should be safe.

The experienced caretaker already had his work permit ready and held it up towards the slit. With my new-found calm, I fumbled my own badge into my hands and did the same. The slider closed and I could hear a bolt move behind the door. Then our path was open and we found ourselves in front of a large, tattooed man. Without a word he guided us into a small room with a desk and several synthetic chairs. Even though the building was government property, the furniture was in terrible condition. Either the inhabitants of the Squalor really didn't like the people of the city, or they had no care for the property of others.

The seats were occupied by a good number of people, as diverse and fascinating as the ones outside. In a far corner, a haggard old man had sunk into a kind of meditative pose while his piercing blue eyes observed anyone who entered. For just a second, our eyes met and I felt ice cold water shoot down my spine.

As fast as I could, I averted my eyes and focused on Nate. By now Nate was talking to what looked like a common rowdy. Though he had broad shoulders, thick arms and scary eyes, his position at the counter distinguished him as a government clerk. I closed in to catch the tail end of the conversation.

“Right, so you can go see the boss then.”

“Yeah, I get that uhm...”

“Rick.”

“Right, Rick. I get that, Rick, but what about my colleague?” Nate reached back and put his arm around my bony shoulder. “This is Brayden, a new recruit.”

“Only you,” the emotionless colossus said. In response, Nate's frown reappeared, deeper this time.

“Brayden has a caretaker permit issued by the City Council. You have no right to deny him entry.”

“Look, man. If the boss says only one goes in, then only one goes in. He knows you, but he doesn't know the brat,” Rick's exasperated voice shot back.

Once again, eyes were aimed in our direction. As the conversation turned into an argument, I could feel the atmosphere in the room turn hostile. If even I could feel it, there was no way Nate would miss something so obvious. He chose to follow the rules of the Squalor.

“Hey, Brayden. There really isn't a reason to start a fight over this, so I'll have to go in quick and get the report by myself. I'll be out as soon as I can. Please wait here and try to... stay out of trouble. You got it?”

“Sure thing. Don't worry about me,” I replied back, trying to sound as chipper as I could.

Nate's “Let's get this over with” was answered only with a snarky quip by the supposed government worker before he led the caretaker into the back rooms of the shack.

Now left alone, I took a seat on one of the creaky chairs as my eyes swung around the room. Free of restraint, I soaked in all the new sensations. The only one whose presence I ignored was the meditating man in the back. I would rather stay away, especially from those eyes. Another corner was occupied by one of the green jackets. While he observed the room, he twirled a knife in his hands. An old woman had fallen asleep on her chair, her worn handbag clawed into her hands... and three seats to my left, I saw a goddess.

Her body was curved and delicate like a piece of pottery. Her long legs, one crossed over the other, were revealed by her short, black dress. A waterfall of maroon-colored hair waved down onto her bare shoulders and framed her bewitching face. I was fascinated by her one earring and that striking red ruby at the end of it, as it danced in the light. Above all, I was bound by the wildness in her eyes as she turned her head towards me, so far removed from what I was used to. A playful smile was on her lips. If she was a goddess, she must have been Artemis, not Aphrodite.

“Now now, city boy. What might you be looking at?”

I was about to answer as I heard a second voice from my front, as if someone stood right beside me.

Do not adhere to the witch, child.

“Who said that?” I couldn't see anyone, but the goddess looked confused and put off by my strong reaction. My eyes flitted past her to see myself confronted by the strange old man again. Those ice-cold eyes stared right into my soul.

Child, you are special. The one I have searched all these years. The turbulence of the aether was felt, and now I find the cause. You have the gift.

“What do you mean?” I heard my breathless voice, but nothing I did felt conscious. There was something unsettling about the old man in the corner. I had always been good at reading people. From her expressions, I understood that the pretty woman next to me had wanted something from me. From the old lady’s withdrawn posture, I could see that she wanted to be left alone. However, I could read no expression at all in the eerie old man’s face.

The gift of mana runs through your veins, child. I can help you mold it. Learn its mysteries. This is our hope. The last hope for the men and women Astralis.

“...but I'm just normal, right?” My body began to curl into itself as my discomfort with the old man’s stony face grew. Nate had already warned me about some of the lunatics in the Squalor. This old man must have been one of them. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to break eye contact. Finally, I was saved by Nate's voice.

“Brayden, we're done here. Say goodbye to your new friend and let's go.”

I broke sight with the old man, but was still confused. Not only at the meditating guru's words, but at Nate's as well. My partner stared at the goddess with a vigilant look. He seemed convinced that I had been talking with her. I wished I had. Back then, I didn't take the effort to correct Nate's mistake, though I don't remember why. Instead I just nodded and got up, to get away as fast as I could.

On our way out, I once again felt the guru's eyes on my back. I had promised myself to ignore him, but still looked over my shoulder, to that mysterious figure. The old man just sat there and stared at me. However, beside me I could still hear his flat, emotionless voice.

Heed the beasts without eyes, young child. You shall hide your gifts or feel their wrath. Remember, never use your gift beneath the sky. Choose to accept your path, and come find me here.

Until the door frame broke our line of sight, the old man didn't move an inch. Once outside the shack, neither of us was in any mood to procrastinate, so we made our way back out of the Squalor.

“Hey, Brayden. I get that your hormones are going all wild, but that really wasn't a good idea.”

“Who, the woman?” Despite Nate's misunderstanding, I picked up on his meaning right away. My head in the clouds, I thought back to the goddess who had blessed me before the lunatic had ruined the moment. “She seemed nice enough, didn't she? Not like anything's gonna happen inside a government facility anyways, right?”

For a moment, Nate looked at me, one brow raised. Even then, we never stopped walking.

“Seemed nice enough? You thought that was just some nice girl ready to flirt with you? You think you're that much of a catch, little buddy?” Nate teased me. “Best case? She just tried to get a customer.”

“Wait, she was a prostitute? Isn't that illegal?”

“Not in the Squalor it isn't. She might be from some agency, out to look for new clients. To them, you're nice and juicy. Young, outsider, you even have a well-paying job. You're the perfect target. Best to forget about the whole thing. Go to a VR-party or something, try to find a girl.”

“If you're the relationship expert, how come you're single then?”

As always, my retort just pearled off of Nate's thick skin.

“My standards are just too high. None of the ladies can handle me.”

“Right, right. You tell that to your bathroom scale, man.”

“What bathroom scale? I don't believe in that sort of witchcraft.”

As we joked around, the tight corridors of the Squalor widened. My chest eased and I could breathe again. Soon after, we were back in our cab, and I began to process what we had gone through.

“So this is it then, that’s the job?”

“What do you mean?” Nate asked with a patient smile on his face.

“I mean, we’re not doing anything, are we? So far, it’s felt more like we’re reading mana consumption off a meter. We haven’t really taken care of anyone yet. As soon as I spoke, Nate’s smile faded. In response to his serious appearance, I righted my posture and paid earnest attention.

“Listen, Brayden, I get that you're trying to help, but when it comes to caretaking, it takes years to know when to retreat and when to advance. That's the hardest part of the job. If you always push, people will only ever push back. You can't solve problems like that, you'll only spark conflict.”

“So we don't do anything?”

“We can't. Not in these cases. For now, you’re still just a trainee. Just leave the difficult stuff to me and try to learn as much as you can..”

“For now? And how long will that be?” I asked, my head filled with hopeful thoughts. If I could make my own decisions, how many of these people could I save with compassion alone?

“...don't worry, you'll get your chances. Just not now, not in your first week. I'm responsible for your training, and I won't let you get injured out of charity. Believe me, if you stay patient, you'll get to deal with all the harshest victims of society in no time.”

At the time, Nate's words placated me. I understood that he was only worried about me, that he tried to protect me, like he had done in all those years as my caretaker. And like always, I trusted him. If only I was patient enough, I would surely get the chance to prove my ability. To Nate, and to myself.

But then, weeks turned into months, and my chance never came.