Machines were easy. It was people he had a problem with. They were always so unpredictable. Math, wiring, electricity - those were easily forecasted. People were a whole different matter.

Eric stood by the side of the road, looking down the street into the darkness. At least the weather decided to cooperate tonight. Clear, not too hot and not too cold. Shuffling his foot in the gravel, he began tapping his fingers on his thighs. It would work. Well, okay – the electrical part of it would work. He had no idea how the rest of this idiotic endeavor would end.

At least it’d make for a good story.

If he survived.

Beginning to idly whistle some random tune he had heard on the radio, he waited. He began to run over calculations in his head – the average speed of the vehicle, terrain quality, even the wind velocity. He knew when they were going to arrive. Turning over his wrist, he glanced at his watch. They were fifteen minutes late. That was impossible, absolutely impossible.

Fifteen minutes ago, Michael and Uriel were set to pass down this road on their way to their new base of operations. Best part, they were traveling alone. Shifting from one foot to the other, he sighed. Fifteen minutes late. His calculations were flawless.

Then it hit him. Rest stop. They probably stopped for food or to use the can. Eric whapped his palm off of his forehead – that was what always got him, the human element.

Pulling the goggles from off his head down over his eyes, he fidgeted with the dials on the side. Shifting the scope to ‘zoom’ and infrared, he waited and picked up the tune where he left off, rocking from the balls of his feet to the heels slowly.

Idly, his mind wandered to the one last variable. He really hoped that Michael didn’t drive around in full battle armor. I mean, who would seriously do that, anyway? It wouldn’t be horrible if he was in full armor, it’d just be decidedly more awkward than it already was going to be.

There – finally – there they were. Flipping the switches to ‘off,’ he shoved the goggles back up onto his head and took a few steps back into the woods. The waiting was killer - he hated this. The vehicle was in sight now, the headlights starting to faintly illuminate the sides of the trees as the van pulled over the small hill half a mile away.

Pulling the trigger out of his pocket, he waited. The timing had to be perfect. He sucked in a breath and held it. He had no idea why - it wasn’t like it helped any. But it somehow made him feel better.

The van’s front tires passed over his mark. Pressing the button, the spike strip activated, blowing the van’s front and back tires at the same time. Whoever was driving slammed abruptly onto the breaks. The van lurched to a halt, accompanied by the screeching of tires and a shower of sparks as the metal rims dug into the pavement.

Stepping out into the middle of the road, he flicked his wrist. A small metal disk flew through the air, and, with a small thunk, adhered itself to the side of the van. It was only seconds before both doors swung open, and out stepped Uriel and – thankfully not in armor – Michael.

Swallowing down the lump at the back of his throat, he aimed his gun. “Hey guys, I-“

He shouldn’t have been surprised as bullets whizzed past him, far too close for comfort. Jumping to the side, he hit another button. The disk attached to the van made a small whirring noise. Eric struggled for his gun, finally pulling it out and aiming it at the two men in front of him. He wasn’t trying to shoot them, but he wanted the option if he changed his mind.

Uriel let out a small shocked grunt as his revolvers were yanked out of his hands, shot through the air and stuck to the side of the van with two loud thumps. Eric smiled meekly. “Electromagnet. Now – guys, seriously, calm down, I-“

Michael - who apparently had a good deal of pocket change which was now decorating the side of the van - had reached into the back seat and pulled out his sword. Eric swallowed another hard lump as Michael stepped towards him, eyes darkened in rage.

“Huh… your sword isn’t… magnetic… great,” Eric let out a nervous laugh and started to back up. He suddenly wished the man was wearing his armor. At least then he couldn’t move. More importantly, that way he couldn’t lop his head off. “I guess I didn’t think of that.” He really didn’t want to shoot Michael. After all, that wasn’t the purpose of being here. “Mike, seriously, I’m not here to fight.”

“A shame. Because I was rather looking forward to it!” Michael stepped forward and swung his sword. Eric barely had time to duck and stagger backwards.

“Please! Hear me out!”

“I would rather hear you screaming in pain.”

Michael swung again. Eric didn’t have time to dodge, but at least he had another option. Thrusting his left arm up over his face, he used his mechanical arm to stop the blow. Unfortunately, the blow cleaved almost halfway through the metal and wiring. Eric screamed, thrashing in pain as the wires crossed paths and began to spark. His legs giving out, he landed hard on the pavement.

“Hrmf. It didn’t come all the way off this time,” Michael snarled. “My arm must still not be a hundred percent after you and your ‘friends’ left me strapped to a chair and tortured me.” Moving to stand over the tiny blond, the crusader turned the sword, ready to thrust it through Eric’s chest.

“Wait!”

Michael finally let out a disgruntled sigh. “And why should I?”

Eric found himself in the rare position of being unable to form words. Maybe it was because he was staring at the business end of a broadsword. More than likely it was what he was about to do. Taking a deep breath, he did his best to steel his resolve. It was now this or the grave.

“Because I’m here to help you kill Isaac.”

Aaron lay on his back, the crappy springs of the worn-out mattress jabbing into his already sore muscles. The room was dark, save for the orange glow of the street lamps outside. He was awake, unable to sleep no matter how many times he tossed and turned. He couldn’t shut his mind up. Thoughts rattled around in his brain, uncontrolled. Isaac had ordered Muse to haunt him. Why? In an attempt to get him home and under control again? So the demon then was a lie? Were they all lies? How far did the lies go?

Lies, lies, lies, lies..

Great. Now the voice in his head was all sing-song. Aaron groaned loudly and placed his hands to his face. “Leave me alone!” He shouted into the dark room. All he got in reply was a furious pounding on the wall from his neighbor, and a muted ‘shut the hell up in there!’ from what sounded like a very disgruntled old woman. Aaron sighed and rolled onto his side, shutting his eyes tightly. He wished the whole world would go away.

It could, you know.

“Leave me alone…” Aaron hissed quietly and shoved another pillow over his head - trying to drown it all out. All he got in response was laughter. A strange, sharp-edged laughter that sounded far too much like his brother’s. Sitting up, he wandered over to a brown paper bag and pulled out the bottle of vodka he had purchases a few hours prior. Unscrewing the cap, he downed half the bottle in one go. Slowly, the laughter ceased.

Letting out a low grunt, Aaron dropped the bottle back onto the counter and walked back to the bed, falling face first onto the pillows and wishing he’d never have to move again.

“Stop moving, Aaron.”

“It hurts - it - Oh God-“

“It won’t hurt as much if you would stop moving!”

Recoiling from the wrath of his brother, Aaron pressed his face back down onto the metal table. Face down on the cold slab, he felt the knife press into his shoulder. Hissing in through his teeth, he desperately tried not to flinch as the metal divided flesh and muscle. Tears stung his eyes.

He repeated over and over in his head that this was all for a reason. It was all for a good reason. It would help him control his anger - control how things somehow moved around him inexplicably. People got hurt last time. Isaac was doing this to help him. Letting out a low moan of pain, he bit into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The thin scalpel hit a nerve, causing the muscles in his back to spasm, drawing another cry from his throat.

“You are nearly a man now, Aaron. You shouldn’t whine so. This will be over shortly, so please - Aaron - lay still.”

“I’ll try…”

With a howl, Aaron threw the bottle across the room. The bottle shattered against the wall, sending shards of glass and clear liquid into the carpet. Laying back onto the bed, he pressed the palms of both hands over his eyes.

“I’m worried about her,” Victor muttered quietly, ruffling his hand through his chin-length hair. He was pacing back and forth over the living room carpet.

“I know you are, Vic. We all are,” Mal grumped from the sofa, staring down into the bottle of the beer in his hands.

“Who’s we? The three of us? You, Ezekiel and me? Eric - I don’t know where Eric is - and Isaac hasn’t done jack shit since this all went down!” Victor slumped down into the overstuffed chair, putting his head in his hands. Everything was working out so well until recently. Why did nothing good ever last? He felt out of control, the helpless feeling hadn’t left him since everything had gone down.

“Look, man, better us than nothin’. That girl’s whole existence just got screwed,” Mal snorted and lifted the beer to his lips. “An’ I don’t know what’s up with your brother.”

“And - and to just cap this all off? She’s refusing to eat, now!” Victor yelled at the floor.

“She’s goin’a kill herself you mean.”

“Pretty much! Ever since we’ve gotten her home, she just sits there! She barely talks, and won’t eat or drink anything…”

“So what’re our options?”

“I… I don’t know,” Victor moped.

“Maybe we pin ‘er down and shove a burger down ‘er throat.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s a great idea.”

“Any use talkin’ sense into her?” Mal lifted his beer again and let out a grunt as he remembered it was empty. Chucking the empty bottle into a nearby bin, he got up from the table and lumbered across the room and across the foyer into the kitchen to fetch another beer.

“I’ve tried. You’ve tried. Hasn’t worked, and Isaac doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass!” Victor growled suddenly and stood up, pacing around. Whatever remained of his temper snapped suddenly. He kicked a wooden chair that sat by the wall, sending it crashing across the room. “I can’t believe him! Goddamn asshole!” Pulling in a wavering breath, he forced himself to calm down. “Sorry…”

“S’all right… you’re just sayin’ what I was thinking’,” Mal said as he popped the top off of the beer by placing it in the crook of his elbow, squeezing his arm around it and giving the beer a stiff yank. Victor wondered if Mal knew that trick was only supposed to work on ‘twist top’ beer bottles - but as the cap clattered to the ground, he figured it didn’t matter.

“Have you tried talking to him? He won’t let me into his study.” Victor muttered.

“Same.” Mal snorted.

“He’s apparently content to just let her starve to death.”

That was it. That was the end of it. Shutting his eyes and letting out a low growl, Victor had enough. He stormed out the door and down the hallway. Dashing up the stairs with inhuman speed, he stopped at the door to Isaac’s study. Victor pounded his fist on the door.

“Isaac! Open up!” Victor glared at the grain of the wood and got no reply. He snarled. “I know you’re in there! Open the door!” he roared at the wood. When still no reply came, he snarled. “Coward! You bloody stupid coward! You’re letting her starve to death - why - why ‘cause you screwed up and you can’t admit it?! Or are you doing this shit on purpose?! Coward! Open the damn door!” Victor venomously glowered at the wood for a long time before his shoulders slumped. It was useless. He turned away from the door, the knot in his stomach returning.

He started down the hallway towards his room to go sulk in private. His ears perked at the faint sound of music. He stopped and craned his head to listen. The music was soft, even for his unnatural hearing. Opera, or something like it. Following, the sound, he wandered up towards the attic. Looking around, he quickly found Muse, sitting in the window with her knees pulled up to her chest, staring out the glass into the late-twilight of the yard. The sky was a purple-blue, casting faint shadows across the floor of the attic.

“Y’know… for someone who can barely walk, you really do get around,” Victor said quietly and walked up to her, slumping down onto a box by the window. Muse didn’t reply, simply staring out the glass with a strange, troubled expression on her face. “You have us worried sick,” he continued. “I’ll be honest… I don’t know what you’re going through… but Muse, you’ve got to eat something…”

“You don’t understand,” Muse said quietly into the window. The truth was, he didn’t. And neither did she. It would be one thing if somebody understood what was happening, but he was positive that she was just as lost as everyone else.

“Then help me understand!” Victor moved closer to her, kneeling down on the ground next to the window. “I don’t know what to do to help you, Muse - I’m out of ideas. I even thought about getting Radu and-”

“And what?” Muse turned to look at him. “Getting Radu and what?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know what he’d do. I just want someone to do something that’ll help you.”

“You want someone else to make it all okay for you,” Muse said flatly, turning to look back through the glass. The look on her face broke his heart. It was like she was searching for something out there, but God help him if he knew what it was.

“Yes! I mean, no. I mean-” Victor stammered. “I didn’t mean it like that. Muse… please. Talk to me. Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re not like this.”

“Exactly,” she snorted once, bitterly. She rested her forehead against the cold glass. “Exactly. I’m not like this. I’m not supposed to be like this.”

Victor lowered his head. It all made no sense to him. The whole situation just flabbergasted him. Here she was, allowing herself to waste away. But why? “Muse. You’re alive. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“What?” She opened her eyes and turned to look at him with a crook to her eyebrow.

“Didn’t you want to be alive? I mean… you always used to say you couldn’t feel anything or…”

“Victor,” Muse let out his name in a rush of air. “I’ll try to explain,” she paused for a moment. “I spent… twenty years… being dead. Getting used to being dead. Not having any purpose, direction, or function in my existence. Just simply being. I got used to it. I wasn’t ‘okay’ with it, but there wasn’t anything I could do.” She shut her eyes and rest her head back against the frame of the window.

“Right, but…”

“I died, Victor,” Muse said before he could continue. “I mean, I am really truly dead. I still am. I’ve still died. Just because I’ve… Just because I’m… like this now doesn’t change the fact that I died.”

“But now you’ve got another chance to-”

“To what?” Muse interrupted and turned her head to look down at him.

“To… I don’t know… do… things.” Victor waved his hands and grunted. “I’m not good at this shit, Muse,” he grumbled, pouting. He really wasn’t. He wasn’t smart enough to convince people of things, it wasn’t what he did. And if ever he felt stupid, now was the moment.

A faint smile crossed her face. “Let me try to put it to you this way… Mal came up here yesterday, asked me what I wanted to eat. I told him I didn’t want to eat anything. He asked me what my favorite food was… and I couldn’t answer.”

“What? Why?”

Victor watched her face dissolve into that same gut-wrenching pain that had been there before. She took in a slow wavering breath and finally spoke. “I didn’t know. I just didn’t know. I couldn’t…” She turned, swinging her feet off of the windowsill, cringing in lingering pain.

Victor shook his head helplessly, opening his mouth to say something. Exactly what, he had no idea. Before he had to figure it out, Muse put a finger on his lips, silencing him.

“I don’t remember what my favorite food is. I couldn’t tell him because I don’t remember.” She lowered her head and shut her eyes. She turned her head away and wiped fiercely at her eyes, obviously fighting the urge to burst into tears. She was shaking.

“Oh… God… Muse…” Victor stood up and pulled her into his arms, holding her small, warm frame against his chest and wrapping his arms around her. He felt her tense, then slowly relax, her head against his chest. “I’m sorry, Muse… I didn’t realize. I don’t think any of us did.”

He held her there for a while, feeling her shoulders shake. He knew she was probably crying, but he didn’t know what else to do except simply hold her. He rested his cheek down on the top of her head, rubbing his hand up and down her arm slowly. He could still smell some of the hospital on her, but beneath that was her smell - something she had never had before. He shut his eyes and vowed to himself he wasn’t going to let that go away. “Muse… let’s make a deal… Okay?”

“Hnn,” she replied without lifting her head.

“Here’s the deal… you come downstairs… you fight this, and I promise you won’t fight it alone. You won’t be alone in this. I swear. Just stop… stop scaring us, Muse… you’re stronger than this,” he pleaded with her. His voice cracked despite his best efforts. Goddamn it if he was going to cry in front of her.

Muse finally pulled away slightly from the hug and turned her head to look up at him. She watched him for a long time, then with a defeated sigh, let her head fall back against his chest. “You’re not going to let this go, are you…”

He ran a hand slowly through her blue hair, his idiotic grin returning to his face. “Nope. Mal’s ready to strap you to a chair and force-feed you.”

Muse looked up at him, and he saw a slight sparkle in her eyes. She started to laugh, which only made his grin broader. “Fine. I’ll try,” she said through a smile that stayed on her face this time.

Victor pulled her close again, careful not to squeeze too hard. Letting her go, he walked to the stairs with her stiffly following him, holding onto his arm for support.

“Hey Vic… can I say something?”

“Yeah?”

“You wear way too damn much cologne.”

DAAMNIT

Discouraged already?

Um, no. Well, okay. Maybe. Okay, yes.

A shame it wasn’t that easy - but I’m not surprised. They were bound to meddle, and she is not so easily defeated.

Soooo… whadda we do now?

Simple. Do the deed yourself if you must.

Howzat?

Your effect on their world is limited… but enough.

Listen, Bub. I’m not sure if you get exactly how this bizniz works, so-

Be creative. She can see you, now.

Well! Why didn’t you just say that?! That changes EVERYTHING.

I thought as much.

On the road again. Going where, Aaron didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care. Away. He clenched the wheel of the jeep in his hands, looking out at the night and the small patch of road illuminated by his headlights. Unfortunately, his mind always wandered when he drove. Usually it went to places that he had made up, people and worlds that were better than this one. But not tonight.

Aaron stood against the wall of the annex that Isaac used as his ‘office,’ standing in the shadow cast by another building. Arms wrapped around himself, he tried to make himself as small and invisible as possible. Even at the age of seventeen, he was well towards six and a half feet. Being invisible was hard, not counting the array of fresh scars and healing cuts that ran up and down his left arm. He wouldn’t normally stand outside, where people could see him - but this time he had a reason.

Her.

Standing with whom Aaron assumed were her sisters, she was hanging up laundry on a thin line between two buildings. At this particular camp, at least, they were mostly just relegated to physical labor. Aaron had heard rumors of what happened at the other places, but he tried to force those images from his head. Here, at least, she was safe. As safe you could be with Isaac around, true, but there was little he could do about that.

Aaron knew her name was Nuri. He thought it was perfect for her. Of course, he didn’t know her name because he asked - he had never actually spoken to her, never dared. But he heard other people call her that. Her blonde hair fell around her face in slight waves, and despite the unflattering issued clothes she wore, she was beautiful.

So here he stood in the shade, doing his best to ignore the dust and the heat and the noise of various vehicles and machinery. Here he stood, watching Nuri. He dreamed in his head of the conversations they’d have, of exactly how he’d approach her, how they’d meet and what they’d do. Aaron knew bitterly in the back of his mind that his dreams was probably about as close as he’d ever get. But at least he had his fantasies.

“Aaron, what are you doing out here?”

Turning his head, he saw his brother standing next to him. Even though Isaac was now shorter than him, Aaron still felt smaller. Isaac cut an imposing figure of black and red against the bright summer light. He swallowed hard and fixed his gaze on the ground between his feet. “Nothing.” He dared to look back up, and saw the incredulous and unamused expression his face.

Isaac turned his head to see where the women were hanging up laundry. “Ah. I see.”

“It’s not-“

“Aaron, how many times have I explained this to you? Do not get attached. Do not think for a moment that she would be interested in sharing some kind of amicable relationship with you.”

“You don’t know that…” He knew it was useless to argue. But he had to defend himself somehow.

“In fact, yes, I do. First of all, she is Romani. They do not associate with others outside of their own clans. Second, she is a prisoner here. Third, you…” Isaac trailed off for a moment, and let out a small sigh. “Third, she is on my patient list.”

“What?!” Aaron yelled louder than he had intended. Several heads turned towards them. Aaron saw the muscles in Isaac’s jaw twitch, and knew that he had angered his brother. “I-“

“She is on my patient list, Aaron. I warned you not to get attached. Now go inside before you get dust in your wounds and they get infected again.”

Aaron felt like he wanted to scream, or cry, or punch Isaac. He knew it was pointless to do any of them, so he pushed his frustration down inside and desperately tried to keep the angry force that bubbled up from leaking out. Causing a scene and wrecking more property wasn’t going to help his situation. Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out. “Yes, Isaac…”

Everything was Isaac’s fault.

So fight him.

The jeep swerved on the empty road - but he managed to keep it from peeling into the ditch. He let out a roar of rage, shutting his eyes and pounding his fist into the wheel. Why wouldn’t it stop?! Why wouldn’t it end?! Finally giving up with a broken sob, Aaron leaned his scarred forehead against the wheel of the jeep, shutting his eyes. He wished for death, but knew better than to try and take his own life. That never worked, and was always more pain than it was worth. He aged slowly and healed quickly, but every time he found himself near death - somehow - someway - he would be brought back.

He wondered if Isaac was to blame for that, too.

He figured he had nothing to lose by putting that on his older brother.

Slowly leaning back into his seat, he looked out at the mid-morning road ahead of him.

“Who are you?” he demanded. Nothing. “Are you a demon?”

He wondered what defined madness, hearing the voices or talking to them.

“Hello?” Again, nothing. Aaron sighed deeply, gripped the wheel and turned the jeep back onto the road, heading back in the direction of where ever it was he was going. He had a distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like it when he got there. Could you hate a destination before you even knew what it was?

I am slowly going crazy - one two three four five six switch!

Aaron only let out a small defeated sob as he drove. Flipping on the radio, he tried to drown out the voice in his head as it began to sing.

Crazy going slowly am I…