Piotr wasn’t sure where to go after leaving prison. The obvious option was to contact his child—the only person Piotr really wanted to see—but that would be impossible. Mainly because they still thought that he killed their mother and then got arrested after being revealed as a murderous gangster. Bit of a yikes, to create a terrible understatement. But he knew they were also kind of right. Not about murdering his own wife, but he was a member of an underground crime syndicate that distributed drugs to the populace and murdered both police and civilians alike, almost indiscriminately. And now he was out, not because he repaid his debt to society but because he went on a violent revenge mission and then got his ass kicked before escaping to the outside world. Do I even deserve to see them? And do they deserve the pain of seeing me? Piotr thought, these questions running through his head as he spent the days pacing around the streets of Neonight.

Staying out of one area was an admittedly foolish move. He had purposefully been travelling all over the city as both a wanted criminal and somebody who was very hard to miss. But he couldn’t help thinking about the possibility of seeing his child. The kid had been eight when he was taken away and had to be fully grown by now. He needed to know what his progeny was doing, and while he couldn’t just walk over to and say “Hello, Child. It’s me, your Evil Dad,” there was always the possibility the two would just bump into each other.

It was getting late now. Piotr had spent the entire day wandering the city, and now the artificial lights that illuminated the underground were dimming to allow the populace a chance at rest. Maybe Piotr should’ve taken that chance. Instead, he remained walking, searching, and wandering. He passed train stations and supermarkets and nightclubs and apartments. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the city before. People were out talking with their friends after long days of work, children were coming home from extracurriculars, and elderly couples were out on constitutionals, holding each other's hands. Piotr hadn’t gotten this kind of look at Neonight before. He had always experienced it through the eyes of a criminal, looking to exploit these people, but now that he walked among them, he saw beauty in the place he had terrorized. But the more he saw of this place—the more he experienced it as a citizen—guiltier he felt for what he had done.

Soon, Piotr was the only one out on the street. He was wearing a set of the largest clothes Blair had owned—maternity clothes she got from relatives who had thought she was pregnant. And while Piotr wasn’t a self-conscious man when it came to his appearance, he certainly stuck out like a sore thumb wearing a shirt that said “Pregnant and Proud!” and was still too small for him. One of the buildings that Piotr had passed did catch his eye in a particular way. It was a small brick building whose tiny size actually made it very hard to miss compared to the rest of the dark skyscrapers that stretched from one end of the cavern to the other. “Edith Matria’s Home for the Wayward.” It looked like a cosy bed and breakfast that was dedicated to helping people like Piotr get back on their feet. But Piotr had decided to ignore it for now. While he was wayward, he had access to a place to stay already, and he didn’t want to cut his journey short. While there was an uncomfortable silence permeating the air, it was peaceful enough. Neonight always remained at a stable and cool temperature. There was no wind. Which made it extremely easy for Piotr to hear somebody walking behind him as he stood at a nearby train platform.

* * *

Piotr didn’t have a good relationship with the guards during his time in prison. He was a notable gangster—one that a lot of guards most likely blamed for the deaths of some of their colleagues—and he was a big target that was hard to miss. And people just wanted to take their anger out on somebody.

Piotr was out in the prison yard one morning. “Get the fuck up you little bitch.” A male voice, full of malice and anger, had echoed off the proximate walls and found its way into Piotr’s ear. As the command suggested, Piotr was lying face first in the dirt, a black boot pressing down on the back of his neck. “Come on, why aren’t you getting up? Are you scared of something, you wife-killer?” Piotr turned his head slightly to look at the man pinning him down. He had a pale face and wild, sunken eyes that pierced into Piotr’s. He had long, messy, greasy hair that hung down to his shoulders—a hairstyle unbefitting of a prison guard but one that matched his conduct quite well.

Piotr could feel the blood in his neck slosh around away from the boot. He was suffocating but managed to get a few words out. “I didn’t kill her, Sauro . . .” Piotr groaned, and his face was slammed into the dirt once more as Sauro grabbed his long white hair and shoved him into the dirt, still keeping his foot on his head.

“Oh, I know that. Anybody with half a brain could see it wasn’t you, but every time I say it was, I see a little light inside of you die out.” Piotr could feel the guard’s hot breath on his skin. It reeked of fish and a general disregard for hygiene. He could see the other guards as his face was ground into the dirt. They saw him back, but they kept watching off in the distance as silent bystanders, not wanting to do anything to prevent this miscarriage of justice. “Come on, Piotr. You know you’re never getting out of here. Why not just end it now? I could help you with that. I just need you to retaliate.”

“I know you aren’t allowed to use your Civ unless I attack you first. Which is why I won’t. They’ll find me innocent of some of those crimes eventually, and when they do I’ll be free. Free to tell the world what you do here!”

Piotr felt his eyes swell.