They didn’t take me far. Feoli carried me into the elevator, and the others walked in behind her.

Again, the four of us were alone, only, a couple roles had reversed. Where before Adonis had been talkative and outgoing, he had since reserved himself. I was still in disbelief over everything, once again I found myself sorting through memories and fragments of evidence.

Every pushy little request, how he steered every conversation away from work or spoke about it vaguely-

I asked myself how I couldn’t have seen it sooner, but only a psycho or some paranoid ass would have such a cold and suspicious nature. There wasn’t a snowballs chance in hell for me to figure anything out, not while I was red faced and shy speaking in front of so many people.

I had questions that I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t even curse them. I hadn’t spoken since seeing Feoli on their side.

I’d felt betrayed by Adonis, I was shocked by Gurl... I don’t know what I was feeling from Feoli.

Disbelief and sadness. Something like that. A soft and dank feeling that melted through every layer of my being, telling me that there was no way.

At first, I asked how could she do this? Then I realised it was something that even the biggest of idiots would expect from the murderer I met on that beach. The question became something along the lines of: If I didn’t teach her humanity, right from wrong, then what was it she learned from me?

As we were nearing the end of our elevator ride, my minds finger traced around the thought that all I’d taught her, all I'd ever shown her, was how to lie, play a role.

That’s all movies are after all.

That idea never had time to sink in as the elevator stopped.

As Feoli saw someone outside the door her eyes flickered with life, I turned my head uncomfortably to see who she was staring at.

It was another fomorian, this girl was in a more human form, though just from the outside I could see she had more fish like features than Feoli. There was a slight discolouration of the skin around her face, going from dark blue around her fore head to whit around her neck, like a fading gradient. She seemed to be standing at an average height, though it was hard to tell as I was being dangled from my feet and hands like a stuck rabbit.

Gurl greeted her, “Look who showed up when they were called! That means the boss’ll be waiting right?”

For a moment I made eye contact with the fomorian I correctly assumed was the ‘Bea’ Sruthan had mentioned.

She revealed her fangs in a wide smile, her canine teeth nearly locking together perfectly.

There was something off about her, something that was strange compared to other fomorians I'd met.

As she entered the elevator, I realised it was probably the neon pink hoody she was wearing.

“Feoli you skanky ass bitch!” She refused to make contact with Gurl, despite the fact that she’d asked a work-related question.

The new addition to our descending elevator trip played with her hair, and it definitely was hair, not just something that could pass for hair like Feoli’s.

“What the fuck is this creature you’re carting about? Don’t tell me this is the ‘stone in the south?

Without warning, she hammered the end of her hand down on my face.

It was a devastating blow because of the angle and position. Feoli barely kept her hold on me. She might’ve even jostled the elevator with the hit.

“Unnecessary,” was all Feoli had to say.

Bea, leaned in, forgetting about me entirely, “What was that, creature? Don’t forget where you stand. You might have stood at the peak of the coven, but what’s a peak in the ocean. Compared to on land? There are tons of witches across this earth far more powerful than you, so no matter where you go, you will still be a feckless disgrace to the blood of Balor.”

Everyone remained silent as the box rattled. I’d expected Feoli to say something, but the next noise was a clunk as the car reached the final point.

The door opened up and Bea left with a scowl.

Then there was a sharp tearing sound through the concrete walls of the subfloor. From my perspective I could see that Gurl and Adonis hadn’t immediately caught onto what the noise was.

It was as Bea was storming ahead that I sneakily bit onto the pocket of her baggy pink hoody. It ripped open at the seams; a phone and other normal contents had fallen out.

I spat the pink fabric out, mocking, “Sorry, that top isn’t doing anything for you. And, well, I couldn’t think of any other way to pay you back for that little tap.”

She turned and grabbed me by the head, still talking to Feoli, “You couldn’t have stuffed this thing before you brought it in here?”

She grabbed me by the tassel on my head, and for a moment I was afraid she’d take off my mask.

“Oh, to do that they’d need to put their fingers near my mouth. Why do you think I'm wearing indestructible hand cuffs?”

She was undeterred, she was tossing my head about to see me better. I kept pushing, “Because if I wanted to, I could break your skull and the sound barrier with a flick of my wrist. And I’ve just been put into the mood for that.”

It was a threat for everyone in the room, more directed at my three travel companions than Bea.

The elevator door began to close, but she held it open with the heel of her foot.

“It doesn’t need its jaw, does it? Can't we just remove it?”

I was about to work up the courage to say something bold like, ‘try it’.

But then there was another sound erupting from inside the tunnel. It was like a stampede of elephants, and the figure came up behind Bea nearly instantly.

Sruthan snorted at the air, pressing against Bea. I thought I was saved, until she spoke.

“Emmett O’Hara... you trail his scent!”

I remembered the pain in my arm, the flesh wet and clinging to the inside of my suit. There was a chance that the blood was what she had picked up on. Or maybe her senses were more acute than that, maybe she had picked up on my scent.

Suddenly I remembered SP2.

A part of me said that I had to use it now, or I'd lose more than just my identity.

Feoli spoke, “The one you were sent to capture? Wasn’t he-”

“He is here!” Sruthan bellowed.

I pulled against my cuffs. That was the first time that I'd regret my position.

I was bailed out this time. I wouldn’t be so lucky later on.

Gurl approached the seething giant, “Arasan, listen. You’re covered in his blood. You failed to capture Emmett O’Hara.”

Sea-Threw Gurl looked up strangely as if she was inspecting the roof. Then she pointed to a corner, “There, he’s in a morgue, he’s being identified by the hospital as we speak.”

Sruthan didn’t shift, her head and arm were half way through being wrapped, “He is not what he seems. That thing- he was no ordinary land dweller.”

Gurl had an argument for the broken arm, “I watched the whole fight. He was light on his toes, but there was only so much room for him to dodge. He backed out onto the road just as you lost your temper, the veil of ignorance finally shattered, as you became more and more monstrous-”

Bea retorted finally acknowledging the words of a land dweller, “Monstrous my foot. I can’t think of a more noble warrior under the witch mother than Arasan Sruthan.”

Gurl tried not to earn the wrath of two fomorians, “Alright, but to a first worlder like Emmett, even Shamrock would seem like a monster if he got going. O’Hara tripped over himself, Sruthan lunged, and as luck would have it- perhaps an emphasis should be placed on luck. A car crashed into both of you. It mangled and tore his body, you got off with a broken arm, and an injured head against the concrete.”

Bea crossed her arms, trusting her friend over her colleague. Sruthan towered over the door, blocking the way out.

“I. Smell. Him.”

Gurl had nothing more to say.

Feoli finally spoke up.

“I believe you are both right. Sea-threw's version is probably the more factual, whereas... Sruthan, I understand why you were shocked by your encounter, but from the little time I spent with that man, he proved to be squeamish, meek, and yet there is a lesson for both of you in such a creature-”

“That even the lowest of these men can affect a Unit. And that’s why his death puts us at such a great disadvantage.”

Sruthan, slumped away. It seemed like she respected Feoli’s take on the situation enough to ignore her own judgement. She stumbled down the hall. Bea walked backwards after her.

“What do you mean by that Feoli?” Gurl had the mind to ask.

They walked in a large group narrowly passing by very few armoured guards, as Feoli spoke to them all, “I watched Saoirse, the Unit known as Clover, I analysed her relationships. She’s generally distant with the other people in their group. I don’t suppose you’ll understand what I'm referring to, but there was a movie that a friend showed me that resembles her situation. A girl moves to a new location, is forced into an environment to which she isn’t accustomed.”

“She would have become dejected, resentful of her position, had she not met a stranger. The stranger was out of place in the environment, more than herself in fact. She used him for support. He became a lynch pin.”

Gurl asked slowly, “And... you think he is that lynch pin? Well, we’ve brought in her other friends, the ones from Derry, and I watched their relationship, it was far less awkward than whatever was going on between them.”

Feoli fixed how she was carrying me, slinging me over her back. Sore for me, easy for her.

“You don’t understand what his character represents to her. He is her hope. That things can be better, that she may be better.”

She focused on how this related to their problem.

“Through no torture, of her or her companions, will she lose hope, not until he has been taken from her as well.”

Bea shrugged, “He is dead though. So there’s no issue.”

Feoli retorted, “Our word wouldn’t suffice. And as the accident was brutal enough to cause such damage to Arasan, then there is no way that he could have survived intact. Is that right, Sea-Threw?”

Gurl nodded along, “He’s in terrible condition- she wouldn’t be able to recognise him.”

“So your saying we aren’t going to get anywhere with what we have?” Bea mulled it over for less than a second, “Guess we’re killing her then.”

I doubted they could, even if they had her in cuffs like me.

Feoli argued further than she needed to, “That isn’t an option. She’s too valuable to the Mountain.”

Gurl agreed, “Yeah, we’d be fucked if we made Bastard angry.”

Bea was getting frustrated, overlooking me completely, “Then what was the point of any of this! If this Bastard cares so much about her, then why are we trying to pressure her into join us?”

Feoli answered, “Because the Mountain offers autonomy to those it deems as being of high importance to their cause. Even members of the Fomorian Federation could join the Mountain if a deal was struck. If Belfast had Clover, there’d be no interference from the Mountain. At least no obvious moves.”

Gurl asked, “Even if it was through us strong arming Clover into joining with threats to her people?”

“I don’t know enough about Bastard to say,” Feoli refocused our attention to the matter at hand, “we should talk things over with the boss before we decide whether Emmett is dead or imprisoned.”

They wouldn’t have enough time to choose the best course of action however, as Bea got a call.

She put her phone to her ear, and listened.

Without saying anything to the caller, the phone hung up.

“Too late, the boss has made the call.”

We made a turn down in the opposite direction from where we were walking, from the fact that Gurl had been looking up when she pretended to see my body, and the fact that we hadn't passed a single window, I was guessing we were under ground.

I heard sounds off in the distance that I couldn’t quite place, only audible because the group had stopped talking since they received that call. The fact that Adonis hadn’t spoken once told me that he wasn’t on the same level as the Units. A part of me had wondered if he was secretly a Unit, but that didn’t seem like the case.

There were four enemy Units with me, and one boss. The five that Dr Attrition had warned me about.

Honestly, I was beginning to feel confidant again. I felt like I could handle them, one after the other at least. The three fomorians, despite their arguing, they definitely had experience working together, I knew as much from the fact that when me and Feoli fought Isaac together, she was able to make use of my skills.

If I was going to fight them, I’d have to divide and conquer. Hard to do when they have a unit that can see me no matter where I am. Either I'd have to take them out one by one, working fast enough to stop them from gathering numbers, or I'd have to take Gurl out first.

I lamented the fact that I could have gotten her in the hotel room, but this path had led to me gathering some important intel. They were underestimating me; their lips were loose because of that. There was also the fact that I they were taking me to the captives, the chances of me finding them on my own were nil.

Though, after everything is said and done, I can’t help but regret the fact I'd chosen this path.

Finally, we were into the room where I would feel the weight of my decisions.

I didn’t know that we were there until Feoli tossed me to the floor. The room had been quiet until I heard a familiar voice shout out, “that green bastard-” before being cut off.

I tried to straighten up my body, despite the priming of a gun behind me, “good to see you to, Mullet. Stay quiet and-”

I looked over to him, finally seeing that his face was bruised pretty badly. He must have gotten rowdy.

I looked around me, checking to see who was present. There must have been twelve of those armed guards in that room, some were leaning against the wet walls, though there was always a gun on each of the hostages.

Mullet and Izzy were bundled at one side of the room, Izzy kept her eyes low, she was playing it cool. Mullet looked like he’d beat the shit out of me if he weren’t bound. One of the idle guards started towards him.

“That’s enough,” said Feoli, “don’t go wasting his suffering.”

On my side of the room there were three people that I recognised as Saoirse’s friends, they seemed to be in a horrible state. The girl in the red dress had black tears running down her face, while the boy was breathing raggedly. The three of them were bound and gagged.

I took notice of this and made an appeal, “Gurl, if you have any empathy for the people you travelled with, you’ll keep Mullet quiet.”

She laughed at my request, but I rephrased it as the guard who’d set his sights on me watched, “he will speak out of turn. I don’t know what type of person your boss is, but if Mullet gets on his bad side-”

I stopped myself, realising the position we were sitting in.

She stopped laughing, merely considering it. Mullet sealed his lips, he took my advice, which was good enough.

The Units filled the room, all except Sruthan, who must’ve returned to whatever infirmary they had down there. Adonis had accompanied Gurl, keeping close to her as they stood behind me. Bea stood behind the three, and Feoli stood across from me, behind Izzy and Mullet.

I thought to myself they must’ve been standing beside the people they’d captured, or at least the people they were taking responsibility for. That might have been another reason for Sruthan’s absence. A third might be that it was to convey a sense of strength, and that would be hard done if the largest Unit among them had shown up so badly beaten by a first worlder.

We were left sitting in that room for a while, and it began to sink in, that dreadful smell. It was half similar to the places I'd worked at as a kid.

They were hot and wet.

The door opened and she finally walked out. I was glad to see she was still alright. Clover walked forward, her hands unbound, a gun pointed to her back, and a slight smile for me.

It was so reassuring. The fact that she was left kneeling in a puddle at the back of the room didn’t mean anything to me. There were a number of rather ordinary people that filed in after her, most of the keeping close to the door. I figured they did the same work as Adonis.

One of them had wandered into the middle of the room. He seemed to be in his thirties, a little taller than me, though his gut made him seem shorter somehow. He was wearing a black crew neck jumper, it was the sort of thing that was common for thugs his age, along with the cheap neck chain drooping off of him.

“This it then?”

His voice was the typical nasally Belfast accent, if a little hoarser.

After a moments silence of him turning around the room, inspecting us just a little, Bea replied, “Yes sir.”

Yes sir? A couple seconds ago she had called her team mates creatures and and other demeaning terms, was this average man that respected?

For some reason I couldn’t figure it out. Even Lechoslaw who had dressed normally enough, he had something about him that told me right away. But the man standing in front of me, he could have been a druggy sitting at the back of the Quarter.

I looked to Clover, her smile was gone, as she began to feel the weight of the atmosphere in this room.

The man’s eyes glinted as he looked back from Feoli to Gurl, “Weren’t there more? Two at least.”

Feoli spoke up before Gurl could, “Adonis’ woman was among them. She had no real relation to Clover. The other... He wasn’t present at the hotel at twelve, so Sruthan was sent out to find him, aided by Gurl.”

The man’s eyes never left Gurl, he stood over me with his hands on his hips, “aye, then tell us where he is then.”

The Sea-threw Gurl reverted to the girl from my art class.

“Uh-” she finally let out a noise, “Sruthan- failed to capture him alive. He was hit by a car.”

He scratched at his face idly. Then he licked the dead skin from under his fingers.

“Right. How’s that, Bastard girl?”

Clover tilted her head, stirring trouble where it was beneficial, “Fishy, if you ask me. How long have these people been working for you, mister ‘storm in the north’?”

He shrugged, “Sruth and Sea, for a couple weeks. And I trust ‘em ‘nough to get the job done.”

It was like an awkward and stunted end to the conversation.

Until he said, “did none of yas think to bring the body here?”

Bea started eagerly, “That’s what I said, but Gurl said it was mangled beyond recognition.”

He turned to Gurl accusatorily, “Then we make her fish through it till she finds something she recognises! Fuck me, an ear, a foot, his wee cock, anything!”

He shook his head biting at the skin of his knuckle, “fine.”

He turned to Clover, “Let me see your hand. Come on, you know what I'm on about.”

Reluctantly, she lifted the hand marked with the Clover. It had two leaves on it. Meaning she’d made two wishes recently.

He asked, “What didja wish for, aye?”

She tilted her head, “why should I answer that?”

He made some weird face and sneered, as one of her friends made a muffled noise.

That seemed to catch his ear, though he soon looked back to the stalwart Mountain in front of him.

“For a wee princess like you, I’m sure it was something that’d get you out of here, or that’d stop you from losing something. Read your file, not the one the Mountain has, but the Ints have been watchen’ ye.”

He nodded, “Can’t be too broad. Ye keep it simple, but not too simple. If you wished for none of your mates to die, well, they might become ghosts or zombies, I don’t fucken’ know, do I?”

He nodded harder, “Something like... they wouldn’t die in Belfast, or that I wouldn’t kill them.”

He stopped nodding and backed away from her, waving a hand and a guard raised his gun.

“There’s no way to know for sure, but how about I argue semantics. I heard you like, uh- phil-o-sophy, yeah? Pretty sure you’d be interested in this.”

He ungagged the girl with the mascara coming off of her face. The girl that had made the slightest noise. The girl that had been called Rose.

“In the time you’ve been away, I've had my lawyers do their job, hackers to, whoever I needed to do what I wanted done. I- I don’t give a shit about the legal whatever, point is, this place was constructed without any evidence. The construction fees and contracts were scrubbed, deals were made with a shit load a’ politicians, the peelers, they’ll take care of anybody who’d come sniffin’ ‘round ‘ere.”

He half smirked to Rose, “So is this wee hole really Belfast? It’s not a part of the city, it’s under it.”

He put his hand to his mouth, sighing. In that dingy room I could hardly see when it appeared, but he soon removed the hand from his face, and somehow there was now a gun in it.

Clover made a slight move, like he’d anticipated, “Philos-oh-phy, Bastard girl, answer me this, if I shoot her right now, am I killing her or is the gun, hmm?”

“You, fucker,” Clover was edging forward.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “No, think about it, if I have a wee boy, right? I raise him, feed him, I make him, does that mean I'm responsible if the wee freak kills a girl?”

“Take a fucking step back you-”

“It’s one or the other. Guess it’s just down to luck, isn’t it? Not this shit your passing off as luck, I mean the primal, raw, luck of the irish. Whether ye bet on green or orange”

He seemed to settle down, “It’s about which side of the line you're standing on. Do you believe this or that?”

After toying with the gun for a while, he put it to Rose’s head.

“So, which is it girl, are ye a catholic? Or are ye protestant?”

The question came out of nowhere. Clover looked down on him with disgust, the hostages mouth quivered.

“You make the right choice, and I won’t shoot, aye? Stand on the correct side and my gun won’t kill you.”

She blinked, gave it some thought.

“I- uh, a catholic.” she guessed, “I’m a cath-”

Clover’s scream after the gun fire seemed to be the loudest thing in the room.

She couldn’t keep herself back anymore, she went forward and elbowed him in the back. He beat her off, as I could only squirm on the floor.

Some one’s foot kept me from finding a way to move. It was Adonis’.

Two of the idle guards pulled Clover off of their boss, as he clapped, the gun in his hand gone, “Good, you cared about that didja? Well, let’s get onto the next one.”

Clover was still shouting, mostly a rage of noise, though she’d occasional say, “She was normal!” Like it was something sacred, something akin to innocence.

I tried to move forward, against the foot. Those words resonated with me. The shackles were doing more than I thought they would, the position was too awkward for me to make any meaningful move.

I searched for what I could do, finally remembering what I was here for.

My mission.

I put all my resources to trying to guess what the boss’ powers were, though there wasn’t much to go off of.

I thought back on everything I'd heard about him, Clover had once mentioned that he could ‘eat a sky scraper’, Bailey had mentioned seeing a dark cloud that toppled a building, that was probably one power. Maybe he could turn himself into a storm? I put a pin in it, until I could get something more substantial.

Come to think of it, he had covered his mouth with that hand before pulling that gun out of nowhere, that connected a dot to Clover’s statement. Maybe he had ‘eaten’ a skyscraper, or rather stored it in some sort of pocket dimension- though what does that have to do with storms?

The slowing of her screaming echoed into my head, dissuading any productive thought. I could only think over the same points.

He came to the next girl, the tan one that I hadn’t even heard the name of.

“What are you, aye? Prod or catholic?”

She answered almost as soon as the cloth was removed from her mouth, “I’m protestant.”

It was definitive, there wasn’t any hesitation.

He laughed, “Aye love, you are orange, aren’t you?” He explained the joke after she didn’t react, “ack, ya’ know, ‘cause of your tan? And you said you were a prod? “

He clicked the trigger of his new gun a couple times.

Clover’s screams stopped, as her power had succeeded in forcing a misfire.

She wasn’t the one laughing.

The man from Belfast roared as he’d point the gun to the ceiling, it’d fire, he’d point it to his hostage, it wouldn’t, and he’d repeat the process over and over until he got tired of it.

My eyes bore into him, I counted the shots, watched every flicker of his handgun in the dim light by the door.

He’d succeeded in unloading nearly twenty rounds into the ceiling. It shouldn’t have been possible; he hadn’t reloaded once. I don’t know a lot about guns, but there’s no way he could just keep firing with such a small gun.

Had I overlooked the possibility that one of his abilities could be to summon guns? Or maybe simply weapons? No, that’s stupid, Clover wouldn’t have feared him if it was so simple. Schism wouldn’t have struggled to find out his power if that was all.

I thought further about what it was Schism wanted me to find here. Belfast clearly knew that he could summon a gun, he was consciously doing it now. Schism already knows the superficial things he can do. What he wants is the concept behind it, how it works, maybe even its origin.

Now I really couldn’t think straight. If it was the origin he wanted, then there was no way I was going to find that out while I was in chains.

A horrible thought crossed my mind. Before I could humour it for a second, he shouted to Clover, “what do you make of that, blondie?”

Clover, for once, couldn’t curse or taunt. She just caught her breathe, relishing just a little that her friend was safe. That one of them was safe.

She settled back into a glare.

Belfast mused, “I got a few the-or-ies. Only you’ll know the truth though. First is that she made the right choice. Well, it didn’t matter what her answer to the question was-” He shouted to the room, “That’s right lads, when I ask you that question, it doesn’t matter which option you're picking. Your dead. Either way. Maybe this tan girl thinks that it’s the man that shoots the gun who's responsible for the murder, whereas that one thought otherwise, even for a second- and, doesn’t she seem like the type of bitch that thinks too much? About philos-o-phy, about the world, fucken’ whatever, I says. I was spoutin’ bull.”

He walked to Clover and crouched down, “Or, and I'm sorry if this seems mean, but, maybe that wee girl in the red dress wasn’t your friend, aye? Maybe the other two there roped her into going to that wee welcomin’ party.”

He turned back to them, “Am I right or wrong?”

I don’t know if he honestly expected a response, but they stayed quiet, looking down.

He pointed his gun back at the tan girl clicking it, “If ya did, then your just as responsible for her dying as Clover here. Or Saoirse, that’s what you were calling yourself down south wunt’it?”

Clover’s breath grew ragged, before she found any sort of strength to fight back. “What do you want. This isn’t about territory. Who are you setting an example for? You’ve got us. Right after a meeting with Bastard here you are sticking the proverbial fork in the socket.”

He flopped his arms down, raising one to pull at his face, “You shtupid wee girl. This is the second time you’ve walked into this city. It’s about territory. Of course it is! I was talking about the line between one side and the other, well, you went and crossed it. Again. You danced across the fucking border, ya wee fairy. You’re either out, or your in.”

He stood back up, returning to the hostages, “When I say out, I mean back over the water with your British Bastard, yah loyalist cunt. Or you can stay here, make some of that green shit for us, like a wee Fenian cunt.”

She shook her head, “So that’s what it’s about. It’s drugs. You ambitionless, morally base... scumbag...”

There was no more energy left in her.

He gave her a light slap to waken her up. And I mean waken. She blinked a couple times, trying to regain focus.

He grabbed her by the face, he wanted her to hear this, his voice was low and threatening.

“I know you’re not shtupid, I might not be ed-du-cated but livin’ in your castle, I’m sure you were brought up well. You’ve had a bit of trouble; it’s smartened you up more. You probably didn’t ask for them to ‘not die’. You probably asked that ‘no harm came to your mates’.”

She focused her eyes back on him, and he knew he had her attention, “I gave it to you straight, didn’t I? I don’t care what her answer is. She’s going to die. Maybe that perspective stuff was bull, who knows, aye. Maybe that bullet killed that first’un so quickly she didn’t feel anything. So, what if this friend... fell asleep?”

Too perfectly for reality, the tanned girl passed out.

Clover tried to get up but was kept down.

“Actually... I’ll be nicer. I’ll not kill her. Let’s see... what isn’t direct harm...” he tilted his head, “heroin isn't immediately harmful, maybe we could give her a few shots. Then I'll let you see her. And then I’ll sell her to a millionaire in Germany. Think about it, selling somebody doesn’t harm them. All that shite about freedom, it’s up for debate and philos-o-phising and-”

He stopped fucking around, “Can two of ya tow them out of here? Put the orange bitch with whatever else is for sale, aye? Smuggle her over the boarder when the heats down a bit.”

Clover screamed as they were brought away, except it wasn’t the same as before. It was weak. She was on the verge of...

“Next.”

The man from Belfast paced over to the male prisoner.

I remember that his name was Marcus.

The gag came out his mouth and the storm said, “right, three seems like a- a round number. You know the question I'm gonna ask ya, boy.”

What would I have done in his position? When faced with the absolute fact that there wasn’t a right answer- being placed in a position beyond your reckoning- what would a person do?

I did the only thing I knew how to do, I snapped to my senses and searched for a real answer.

That girl, she passed out to perfectly. Even if she was drugged prior to this, there was no way that could have been timed. It was induced, nearly instantly.

Clover had grown drowsy, was there some kind of proximity trigger? No, a gas! Maybe he was producing some kind of air that, when in a high enough concentration, could be a black storm! That made sense, right?

And he can summon guns? Or he can store things within himself?

While I was trying to piece together an impossible puzzle, Marcus had answered the impossible answer.

“Man, I don’t believe in anything. I’m atheist I guess.” He had a sad smile on his face, and no clue what was happening.

The man from Belfast stopped joking. He turned his upper lip and did a stupid fake laugh.

Then a black swarm poured out of him, making a sound like bees buzzing, and it swarmed around Marcus.

He cried and flailed against it, but he was fighting against nothing.

Belfast looked down on him with dark eyes, “It’s people like you I hate the most. People who think they stand above it all. People who get all snarky and say ‘I'm not actually’ whatever. You live in this shite country, you get roped into one or the other, you foreign cocksucker.”

Everyone watched the life die away from the centre of the mass with shocked terror. Everyone except its master.

My mind had gone white.

“Truth is, I don’t give a fuck. Not about these little game’s you people play, the mind games I mean. The thinken’, the tricks, the theories about how the world works- Fuck your thoughts, to hell with your religion, I’m going to kill ya.”

He turned back to Clover, saying, “I don’t care how you do it, make the green shit, yeah? Still got a couple more. Cause ye know what? Daddy isn’t coming princess. Not tonight at least.”

I tried again. I tried one more time.

Maybe he... randomly generates what powers he needs? I mean, that certainly...

No, that line of thinking leads nowhere, Schism chose me due to my logical analysis, if it was such a non-answer then any unit would do. It needs to make sense.

I’ll stick with the gas theory, yeah, maybe the buzzing was a chemical reaction with the air, maybe that reaction causes people to fall asleep, maybe it’s some sort of gaseous metal, that when condensed can be used to form structures like guns and bullets, and-

I came to my senses at last.

I saw Clover’s face.

It was the same as it had been when Ae had died, just more long. Defeated.

It was like she was slowly fading away.

...

I said out loud, “What am I doing?”

I don’t know if anybody else looked at me, but Clover did. I told her, “Emmett isn’t dead, Clover. All of this is to fuck with you, don’t let it.”

Belfast laughed, “Aye? D’you think I killed those people to fuck with her? Heheh, where the hell’d you come from, looki-”

“Shut up already! Jesus Christ! Nobody gives a shit about what you’re saying you prick!”

Despite the horrors I'd just witnessed and could possibly be subjected to, I still taunted him, “Fucken’ hell, what was that about you hating people who think they’re set apart? People like you ya mean. If that’s the case, why don’t you just fill up a tub and plug your toaster into an extension cord, you balding dumbass.”

I thought he might laugh at my shitty insults, but he asked, “and what are you?”

“What I am doesn’t fucken matter! No one cares, kill yourself! Die die die.”

He looked away but I kept saying whatever popped into my mind. It was like vomiting acid, I really was throwing out some of the worst things I could think of.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Gurl, “He’s the- the other Unit?”

Adonis answered, because Gurl couldn’t, “He- he is.”

I shouted, “Clover, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, but you need to say something. Don’t let him win.”

I turned back to him, trying to earn back his attention, “I’ve travelled the world, fuck, I've travelled the multiverse! She’s been buried alive for two fucking weeks, her first boyfriend died in space, and... You're hiding in a fucking basement!”

He nodded, “I remember you. I do. Call yourself Shamrock, aye? I’ve got everything there is to know about you. You’re tough. That's it. I made those cuffs you know. Maybe I can make something else, hm?”

I laughed, “Oh, of course you did! Just another cryptic mystery, like why you left my teeth unguarded.”

He smiled, “Your gonna bite me to death?”

“No,” I answered, “just your dirty legs and arms, I’ll leave you a quadruple amputee, then I'll let her decide what to do with you.”

“Well,” he said, “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

That black cloud erupted out of him, moving above me, lashing out seemingly at random.

I panted, “Go, fucking do it, dare you!”

He was amused, “Feoli, Bea, hold him by the steel, dangle him a couple feet off the ground there.”

Bea was the first to come over. Feoli followed.

They stood at opposite sides of me, the cloud still above us. Then it seemed to get smaller, from my perspective at least. Then it got very close to my face and I watched closely. It did remind me of metal sand, it seemed to move in streams and lines, at least on the surface.

“FUCKING GO, GO, GO,” I barked.

“Let’s shut you up, then.”

Out of the black formed a light grey pole of metal that slowly descended into my face. I struggled against it, but eventually Belfast moved it under my chin by hand, locking my jaw. I could still goad him on, curse him, that’s what was important.

“Oi,” he whispered to me, “It’s going to keep growing, and pushing, till your neck snaps, or it punctures you throat, or-”

I spat.

He blinked. The pole extended farther, and faster.

The two fomorian’s kept me in place, I tried to stay limp, because he was right, if I pushed against it, it’d probably mount my head.

I knew that there was a risk off death, but fuck him, I couldn’t fight, so I'd scream.

Then beyond the hissing from the storm cloud, and my grunting, I could hear Clover.

She was standing now. It seemed that the guard's attention had been sufficiently diverted. Her eyes were red, filling with tears and becoming blood shot.

She raised her hand, though that wasn’t a prerequisite.

A notch disappeared.

Her arm flopped down, her teeth gritted, “It’s philosophy, you doomed thing. You’ve been asking questions and questions,” the stress cracked her voice, “but answer this: what passing-bells for these who die as cattle?”

She was stiff, not carrying the same presence she had as when she’d entered the room.

“Only the monstrous anger of the guns.”

“You, storm of the north, man from Belfast, hypocritical shit stain- You will experience a death as painful as humanly possible; you will face a wall so great, that not a fragment of your id or ego will survive. What semantics could you use to argue against that?”

The fomorians lowered me slightly.

He looked at her, stroking his chin.

I pushed the metal pole to the side with my head and it crashed into the ground.

Clover thought things over, before putting her hand out again.

The other notch, the last leaf disappeared.

She had no more uses, at least not for a couple hours.

He pointed with his other hand, “and that one?” he smiled with scepticism.

She mulled it over, tilting her head, “That... if there is an afterlife, once you die, you will face suffering of astronomical proportions in comparison to your death. For all of eternity.”

Belfast’s face has unemotive.

Then, it slowed into a smile, as if to match even that challenge. His eyes remained untouched.

“That’s enough excitement for you, let’s get ya too your rooms. It’s gonna be a very big day tomorrow.”