Day 1

The universe is a vast expanse, bigger than anything anyone can possibly imagine. Because the universe is so vast, it is possible for anything to be possible... somehow, somewhere. The sheer size of the universe is such that the biggest mystery in life is its very creation: Was it created by God in His own image? Was it borne on the backs of an infinite number of turtles? Was it grown from the left eyebrow of a benevolent sprite? ...or did it simply explode from the all of matter condensed into the space of less than a grain of sand?

The facts behind the creation of the universe lie in myriad theories that vary from culture to culture, with as many theories as there are cultures. As a result of the diversity of ideas, with each new generation that passes, the Truth becomes further and further mired in the muddled perceptions of society, combined with the intent of the prophets of such knowledge. What their descendants perceive as facts handed down from their ancestors may in fact be lies or errors, and it is fully up to the new generation to discern for themselves what is actually the Truth.

Not all individuals have been as open-minded about their ideas of the world as others, however, and many of these radicals have launched full-scale wars in the name of their idea of the Truth, with the belief that their idea was the only one that mattered. Such wars held that all other ideas, as similar as they might be, were lies punishable by death, even if the intent behind the wars conflicted with the idea it professed as the Truth.

Nevertheless, one of the beliefs most firmly rooted in the dogmatic fact of every belief system is the idea of a soul, a spiritual presence that drives everything, that gives birth to new life, causes growth and maturity, and eventually departs from an old, tired body. This soul is the 'invisible hand' that guides people as a whole to do things to benefit all of society, rather than destroy it, under the notion that it is of value to oneself to treat others as kindly as one would choose to be treated oneself. Naturally, there are exceptions to the rule, with destructive energies arising in certain unstable individuals--the instigators of the many largely unsuccessful 'holy wars', for instance--but these are for the most part rare and easily subdued by the larger collective, in the interest of a progressive social growth.

The soul on its own is itself an unclear guide, of course, which has led to the creation of countless religions, each seeking the Truth in their own fashion--otherwise, the world would be unified under one belief system. Instead, the diversity of thought has exploded with each new generation, bringing new ideas to the world and exploring the world in many more ways than the previous generation could have ever imagined, through telephones, recording devices, antibiotics and vaccines, pasteurization, automobiles, aircraft, spacecraft, and all other such advancements. In every instance, the religiously-minded would thank their perceived creators (sometimes, muses) for their new-found gifts.

Like the religions that honour them, these deities varied widely, in appearances, abilities, and temperaments, depending on their believers. The gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus were said to control the weather, emotions, birth, death, and illnesses, even if these deities themselves possessed all-too-human faults themselves. Other cultures possess deities on a lower scale, sometimes doing little more than granting wishes to those who please them, or taunting travelers with childish tricks for amusement.

Perhaps the most interesting of these creations is the foinech, a mythic beast of flames that lives for ten thousand years. It is said to revitalize its energy by flying into the sun--

"Sir?"

Paul lowered his pointer. He disliked interruptions during the lecture portion of the class, as it was relatively useless to have discussion without the complete story, particularly when said questions were answered in a later part of the story. "Yes, Omar?"

A silver-haired boy at the front of the class lowered his hand. "If the foinech is ten thousand years old, how does anyone know how long it lives?"

"It is purely speculation," he explained as patiently as he could manage. "Ancient cultures had no accurate means of measuring time even within a single day, so they often pulled numbers out of thin air... whatever sounded the most impressive in their stories. No one has actually recorded the age of the foinech directly, especially due to the length of time and number of people that would be involved, not to mention the potential for abuse in terms of accurate record-keeping. The idea is simply that it is an extremely old creature, perhaps the oldest in the universe, so if anything knows the Truth of the creation of the universe, it would."

Omar still seemed confused by his response, but Paul's attention was immediately drawn to a green-haired girl who raised her hand, frowning.

"Yes, Duina?"

"Isn't the mathematically-perfect regularity of our planet's spin proof of God's existence?"

He sighed, not exactly eager to answer, as Duina had been struggling to convert the class the entire term. "The point behind studying other cultures is not to blindly impose your view upon others, but to study the history of other peoples with an unbiased eye and learn about their viewpoint. In their terms, it doesn't matter whether God exists--if they are a Godless people, then that doesn't change their Godless history.

"Regardless, if you had paid attention in your World History lessons, you would recall the Technological Revolution: in the year 0, the world's greatest engineers put into effect the work of hundreds of years of study, a grand network of machinery designed purely to regulate the planet's spin at a thirty-four hour cycle and 289-day year, rather than allow it to continue to spin down until the point when there would no longer be such a thing as 'day and night'. It is their work that regulates the mathematical perfection of the world, not God."

She squeaked angrily. "I believe that story's a hoax!"

"It doesn't matter, Duina. It will still be on the final."

Another girl raised her hand. "Where is this machinery that regulates the world located?"

"Hannah, this is World Cultures, not Geography," Paul scolded. "If you have further questions on the Trail of Illumination, I advise you to ask Miss Fields, since that is her area of expertise."

For an advanced class at the privately-run school, he hadn't been impressed with the level of education his students demonstrated. Half the time, they were as intractable as the public school students he had managed in his time as a substitute, and there was scarcely indication that the average student at the school was particularly better off than those at the surrounding schools. If anything, the one benefit was the size of the school--it was too small to form worthwhile gangs and cliques, though he noticed they still gave it their best effort--and the exceptionally rare academically-minded children truly did apply themselves to their work, with better result, due to the improved availability of the teachers.

As it was, the class continued drudgingly, with even the discussion having minimal activity, despite the initial interruption during the lecture. Having a highly intellectual class as World Cultures early in the morning was obscene, but Paul wasn't in a position to change the schedule. Certainly there were more important things on his mind anyway, but--as a perfectionist--he chose to do as good a job as he could where it could be helped. Midterms were coming up, but few, if any, of the students seemed to care.

One in particular caught his attention: a young blue-haired boy staring gloomily out the window at the dreary overcast campus ground, swishing his tail in frustration. The vole seemed contemptuous of the class and didn't bother to hide it. Anyone else looking at him would simply see a bored youth--probably pampered by his parents, from the neatness of his dress, and possibly smarter than the others due to being younger than the rest--but he knew differently. Paul watched him the most closely of any of his charge, a subtle sneer on his face.

The sound of shuffling papers signaled the end of class approaching, students checking their watches eagerly. "Remember that your essays are due tomorrow," he called, "and I'll be handing out study guides at the beginning of next week. I strongly recommend you read ahead in the book and form study groups if you can. Darian, see me after class."

The blue-haired boy glanced up at him briefly, snorting in disgust, before returning his attention to the view outside. It was impossible to discern what had his rapt attention from the front of the classroom, or even whether he should be concerned about it. At length, the other students scuffled out the door, leaving Darian alone, at which point, he gathered his belongings and trudged to the front of the room.

"Yes, 'teach'?" the boy muttered sarcastically.

"I think you know what's on my mind," he said tersely. "This is just a reminder that you're in no position to make any more mistakes."

Darian merely frowned at him.

Paul continued, unintimidated. "If you can't maintain a good focus on what you're doing, you're going to have more than grades to worry about. I advise you to get your act together soon."

Not listening, Darian merely grumbled.

"What was that?" he snapped.

"I said, I will."

"Good. You'll do well to keep that in mind."

Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, Darian marched out the door. "I thought this arrangement was illegal," he muttered.

"I HEARD THAT," Paul shouted after him.

"BIG D!"

A purple-haired boy jumped at him from out of nowhere, much like any other cougar might, and gave Darian a vigorous noogie. His clothes were as loud as his voice, and his eyes were full of excitement as he nearly knocked the vole into another student. "Hey, I've been looking all over for you, Deeg. The gang is going to Bishop's Realm next holiday, and we need a fourth. Are you in?"

He sighed, cringing. In stark contrast, Darian wore prep school attire: a smartly-pressed dress shirt and vest with similarly formal slacks and dark, polished shoes. True to his easily irritable disposition, he immediately started brushing back his once neatly-combed hair. "Hi, Kotaro..." It wasn't that he hated the guy, just... right now was not a good time.

"Why so glum?" Kotaro asked, instantly serious in an over-the-top fashion. He glanced about dramatically before leaning closer to Darian, whispering. "Is that douchebag getting to you again?"

"No," he lied through gritted teeth, "I'm just worried about my grades... World Cultures is such a drag, and--"

"That's all the better reason for you to join us!" Kotaro yelled, grinning largely as he threw his hands in the air. "C'mon, you could use some cheering up!"

"No, really, I'd like to, but--"

"I'm tired of buts, D. You're coming with us, or... or..." He crossed his arms stubbornly. "Or... I won't be your friend anymore!"

Darian paused in mid-step, staring him questioningly in the eye. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Geez, D," he sighed, undeterred. "I've told you a thousand times, just come live with us! My family already thinks of you as their second son anyway, and it'd be a great improvement over--"

"I'm glad you think so, 'taro, but I really can't accept your offer. You know that." The truth was he'd only been to the Rockfords' place once before. Why Kotaro regularly persisted in trying to get him to return was a mystery. "I've got enough things on my plate without blowing more time bumming it with you."

Darian continued to his locker, unlocking it, opening it, and putting away his morning class books with an almost rehearsed precision. He briefly glanced inside as he did so, checking the contents with an unusual level of paranoia, before taking his midday books and closing it, spinning the dial on the combination lock to an excessive degree in the process.

Kotaro wiggled his tail with piqued curiosity. "Isn't there anything I can do to change your mind?"

"You? No. Sorry."

He frowned at Darian, but he nevertheless didn't exactly look upset. "I'm going to change you one of these days, D."

Tired, Darian stared at him seriously. "You already know too much as it is, and I don't want to risk more than that by involving myself in your life anymore, Kotaro. You know that, and I know that, and nothing's going to change that."

"We'll see," he retorted defiantly. "Meanwhile, you wanna grab a snack after seventh?"

"Guh," he sighed in exasperation. "...we'll see."

As Kotaro walked away, he turned and waved, his index, middle, and pinky fingers extended. This was his own victory sign and, as far as either of them knew, uniquely their own signal. Darian laughed tersely in spite of himself, then continued on to his next class, shaking his head.

The whispers began even before he walked into class. "I saw him snubbing Kotaro again," muttered Belle. "I mean, I don't get why he tries to befriend him--the guy's obviously stuck-up, thinking he's so much better than everyone else!"

"Yeah," chimed Arminda. "Ko's such a great guy, and Darian's not! Why is he wasting his time on him?"

"I wish he'd waste his time on me!"

They hushed as Darian approached. Just to satisfy their impression of him, he retained his rigid frown, not saying a word to either of them as he took his seat, slouching grumpily. From the frantic scribbling he heard shortly, however, he could tell their gossip continued, though via secret message.

"Guten Tag, jeder!"

"Guten Tag, Frau Katze!"

Face propped against his arm, Darian nearly fell asleep, as tired as he was. His language classes were the easiest by far, and even when he dozed off, he still seemed to remember everything that was discussed. The only thing holding his attention was that mysterious noise he had kept hearing, which seemed to be getting gradually louder as the day went on, though he was no closer to figuring out its source.

"Sehr gut," said Frau Katze. "I have exciting news, everyone! Yes, it is late in the season, but today we will be getting a new student. I hope everyone will welcome her to our class."

Suddenly, his attention snapped into focus as he noticed a brown-haired girl standing at the door, seemingly inconspicuous except for the fact she was wearing shades... on a rainy day?

"Hereingekommen... come in, come in."

The girl seemed apprehensive, tail bushy, but strode inside gracefully. Darian could hear some of the other students whispering about her looks already, none of the comments too flattering.

"Please, take off your sunglasses! It is dismal outside!"

Strangely enough, she shook her head in fear. "Please..."

"Okay," Frau Katze surrendered. "It is your first day, you are nervous. If it okay, can you introduce yourself?"

"Ah... my name is Alex," she started, hesitant. "I came from Triangle Seven--"

"Oh," she gasped. "They are having civil wars there now, yes?"

Alex nodded.

"Well, it is a good thing you are here safely, Fraulein Alex." She glanced at the class. "If you like, you may have a seat next to Darian, there."

Darian froze, feeling as though he was being put on the spot. It felt strange, as he didn't usually have stage fright.

"He is the nice young man over there with the blue hair."

Alex nodded again, smiling. "Thank you... eh, bitte."

He felt flushed as she strode toward him. What was so special about her that was making him anxious? What was she so afraid of that she wouldn't take off her shades? It was mesmerizing, too, how her hair perfectly matched her skin, no doubt just another reason the others already thought ill of her without even knowing what she was like.

As she took her seat, Alex whispered, "Hello."

"Uh, hi," he replied. That she seemed nervous as well helped him relax a little, but not much.

"I know I will be behind," she said. "Can you help me catch up?"

"S-sure," he stammered. "Are you free after this session?"

She nodded.

"Meet me in the library after class."

She nodded again, then returned her attention to the lecture.

Darian suddenly felt in a pinch. He was due back early, but here he was setting up a study date with a newcomer. What was he thinking? Curiosity wasn't a luxury he could afford to indulge... not yet.

On that line of thought, the noise resonated even more noticeably now. It was imperceptable where it was coming from, and he longed to seek it out, but he had little opportunity to do so. Granted, nothing was really keeping him in school, but it was his sanctuary, as the law was on his side for him to be there, instead of... He clenched his fists unconsciously at the thought.

Class dismissed without further incident. Darian couldn't help noticing that Alex was two steps ahead of him getting ready to leave.

"Uh, the library is down the hall," he nodded, nervous. "Do you know where that is?"

"I think so," she said hesitantly, then blushed. "I'm sorry if I seem forward, but I hadn't had many friends in my homeland, and I want to make new ones as soon as I can."

Darian looked away uncomfortably. "Um... yeah... well, the library's this way..."

They walked down the hall together, but he couldn't help feeling as though he was being watched the entire way. As he glanced around, though, Darian didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He did, however, overhear the usual idle gossip of how stuck-up he was and how he acted like he was better than everyone else, with the occasional comment about the weird new girl he was with at the moment...

Well, at least the rumours were better than having them knowing the truth.

The library was empty at that time of the day. They took a seat at a table towards the back, but neither broke the silence for several tense moments.

"So," Darian said finally, "you're from Tri-Seven? That's all the way at the other end of the grid. What brings you out to Cross Two?"

"My father used to live here," she said simply.

"What's it like in Tri-Seven now?"

"Not good," she sighed sadly. "There are too many bad things happening there. Every day, I wondered if I would still be alive tomorrow..."

"That sounds awful," he agreed, shuffling through his backpack. "Uh... so how much do you know already, like... the calendar?"

"Oh... um, I know the first twelve months okay, but the last five give me trouble somehow."

He paused, thinking. "Do you know ein through ein hundert?"

"Only through zwanzig. I've only really studied common in-depth as a foreign language."

Common as a foreign language?

Darian was antsy. He didn't want to sit through a whole study session, and the way she refused to take off her shades was unnerving, though he still couldn't muster the nerve to ask about them. "Well, I actually have to get going, but how's this? I'll lend you my notes, and you can copy them in your free time. Is that okay?"

A look of surprise crossed her face. "A-are you certain?" she stammered.

"Truth is," he explained, handing her the notes, "I really only take them out of habit. I don't actually ever read them myself, but they're useful if someone else needs them."

"Oh," Alex sighed, almost disappointed. "Well, if you're sure you won't need them--"

"Nah, you can have them for as long as you like."

She still seemed uncertain.

Darian latched his backpack and threw it over one shoulder as he stood to leave. "If that's all--"

"How old are you?"

The question caught him off-guard. "I'm... fifteen. Why?"

"Fifteen?" she echoed, surprised. "But I'm fourteen! You look--"

"Like I'm twelve? Thirteen?" he said, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I get that all the time..."

"I'm sorry," she giggled. "Here I was thinking you were some kind of prodigy because you were littler than me but in my level!"

He stared at her coldly. "I'm not stupid, if that's what you're suggesting."

The words startled Alex into sobriety. "I didn't mean--"

"See you in class," Darian said, not looking at her again as he left. Her expression was that of just having had a door slammed in her face.

"Another day in paradise," he grumbled, walking upstairs to his room. He had spent the better part of an hour sneaking around campus, trying to avoid Kotaro's sneak attacks, even if he would have gladly given in... had it only been an option.

The house was a split-level, seemingly innocuous, but Darian actually only had access to a secret fifth of it. Should any authorities decide to look for him at the address, they would fail to find a single trace of his residency, outside of a lone, inconspicuous window. His room wasn't really even a room as much as it was a closet, sparsely populated by clothes in various states of wash, an iron and ironing board, assorted technological gadgets, and a couch that served quite poorly as his bed.

No sooner had he tossed his backpack on the couch than Darian found a ski mask thrown in his face. "Gear up, we have a new target," said someone in full camouflage.

He didn't look to see who it was, but he knew anyway. "I don't suppose there's any chance of renegotiating my membership," he scowled coldly, crumpling the mask in one fist as it fell.

"Not on your life. You're in this for good, lest you forget the Mark situation."

His teeth ground so tightly that they might have splintered apart. "That wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been a part of this in the first place."

"Well, you are, and now you're stuck here. Gear up."

"I ought to kill myself out of spite for you."

A pause... followed by vicious laughter. "Heh, I'm kind of surprised you haven't already. Still, that would be the only way out for you."

Darian stared angrily at the mask, his hands trembling from built-up frustration. It was easier to distance himself from reality lately, but it still wasn't enough, and he had to close his eyes to keep from losing his cool. Without looking, he grabbed his goggles and put them on, then slipped on the mask.

"What's the target?" he asked, starting to don his coveralls.

"Another dump, maybe a couple others if they look promising. Frankly, though, I'm starting to wonder about our orders, but ol' Boss R.M.'s been pulling something out of all of it, apparently. I expect we'll hit rock bottom soon, though, unless a lot of fresh blood starts coming in."

Residence, Darian thought. Probably no security in the place, but it was best to be prepared, just in case. He snapped on his tool belt as well, then followed the other suit down to the van waiting in the garage.

There were three others in the pack--he didn't know who they were, and the arrangement was very probably designed with that in mind. No matter how far he dug, even from the inside, he wasn't likely to uncover everyone involved. Entry-levels like Darian were picked up and only one per pack. The others were all second-tier or higher and were, ironically, more trustworthy about knowing where the others lived.

Only the driver was certain where they were going, since they were in a windowless van, but Darian had gotten enough practice retracing his tracks to get a general idea of where they were from the distance they traveled and the feel of the road. They finally arrived at a neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city, somewhat well-to-do from the look of things, and the sort of place that would be high-profile for break-ins.

That was where they came in.

It was still early evening when they arrived, meaning it was less likely that anyone was home. They moved quickly, Darian pushed to the lead. While he was certain the others were more experienced, in the end they were training their replacements, so he was forced into doing their dirty work more often than not. It wasn't something he was bad at doing, but he didn't like it all the same.

Darian did a quick scan through several of the lower windows. Sure enough, there was no visible security armed. In fact, the general disarray of the house made it seem as though the occupants had just moved in, or were planning to move out. He carefully picked the lock on the front door, nervous about setting off an unseen alarm, but there was no trace even of a silent alarm on his scanner. Wordlessly, they piled inside.

Two to a floor, the pack swept through, taking anything on their list. Most of what they took seemed valuable or at least resellable, but other things were perfectly ordinary. It baffled Darian as to why they would bother stealing such things, but that was hardly the first thing he would question about the raid.

He brushed over the living room and swept down a hallway, finding close to nothing worth taking. Then he came to a bedroom and found a bureau with a jewelry box and some delicate frescoes on top of it. Despite his instructions, he ignored the bureau--entirely out of interest in maintaining the owner's dignity--and grabbed one of the plates.

To his surprise, his grip wasn't strong enough, and the fresco clattered to the floor noisily. Moments later, a triple-beep sounded in his headset--an angry warning that one of the others had heard it. Annoyed, he snatched the plate off the floor, getting a more solid grip on it, and was surprised to see not the slightest scratch on it. Shrugging, he placed it carefully in his sack, layering a loose cloth over it to keep it from further damage, then piled the rest in equally carefully.

The jewelry box was a plain one, not worth taking. Inside, however, there was a number of ornate rings and bracelets--probably costume jewelry, but he didn't have the experience to appraise it on the spot. One in particular caught his eye, however--a plain green band that looked like jade--which he immediately knew to be special somehow... even worth the risk of being caught taking.

He stuffed the ring into one of his socks--it was one of the last places they would look if they frisked him for anything, so he felt confident it would be safe there. The rest of the jewelry he emptied into a smaller bag and added it to his sack.

Two beeps, a pause, then two more beeps--that was the signal to get out of there. They didn't want to risk too much time during daylight hours, especially for the seemingly worthless stuff they invariably stole. Darian hightailed it outside and piled into the van with the others.

They had four more hits before nightfall, with decreasing success. Not once did they get caught, but it had hardly been worth their efforts. "A damn lot of good that run was," commented one, once the coast was clear. "I'd get more working a real job than pulling more heists like that."

"Yeah," agreed the others.

"Wonder what R.M.'s doing with all this junk?"

"I heard that the next drop point was being staged as a yard sale."

"So we're stealing crap? Stupid. Why does R.M. waste our time like this?"

No one seemed to have an answer for that.

They dropped Darian off with no particular fanfare. "You know the drill," said one. "Remember that the schedule rotates again, so watch for the signal."

"Again?" muttered one. "This shit's getting hard to keep straight."

"Well, it's a good thing you're only a second, then, isn't it? I'd hate to have to rely on you to remember to breathe."

"Fuck you."

Darian said nothing as they drove off, pulling off his mask and goggles as he stepped inside. As usual, he was too tired for homework--he went upstairs and flopped straight onto the couch, falling asleep with his face buried in his backpack.