A man walked down the street, stiff briefcase in hand, his suit tight and uncomfortable in many places, the bags under his eyes threatening to become like deadweight, and a dead sigh escaping his chapped lips. Staring at the sidewalk, swerving around the crowds of people that yelled, screeched, and seldom excused themselves, he swiftly made his way into his favourite coffee shop. It was a quick swing into the glass doors, and a wave of relief that soothed his being, and he knew he could look up again.

For the heart of the city, it was almost vacant. Almost nobody came into this shop, which was odd, since most humans on the entire globe's surface drank gallons of coffee everyday. However, the woman who owned the place was known to not take rude comments lightly. Using her broom as a prized weapon, she drove out so many horrible customers that the rest had been too terrified to ever set foot in the quaint place.

"Mornin'," that unmistakable woman's voice called from the counter as the bell above the door signaled his arrival. She was bent down, grabbing something from behind the counter. Within another second her frizzled head popped up, and a playful grin streaked her dark, African face. 

"Ryan! Back as usual, huh? What can I get ya for?" Her black eyes glittered as she leaned over the counter, her typical white shirt and jeans combo underneath a stained, orange apron with the words 'Coffee Lover' expertly woven into the fabric. 

Ryan approached the counter, not even bothering to look at the menu and striking conversation.

"Rita. It's more dead than usual, isn't it? Just grab me the usual." She set off to work instantly, focusing half of her attention on the coffeemaker, her grin never quite fading.

"Bah, the mice of this city are just to wobbly in their knees to face a girl who'll beat them if they're a little snarky." She mixed in some sugar and cream into his coffee as she spoke. 

"Isn't that bad for business?" Ryan chuckled. Rita brought his coffee to him, closing the lid and placing it on the counter. She gave him a cocky look.

"Maybe so. But the customers I get tend to stick around now, don't they?" She pressed some buttons on the cash register and continued, "One French Vanilla; two bucks." Ryan plopped the money on the counter, taking his coffee and drinking a small sip.

"Thanks," he said. Rita stared at him for a moment.

"When are you going to quit?" She suddenly asked. Ryan nearly choked on his drink.

"Sorry?"

"You heard me. This stupid business job you have - when are you going to quit? It's easy to see you don't like it. The way you always drag your feet up here every morning...you must want something else. And I wouldn't quite say you have the ideal look for a businessman." Ryan sighed, looking to the left. A mirror stood, oddly aimed towards him. He could see his full reflection; a square jaw, jet black hair, some early morning stubble, and tired brown eyes. Oh, he also supposed that he had quite a few tattoos. And by quite a few, that meant they covered a good chunk of his body.

He had sleeves on both arms, each sleeve featuring a whip wrapping around his wrist. There were sharp blades around them as well, and the whips trailed onto his chest, where he knew a gleaming sun shone on his breast. On his back was a set of inked wings, its feathers gently resting on his back. There was also a small knife on his right ankle. What could he say? Ryan loved his weapons, his sun and wings. He loved his tattoos. It was a miracle he was able to cover them all for work. 

"Alright, so maybe I don't look the part. Or enjoy the part. At all. I still have to make a pay for rent." Ryan sighed, averting his eyes and gazing into the steam of his coffee.

"'Course. We all do. But, you know, I was once told that in an average human life, someone will make three major career changes. This might be the time to consider such a thing. Just keep it in mind, alright? Now go, you'll be late." Ryan hesitated, but gulped down his thoughts and gave Rita a last smile.

"Thanks," and this time he meant it. 

* * *

Another regular, boring day of numbers and complaints. One full of stress and uncomfortable pants. A lunch full of boring rice and overcooked steak. A walk home full of uneventful ruckus and pushes from other people. It was the kind of day that the average human went through without question, without ever wondering if there was more to the world other than earning a paycheck.

Ryan truly hoped that he'd find a better place than he was now. He had been thinking about Rita's words for most of the day. Even as he stalked home, slow and annoying the public, he still found himself swimming in her words.

Three major career changes, huh? Ryan thought. He never really wanted to be a businessman anyway - it was just an escape from his family nagging at him to go to college. The studying was difficult and time-consuming, and even though he had the job now he was still heavy into student-loan debt. Starting another career now would be foolish, financially. 

But something spoke inside of him, something that Ryan wasn't sure was a repressed feeling or some sort of hallucination. He needed a change. At this point, it didn't matter that he was in debt. He could start fresh - do something he actually loved for a living and feel good at the end of the day.

Ryan had made his decision. He was going to switch.

"H-Hey! Lemme go!" A high-pitched yell broke through his thoughts. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the shouts of angered civilians and gazing down an alleyway. He saw a small child, no older than ten years old, struggling against two full-grown men. Even though he was far away, he could still see the evil gleam in their eyes. The way they looked at the poor kid made him sick.

Without thinking, without reasoning, Ryan marched himself down the alleyway, a power surging through his body. The men glanced up, laughing as if Ryan's very presence was a funny joke.

"Can't you see we're busy here? Get lost, asshole." One of them gave a quick glance before going back to grabbing the boy.

"I-I'm fine! I can handle these bozo's myself!" The boy protested, though he looked unsure of himself. Ryan didn't speak a word. He hardly knew that his body was shaking. He hardly realized it when his fist collided with the man that spoke to him. It was a sturdy punch, but not enough to knock him down. The man spat on the ground, pissed.

"Jo, hold the kid. I'll take care of this fucker." The man let go of the boy and cracked his knuckles. "You don't know what you're gettin' yourself into." Ryan said nothing, glowering at the man's twisted, greasy, alcohol scented face. He swung, and Ryan barely dodged, the fist just missing his ear, and sent a nifty right hook at him. 

It collided, and for a moment he felt victorious. But the man was far from gone. He signaled for the other guy to join him and swung quickly, this time knocking Ryan hard in the cheekbone. The other guy joined in, kicking at Ryan as he fell down. Ryan could feel bruises forming already, the pain was so intense he felt tears roll down his cheeks. 

Not only that, but the pride he once held had so easily shattered. He briefly saw the kid's face through a swollen eye as the two men stopped beating on him and started to walk back. Crushed. No, beyond that. Ryan couldn't even describe the kind of pain that the kid must have been feeling. He felt something throbbing through his body, but assumed it could only be the physical pain he was going to be in for a few days at least.

By chance, he glanced down at his arm, the suit torn and his arm mucked up with dirt and gravel. He could barely believe his eyes. His tattoo was glowing. It was radiating a light of its own, a sort of luminescent aura.

My gift to you, a woman's voice spoke so soothingly in his ear, though there was no such woman around him at all. Though it was beyond all logic and reasoning, her voice filled him with such a great bound of determination that Ryan somehow found the strength to shakily come to his feet, all of his tattoos gleaming a heavenly light. A power surged through his fingertips, and he felt almost weightless.

The men disregarded Ryan's glowing tattoos; they must not have seen them yet, but the boy was gazing at Ryan with wide eyes. 

"You really don't know when to quit, do ya?" The greasy man said with a snicker. He geared his fist to strike, but was caught speechless when Ryan grabbed his hand with ease. Ryan didn't know why he felt this way, but something told him to reach into his tattoo. It was absurd - absolutely nothing could come of it, but when he used his free hand to come closer to the glow in his arm, his hand easily slipped inside.

Ryan felt his hand clasp around a sort of handle. He couldn't tell what it was, so he pulled it out. A whip, not unlike Ryan's own tattoo, appeared in his hands, with a strange, inky texture, and a familiar feeling in his hands. By this point, the greasy man was looking terrified, and his friend wasn't looking any braver. Ryan felt the whip easily snap at the greasy man, as if he'd known how to use them his entire life.

A gash appeared on the man's cheek, and his eyes widened as he felt the warm blood drip down his face. He wasted no time in letting out a girlish yell, dragging his comrade by the wrists as they bolted as fast as they could away from him. They were gone. Ryan looked to where the kid was, beaten and terrified. He approached him, and the child understandably flinched.

"D-Don't hurt me!" he cried. "I mean...I can t-take you on!" Ryan could see that he was trying to be brave, even in an odd situation like this.

"It's alright. I'm not going to do anything. No more fighting, okay?" Ryan gave the boy a small smile. As he did, his whip dissolved from his hand, the ink returning to the exact spot in his arm from where it came.

"How did you get those superpowers?" The boy asked.

"I don't know," Ryan answered honestly. "It just kind of...happened. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." The boy held his head up high, regardless of the bruises and cuts that were extremely visible.

"I can help you out, if you want. My home isn't too far away. Or - better yet, where's your parents? I can take you to them." The boy opened his mouth to say something rash, but thought better against it and instead stared at the brick wall, fighting tears.

"They're dead," he choked out. The smile vanished from Ryan's face. Dead?

"Oh," Ryan cleared his throat. "Well...I can't just leave you here alone. If someone else were to come and grab you then what we just fought for was worthless. Are you okay with accompanying me to my house?" The boy bit his lip, a thousand thoughts possibly running through his head. Ryan could barely sympathize with him - his parents were healthy and very much alive.

"Fine, mister. But you need to tell me your name first."

"That's easy. I'm Ryan, Ryan Ikaika. What's your name?"

"Markus. But call me Mark!"

"Will do." Mark was a bit reluctant at first, but soon stuck with Ryan as they made their way through the bustling city, gathering a few suspicious glances along their way, but pulling through all the way. Ryan had a billion questions rushing through his head that demanded answers. What happened to Mark's parents? Who was that woman that spoke to him? How did his powers even work? Why did he get them now, of all times? Ryan shook his head. There were more pressing matters to attend to now, all of his questions would be answered in time, sooner or later.

* * *

A/N: And that marks the end of this first chapter! This was an absolute joy to write - I've been wanting to introduce the character of Ryan for a while. So, what did you think? Let me know! I eagerly look forward to the next chapter.

2: Childish Plans

"Your house is pretty shabby, Ryan." The taunting of the little boy was already annoying Ryan to his breaking point. For just having been in a life-threatening situation, he seemed to be rather chipper and snarky instead of the fearful boy he was a few minutes ago.

Though Ryan would have to agree with his observation. His house, if it could even be called that, was simply an apartment identical to all his neighbours. The door itself was mildly sturdy, the wood chipping and splintering off in places. When they went inside, the smell of musty walls and carpets greeted them with a stench that a full can of Febreeze couldn't even cover. On the bright side, Ryan felt that his arrangement of furniture slightly compensated for the absurd smell. Though the actual sofa and chairs were nothing special, they tied the room together quite well.

A black, wooden dining table that could at most fit two people, two tall chairs, one of which was oddly dusty, and a surprisingly spacious kitchen that was kept as clean as it would get. The living room, while only containing a dark, low coffee table, a leather sofa, and a small flat-screen TV, was fairly cozy and inviting.

Ryan took his tight shoes off, feeling his feet and stretching his toes out in relief. Mark followed his lead, removing the scruffy and tattered running shoes that he had on. The socks he wore, Ryan noticed, had various holes and were filthy. 

This caused Ryan to finally come aware of Mark's entire appearance. His snowy shirt was a size too big for him, and dirty as well. The baggy jeans crumpled into a big heap at his ankles, just barely not covering his toes.

"What?" Mark had noticed his stare.

"Nothing. How long have you been wearing those clothes?"

"A couple days," Mark said shiftily. "What's wrong with that?" Ryan chuckled a little.

"You can wear something of mine for now. I can't guarantee it'll fit, but you can go have a shower and wash off all that dirt." Mark was looking at Ryan with an air of distrust. Ryan continued, "I'll make something for us to eat in the meantime. You're safe now, okay?"

Mark still looked resilient, but quickly scampered off to the bathroom, which wasn't too far from the entrance. As Ryan went to his room to change into something more casual, he heard the shower water begin to run. He threw his suit on his bed, loosening his tie, and put on a pair of sweatpants. Now that was more like it.

As he pulled on a white tank top he glanced at his torn up suit. There was no hope in resurrecting that shameless heap of clothing. He sighed, ultimately tossing the suit in the garbage when he came into the kitchen. It filled a good chunk of the trash, but it was nowhere near full, and he wasn't feeling energetic enough to take it out, anyway.

Opening the fridge, Ryan took out some eggs and cheese. Cracking the eggs over a frying pan and slowly turning the heat up, he set to slicing up small squares of cheese. The eggs fried quickly, and Ryan quickly scrambled them, adding in the small squares of cheese as he went. The eggs were just about done, only a minute or two until delicious results. Though he felt as though he was forgetting something.

"Ryan," Mark's voice called. Ryan turned off the stove and set the frying pan on a different burner, walking over to the bathroom.

"What's up?" Ryan saw Mark talking through the crack of the door.

"Can you go grab me some clothes? I'm finished." That's what he was forgetting. 

"Sure. I'll be right back." And so he briskly went to his room, looking for the smallest things he had. They were going to be huge on him, but Ryan brought back a pair of jeans that were tight on him, and a black T-shirt.

"They probably won't fit," he apologized. "But I'm sure we can tweak their size." Mark thanked him quickly, grabbing the clothes and instantly shutting the door. 

Ryan went back to the kitchen, splitting the eggs and grabbing two plates from the rack of clean dishes he was neglecting on putting away. The eggs steamed nicely, and Ryan was glad they were even still warm after all.

Within seconds, Mark emerged from the bathroom, his dirty clothes in his arms and just about everything drooping down on him.

"Where do I put 'em?" His small, blue eyes barely appeared over the bundle.

"Just in my laundry basket. It's in the room beside the TV - you can't miss it." He nodded, trudging along and lifting up his pants every few steps. Ryan pondered briefly on whether or not he had any extra belts laying around. He was sure that there was something. Before sitting down, he opened his small fridge and pulled out a container of ketchup. He didn't know about Mark, but he loved ketchup on his eggs. Most other people found him a little odd for mixing such things, though.

Mark waddled into the kitchen, climbing into the seat across from Ryan. Ryan passed him a plate of eggs and a fork, mixing in his own ketchup.

"You have ketchup on your eggs?" Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "It's good." 

Mark hesitated.

"Can I try some?" he warily asked.

"Of course. Do you want me to do it?"

"N-No! I can do it!" Mark insisted, taking the ketchup bottle and squirting some on his eggs. Ryan watched him with a slight bit of amusement. Mark was very much trying to be independent. Ryan respected that, but as an adult, knew that he could only go so far as a child. Mark mixed in the ketchup and took a bite.

"It's good," he sounded amazed.

Ryan laughed. "You sound surprised. A lot of people like ketchup on their eggs as kids. Guess I'm not quite a grown-up just yet." Mark smiled, his slightly crooked teeth showing. Ryan noted that it was the first time he had ever seen him do such a thing. It really lit up his entire face; the freckles and dimples more pronounced, his eyes sparkling as if they actually had a hint of life within them.

"How old are you, Mark?" Ryan asked. Mark scratched his head, which was full of bright, auburn hair that was beginning to grow a little long.

"I'm nine and three-quarters!" He announced proudly. "How old are you, Ryan?"

"A little more than I'd like to admit," he chuckled softly. "I'm twenty-seven now."

"You're so old," Mark giggled.

"Hey, one day you'll be older!" Ryan countered.

"Ew, no way. I'm gonna be a kid for the rest of my life!" 

"If only," Ryan muttered to himself. He scooped up his last bite of eggs, exhaling happily. Mark finished up his meal in record time, as well.

"So, what do you say we shorten up those pants of yours?" Ryan suggested.

"They keep falling down, that's all," Mark protested. "It's fine, really."

"Trust me, they aren't of much use to me anymore." Ryan got up from his seat at the table, grabbing both of their plates and placing them in the sink. He would deal with them later. Opening some of the drawers, he searched until he found what he was looking for - a pair of scissors. 

"Make sure you hold 'em away from me," Mark said. Ryan breathed out a laugh. He supposed he did have to set some sort of example for the kid. He turned the scissors so that they were not facing in front of him and knelt down to where Mark was sitting. He started snipping around where Mark's ankle was, taking off almost half of the pant leg. On Ryan, they would now be awkwardly tight shorts.

He cut the other leg off, and told Mark to stand up. The legs came only partway on the floor now. Ryan figured it would be enough for now. Mark would be growing, anyway. 

"I guess you need a belt, too?" Kneeling down, Ryan was only a little shorter than Mark, so he was able to look him squarely in the eyes. Mark nodded, his expression neutral, but his eyes confused and perplexed. Ryan quickly popped into his room and grabbed a black belt. He came back out with it, allowing Mark to put it on himself.

"I don't think there's too much we can do about the shirt, unless we cut some of the bottom part off. What do you think?"

"It's okay," Mark had gone oddly quiet. Ryan frowned, getting up and returning the scissors to their home. He was about to ask Mark if he would like to watch TV, but Mark spoke first. "Why are you doing this?"

It was such a genuine question that Ryan was unsure how to answer.

"W-What do you mean?" It had admittedly taken him by complete surprise.

"Those other guys...they only wanted to hurt me. They said they were going to really hurt me. I've heard it from a lot of other people, too. 'Stop that or I'm going to smack you upside the head!' and 'Get out of here!.' I hear it all the time from other adults. Why do you want to help me?" Mark's words broke Ryan's heart. To think that so many other people turned a blind eye to him without mercy was cruel. 

"Mark," Ryan began. "There are a lot of bad people in this world, unfortunately. Think of the world as one big peach tree. All the people that ever tried to hurt you are just rotten peaches. There are a lot more people who are kind, though. They're the fruit that's freshly picked off the tree. The really good, juicy ones. The reason that I want to help you? ...I don't really know, either."

Ryan paused, clearing his throat.

"But I do know that the sight of those men trying to harm you sickened me to the very core of my being. I felt that I couldn't just stand there and watch it all happen. I couldn't let them hurt you, kill you. I didn't know how to fight. I didn't know that I had this kind of power. All I knew was that I had to do everything in my power to save you. It's very difficult to explain...but do you understand?"

Mark was staring at him with wide eyes, captivated by his story. He nodded. 

"I want to help people, too," he said. "I've taken food from other people to help the other kids I see on the street, but they always end up leaving me behind anyway. I didn't think that it was worth it to help anyone anymore." He stared at the ground, the light lost from his eyes.

"Hey," Ryan placed a hand on Mark's head. "They just didn't know how nice of a person you really are. Never stop helping people, okay?" Mark nodded, a smile returning to his face.

"Can we watch TV?" he asked.

"Sure," Ryan smiled.

* * *

"Who's this?" Rita asked, astounded the next morning as Ryan and Mark stopped into her coffeehouse. 

"I'm Markus - but call me Mark!" Mark introduced himself.

"Oh really?" Rita looked at him skeptically, as if she saw something Ryan didn't.

"There was an...incident yesterday, so he's staying with me, now, I suppose. I'll tell you about it later, okay?"

"You'd better use a hell of a lot of detail to explain this one. How are you going to bring this up to your boss? The hours you have now are less than ideal for raising a kid."

"I'm not raising him, I-I think," Ryan flushed. "I'm just taking care of him until we can figure something out.

"You want to get rid of me?" Mark asked quietly.

"What? Of course not, you're a cool guy!" Ryan assured him. "But I don't know if I'll be allowed to take care of you."

Rita made a noise of agreement. "He's right. For one, the courts have to know that you'd be taking care of a minor, and two, your boss needs to know. It's gonna be tough, trying to explain this to him on such short notice. I dunno if he'll be lenient on the hours he has you on, Ryan."

"Then I'll quit," Ryan found himself saying. Rita almost dropped his drink, placing the French Vanilla on the counter to avoid another close spillage.

"You'll what?" She was taken aback.

"I'll quit," Ryan repeated. "It's like you said, Rita, I need a change. And if the boss won't move my hours into something reasonable, then I'll get a new job."

"Ryan, I was making a suggestion to think about, not to act on right this second!" Rita exclaimed. "This is career suicide, what you're doing! You have no back-up plan-"

"There's always something-" Ryan protested.

"Minimum-wage fast-food jobs will only get you so far-" Rita countered.

"I'll figure it out!" Ryan shouted, breathless and angered. He could feel the eyes of the people in the coffeeshop digging into his back like drills. Rita sighed, putting her hands to her face. 

"Ryan, please. I want to look out for you. You're a great guy. Don't make the biggest mistake of your life, please." Ryan said nothing. He had only thought of quitting on a whim, but suddenly it seemed like the right thing to do. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere where he was. He knew that doing the same, mundane tasks over and over again would turn him into the same, grueling, cruel beasts that already occupied most of the world already. 

He didn't want to be like them.

He grabbed Rita's hand. "Rita. I have a back-up plan. Trust me on this. There is something I can do...I just don't have it completely figured out yet, alright? I...I'm sorry for yelling. It was rude of me, especially in your store."

Rita sighed again, lifting her head. She freed her hands from Ryan's shaky grasp and poked the buttons on her till.

"One French Vanilla and a hot chocolate, three even. You'd better be right about this. I'll kill you if you're not." Ryan breathed out a sigh of relief, plopping the coin on the counter and giving a Rita a real smile.

"Thank you," and he truly, truly meant it.

* * *

The inescapable building was fast approaching the pair as they made their way through the bustling city. It was tall, industrial, and identical to all the other skyscrapers that dominated the skies.

Now more than ever Ryan felt the pressure of his choices beginning to weigh down on him. Did he really have the guts to up and quit the job that kept food on his table? What would he do if he was going to ever plan on rais- looking after a kid?

But he couldn't go back on his word. That's right - once he'd said something aloud, it was for certain. It wasn't the best way to live, mind, but Ryan hated going back on his word.

He briefly thought of Mark, who was sticking close to his thigh to avoid the oncoming traffic of bodies. Ryan still wasn't quite sure when he officially agreed to take care of him, but it just seemed to have suddenly...happened. Not that he was complaining; he had a certain fondness for the boy. Was it when he went to save him? Was it when he invited him into his home and offered Mark a place of solace? Ryan couldn't be quite sure, but simply letting him go would go against everything he'd fought for thus far.

Ryan and Mark stood in front of the sliding doors. The secrets that were held within would soon be revealed, Ryan knew, for one way or another, his life was going to change. The doors slid open gracefully, and Ryan held Mark close as they ventured inside.

* * *

He doesn't know I'm looking. He doesn't know I've been watching him ever since the glow. That power...it's simply ravishing. I want it. I need it. I will do anything to obtain it. But first, I must devise something...yes, a plan of sorts. One to lure him away from that small one...and then we will strike.

* * *

A/N: Another chapter - complete! This story keeps getting more and more interesting the more I write it. Is that a threat I smell? All you readers can do is eagerly wait for the next chapter, as will I. Thanks for all the support!

3: Impending Doom

The pleasant waft of the office greeted Ryan with it's usual, fake demeanor. Mark, on the other hand, was simply amazed by what he was witnessing.

"You work here?" he was bewildered.

"Yeah," Ryan said. That's right. He had become so accustomed to the office's charm that it no longer portrayed any sort of effect on him. Though if he were to travel backwards in time and come to the wonderment he felt when first walking in upon this place, he would be exactly where Mark was now.

A flowery scent, not too strong but subtle enough to notice, would greet him on the way in. It was enough to captivate him enough to have his eyes blown away by the official mystique of the clean, neatly furnished floor. The carpets, a crimson red, were cleaned daily, and always retained a fluffy bounce to them when walked on. The greeting desk was tidy, not a paper out of place. The blonde lady that sat there was neat as well, with not a strand of hair askew from her bun. 

Ryan gazed around, noting the other desks that were on the main floor; they mostly served to assist customers in their basic financial needs, but to get help with anything else, one would have to ascend to a higher floor. Every desk was polished and seemed new; the dark, oaken wood reflecting the fake smiles that the people at the desks had to wear every day.

The lobby had the same, minimalist style, with two leather sofas, a stack full of expensive-looking magazines, and a low coffee table with coasters stacked in the middle. Ryan knew that this layout was almost identical down to the last scuff mark (if one could even find such a thing) on every floor, but he didn't want to ruin Mark's enjoyment.

"Would you like to see the rest?" Ryan grinned at Mark, who's eyes shone with an excitement only a child could display.

"Yeah!" 

* * *

Ryan couldn't help but smile as they rose in the elevator together. Mark was simply fascinated by the exquisite decor and, as he put it, "fancyness" of the place altogether. Though Ryan couldn't ignore the feeling of dread as he rose to the top floor of the building, where his fate would be decided by a man who hardly knew his name.

The elevator doors opened with a cheery ding, as if mocking Ryan's awful situation, and with a gulp, he walked in. Mark stuck close to him, worriedly staring at his stony face. 

"What's going on?" Mark asked, his eyes swimming in a murky confusion.

"I need to talk to my boss about you, okay? We need to switch my hours around, maybe up my pay so I can afford to feed two...stuff like that. Do you want to wait here?" Ryan made the offer, already knowing what the boy was going to say.

"No, I'll stay with you." Just as he expected. Ryan smiled understandingly, giving Mark a small nod and a simple "Okay" before they approached the open room together.

For being such an open place, it was rather dark, the only light coming from the windows that lined the back wall of the floor. There was only one desk, and it was a few feet in front of the windows, the same dark, wooden colour as all the rest. The only difference was the unique sets of paper meant only for the boss's eyes, and a golden plaque with the threatening name engraved on it. John P. Withers.

It was admittedly not as threatening as names go, but anyone who had dared set foot into this establishment as an employee knew that John was no easy customer. Ryan could only hope he had a fighting chance.

"Excuse me, sir, but there is something I need to discuss with you," he started it nice and slow, the sweat dripping down his neck.

"Name," the deep, gruff voice came from behind a tall, leather chair. It only made Ryan think of a stereotypical villain in movies. He threw the thought away.

"Ryan. Ryan Ikaika. Sir, I-" Before Ryan could get another word out, John held out his hand, the palm towards him. Ryan clamped up immediately.

"State your business," he instructed.

"I'm here to rearrange my hours and possibly my wages, sir." 

Silence.

"And why would you need to do that?" He sounded mildly curious, but Ryan knew it was probably an act.

"I have another resident staying with me, and I need to care for them accordingly." A small "hmm" from behind the chair, and then it swiveled around, revealing the man himself. Balding, a stout mustache, and years of cold experience outlined his face. He wore a gray suit and tie, which marked his sturdy frame. His eyes peered down at Ryan as if he were a mere pawn in the grand scheme of things - which, in all truth, he was.

"A child, I see," he stared at Mark, who instinctively drew closer to Ryan, clinging to his pants. John brought his emotionless, black eyes to Ryan's face for the first time. "and why couldn't you bring this up earlier?"

"I only saved him last night, there was no time for-"

"Saved?"

"There were thugs trying to hurt him, I had to help, there was no way I could just walk away-"

"Meaningless." Ryan exhaled a shaky breath. John continued. "It would be easier to leave the weak on their own. Besides, you're still a strapping young man. You don't need to worry about something as trivial as children. And I'm afraid it's impossible for me to adjust your schedule or pay at this time. You'll have to make due." 

Ryan bit his tongue. He couldn't do it. In the heat of the moment, he couldn't protest, he couldn't defend himself. It was just like always. He couldn't ever ascend any higher than his crummy job or crummy status. Ryan lowered his head in shame. He couldn't even bring himself to look at the boy beside him.

"You're dismissed. Go, off to work with you." Mr. Withers gave his final order. Ryan dragged his feet behind him as he went, barely noticing the absence of a child until he spoke up.

"That's no fair!" Mark's fists were clenched, his face going scarlet. 

"I'm sorry?" Mr. Withers spoke threateningly.

"I said it's not fair! Ryan was a good person and you're yelling at him for that?! He saved my life! He deserves a lot more, mister!" Mark was panting, his fists now shaking uncontrollably and his expression determined.

Mr. Withers folded his hands together delicately. 

"Is this what you believe?" There was a small trace of mockery that was hidden within his tone.

"Yeah!" Mark shouted right away. "He used his powers to save the day!" An eyebrow was raised in surprise. The glimmer of a smile hidden. 

"Powers, now, eh? Ikaika, do you support the utter disrespect your son has shown me?" His dark, penetrating eye rested on Ryan's, and Ryan felt true fear coarse through his veins. 

He drew a shaky breath, his heart pounding. Then, all of a sudden, a warmth spread through him like liquid fire, starting from his heart and expanding throughout his chest. The flames flickered and shined, and Ryan felt for half a second that it would explode in front of him for all to see.

"Actually," he started, and couldn't believe what he was about to say. "I do. And...and 
if we can't rearrange something like this, then...I quit."

"You what?"

"You heard me. I quit." 

Mr. Withers didn't seem to react the way that Ryan thought he would. He took a deep breath, cracked his knuckles and adjusted his tie, and then smirked.

"Then you are dismissed. For good." Ryan had a sudden urge to beg for his job back, to plead with his boss and say that Mark was simply overreacting...but he bit it back.

"Goodbye, John," Ryan felt a lion roaring inside his chest. "And don't you ever disrespect this boy again. He's a much better human being than you turned out to be." And without a bat of an eye, nor a trickle of regret, Ryan swiftly turned upon his heel and marched out of the room with Mark sprinting to keep up.

The doors closed upon the two, and they descended down the shiny elevator.

John P. Withers sat at his desk, a curious and intrigued grin spreading across his face. 

"What an interesting development indeed," he said to himself, withdrawing his cell phone from his pocket and dialing a number. The receiver on the other side picked up, an amused voice speaking through.

"Hmm? Now, Johnny, boy, what brings you to my services?"

"I think I've found the one you're looking for."

* * *

"That. Was. Awesome!" Mark exclaimed frivolously.

"I just quit my job," Ryan felt as though all the air in his chest had been sucked out.

"You just beat that guy down!"

"I disrespected the boss."

"That was the best thing I've ever seen!"

"We're going to die dirt poor." Ryan and Mark walked down the busy sidewalks, keeping close. Though it was all made slightly more difficult by the fact that Mark was bouncing upon his every step the entire way home.

"Why aren't you happy, Ryan?" Mark's green eyes shimmered at him. "You totally won!" 

Ryan couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "Mark, I'm afraid that we have to think about a lot more now." 

Mark's smile faltered. "Like what?" he spoke quietly.

"Well, I need to get another paying job ASAP so that we can pay bills and get groceries, and I need to ration out the food we have now until then, so..." he stopped when he saw Mark's expression. Cleared his throat. Continued, "but it should be easy enough. I'm sure we can get through it together, right?"

"Right!" The smile was back.

That was a close one, Ryan thought. He kept forgetting just how young Mark was. He couldn't drill down the facts of reality down upon him just yet. For now, he could let him live happily and freely, like all children should.

"What's for dinner?" Mark chirped. Ryan pondered the thought for a brief moment.

"Why don't we visit Rita? She sells sandwiches and soups."

"Okay!" Was the response. Ryan needed to tell her what had happened, anyway. Not just with work, but...everything.

* * *

Mark slurped up his soup noisily, draining the last of the broth. He, Ryan, and Rita sat at one of the tables in Rita's coffee shop. Ryan had just finished explaining everything that had happened; saving Mark, the powers, and to end it all - his lack of a job. She sat there in deep contemplation, her fingers gingerly pressed to her nose. Ryan feared that she would yell at him again, but this didn't seem to be the case. If she had wanted to, she would have already.

Finally, she took a great breath.

"You realize that you are one of the biggest idiots of our century, right?" she kept staring at a spot on the table.

"Yeah," Ryan shamefully agreed.

"And you realize that you may have just doomed yourself for life, right?" She lifted her eyes to Ryan's.

"Yeah," Ryan swallowed, not daring to break eye contact.

"But, it can't be helped. You're an idiot, but you need a job. Something that will work." She seemed to be running over something in her head.

"I'll find something. I'm going to scour the newspaper for anything once I get-" She held out a hand to cease his chatter.

"It's not a problem," she said slowly. "Because I'd be willing to hire you."

Ryan's entire thought process stopped. Was he hearing things right? 

"You'll..." he was still trying to get his brain back into a functional organ.

"Hire you? Yes. It's the least I can do. I can't say it'll pay as much as you're other job, but it's some-" Before she could finish, Ryan got out of his seat, marched up to Rita, and embraced her in a tight hug. She was understandably surprised, but uncharacteristically embraced him back as well.

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." And there was never a time he didn't mean it more.

* * *

"Be here 9 o'clock, alright? No later. Just 'cuz I'm your friend doesn't mean I'll go easy on you. Be prepared to work your butt off." Ryan gave a final nod, smile, and was on his way with Mark as Rita gave him a quick rundown. She waved goodbye to them, heading back inside afterwards.

Mark and Ryan walked in silence, both of them beat down and tired after a long day. Mark was yawning and rubbing his eyes, and Ryan was trying to refrain from doing so.

"We'll get you to bed right away, okay?" Ryan said. Mark nodded, clearly too sleepy to respond. They came to the street that Ryan's apartment was on, and were relieved to see that it wasn't that far away.

The night air was crisp and clear as they walked, the darkness nearly having been completely spread over the horizon. The last traces of the sun were barely peeking over the rest of the buildings, and with the absence of the heat brought a slight chill to the night. 

Ryan thought that he imagined something out of the corner of his eye, but when looking in that direction, nothing was there. Strange. He could have sworn it was someone. Then again, even at night the streets were mildly busy. It could have been any passer-by. He returned his gaze to the building ahead of him.

He opened his mouth to say something to Mark, but as he did so an unnerving chill swept its way through Ryan's body, immobilizing him. He could barely take in a sharp stream of breath before his vision became spotted and blurred. What was happening? He couldn't tell - his vision was blacking out, though he wasn't hit in the head...Ryan fell to the ground, unconscious. 

The sound of a loved one screaming was the last thing that rang in his ears.

* * *

With a great cough, Ryan was brought back. His eyes snapped open, and he keeled over to cough more. He wheezed and hacked, warmth slowly returning to his body. He noticed then that most of his body was ice cold. The warmth sprouted from his chest, and Ryan was able to see through  the folds of his shirt that the tattoo of the sun near his heart was glowing with a brilliant aura.

Had he just died?

Better yet, if he had, how did he activate his powers if he was out cold? How was he alive? How was Mark alive?

Mark.

His heart skipping a beat, Ryan frantically swept his eyes around the street, growing more panicky as he realized with horror that he wasn't there. Mark was gone. But he wouldn't just run off. Was he taken? Kidnapped?

Ryan began to pace around, his hands shaking, his mind reeling. What was he going to do? Call the cops? Call for help? Someone? His mind was so boggled that he barely heard the dial tone that rang from inside his pocket. After the third ring, he noticed.

Hesitantly, he reached in his right pocket and pulled out a foreign-looking device. It wasn't his. It was a small, flat circle of technology, with a blue screen with buttons below. One of the buttons was flashing a bright blue. He pressed it. 

A small hologram came up, depicting a person with a mask on. It was a theater mask, of all things, and a smiling one at that. It stuck Ryan as creepy, to understate it. A voice began to speak, and it was clearly a man's.

"Hello, Ryan Ikaika. If you've survived long enough to hear this message, then congrats. You are the one we're looking for. Now, don't worry," the voice chuckled eerily. "we didn't take any of your personal artifacts. We're not thugs or any of the like. However...we did take something you seem to care about. Say hello, Marki." The camera panned over to what appeared to be a jail cell, and there was no mistaking the terrified face of Mark peering through the bars.

"Ryan?" His voice was so frail. So afraid. "What's going on?"

"What is going on indeed, Marki!" The camera whooshed back to the theater masked man. "Now, lookie here, Mr. Ryan. We've done a bit of digging, and it seems you have a very unique set of powers. This is merely a test to see if you are worth anything or not. What fun! Now, listen carefully. We have you're little buddy camping out with us at a little place we call The Harlequin House. Yes, quite an odd name, I know, but doesn't it just fit? Anyhoo, what we need you to do is get yourself over here nice and quick. I believe we'll give you a month to do this. That should be plenty of time to track us down and get here."

Pause.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, if you can't do this measly little task..." He walked over to Mark and pulled out a sharpened blade. His voice instantly switched to a dark undertone. "then you can kiss you're little one goodbye." The video cut out at that point, leaving only static for Ryan to talk to.

He was aghast. 

He was sickened.

He was enraged.

But most of all, he was determined to get Mark back.

4: Nobody's Fool

Ryan was in his apartment, rapidly scrambling to quickly pack a bag. He knew he needed to get going as soon as possible, but wasn't stupid enough to leave with just the clothes on his back. 

He had a small bag with two pairs of clothes, the rest of it he was stockpiling with snacks and canned goods. He made sure to bring his wallet, as well. Never know when he would need to buy more food.

He zipped up the small bag, hoisting it on his back. He grabbed his keys which hung on a hook beside the door, and gave his small life a last glance. It was only a few days ago he was trudging along through each and every day, only looking forward to a paycheck at the end of the week. 

He was ready to kiss it all goodbye. 

Ryan picked up an envelope on the table before he went out. It was addressed to Rita. He planned on delivering it in person, but given the time, it was likely that Rita was fast asleep by now. He exited his apartment, closing and locking the door, and not looking back as he went down the elevator, and through the front door. 

He bustled down the street, keeping a fast pace as he went; the envelope was fluttering in his chilly hands. He was coming close to Rita's coffee house. His first stop. The blinds were drawn across the windows, the lights blackened. The sign inside read "Closed." Ryan wouldn't think she'd be open, anyway.

He checked his watch. Two thirty-three in the morning. He briefly wondered when he would get a full nights rest again. Though considering he didn't quite have time for such idle thoughts, he grasped the envelope firmly, and took a deep breath. Exhaling, he shoved it under the space between the door as far as he could before his fingers couldn't reach in any farther.

No turning back.

Ryan turned on his heel, determination swelling in his chest. He took lengthy strides, his mind deciding where to begin his search.

* * * 

Unsurprisingly, the name "Harlequin House" didn't appear on any popular tourist destinations. If this was going to be as difficult as the masked man made it sound, then he would have to do a bit more digging.

He tore through a local newspaper, finding nothing, and then proceeded to peer through the bigger and broader papers. He was beginning to think that even getting a small lead was impossible.

Ryan's eyes were beginning to droop. He hadn't slept a wink all night, much less eaten anything of note. He wasn't very hungry. As he drearily scanned the paper, the advertisement almost escaped him.

Looking for part-time work? Drop a resume off at Christine's Crystals. First come first serve. (Sponsored by the Harlequin House)

A direct lead? It seemed to be an easy coincidence, but there was no mistaking the name 'Harlequin House.' There was an address and phone number at the bottom of the ad. Ryan thought it was a miracle he saw it, anyway. It was a small square in the bottom corner of the paper. The typical onlooker would simply skim over it in their readings.

Though the shop in question was only a few blocks away from here, it wouldn't take him long to find at all. He memorized the address as best as he could, and set off down the street. He came to a corner and waited for the traffic light to change, and followed the stream of people that crossed with him. 

A turn to the left, straight down for a couple blocks, and one turn to the right...it was right on the corner of the street. An eloquently carved wooden sign greeted him with cursive words reading out Christine's Crystals. He walked inside, and had to stop himself from hacking up a lung.

The entire place reeked of way too much perfume. Though the chimes on the door twinkled merrily, and the rest of the store contained aisles of many different types of jewels, the stench of the perfume seemed to mask any sort of beauty by making his eyes water. 

There was a definite hippie vibe to the place, above all else. The windows were covered in half-transparent scarves that illuminated the store with bleached colours of all shades and harmonious blends. It wasn't an overly bright place, but Ryan had to admit it had its charm. He came up to the front desk, which was vacated, and scanned around for any soul. He couldn't see anyone. There was a bell atop the polished wood, so he pressed on it, and a hearty ding echoed through the small space.

"Just a minute!" A drifting, dreamy voice called out. Ryan only had bad feelings about who was in the back of this store. A woman, clearly in her late forty's, strolled out with an air like she was always walking on a cloud. Her long, curly brown hair traveled all the way down her back, resting at her hips, and her calm, chocolate eyes evaluated him kindly. She was dressed in what one would think a hippie was dressed in, that being a long, tan skirt that touched her ankles, and a faded rainbow shirt underneath a loose denim jacket with the sleeves cut off. She wore a tattered purple headband to tie the entire look together, and greeted Ryan with a smile.

"Yes, yes, have you found something you like?" Her smile didn't seem fake or forced at all. Ryan wondered if she was genuinely happy. He shook his head, however, and figured he would get down to business.

"No, it's not that. I saw your ad in the paper-"

"Oh! My, are you looking for work? You've come just in time, any spot you want isn't taken, so there are no worries about-"

"I-I'm not here for a job!" Ryan interjected loudly. "Sorry," he added, upon glimpsing the expression on the woman's face.

"It's...not a problem. I just..." she exhaled a long, exhausted sigh. Ryan immediately felt bad about the entire situation.

"It's alright. I should have explained myself in better terms. I came to ask you a question about your ad." The woman gazed at him with slightly sad, yet intrigued eyes. Ryan continued, "You say you're sponsored by the Harlequin House. Do you have any idea of the whereabouts of this place, or even something to push me in the right direction?"

The woman glanced down at the desk, some new, complex emotion crossing her face. Ryan couldn't quite tell what it was. She glanced around the shop, though Ryan was sure that she knew they were alone enough to have a private conversation. She motioned for him to come closer. He did.

"They're not overly well-known, but they are beginning to make a name for themselves, the Harlequin House," she began. "The only reason I'm still in business is because they offered me a partnership out of the blue. I was going bankrupt, and then paid all my debts off. All they want me to do now is get some extra hands around here. I don't know what for, because I can handle a lot of this myself, but I haven't exactly been one to judge. As for where they actually are, I don't have enough knowledge or authority for that. They tell me nearly nothing."

Ryan sighed. He hoped this wasn't a dead end. 

"But, I think I may be able to direct you to someone who does know."

Ryan looked up at her. She had a hard, determined look on her face now. 

"I know they're up to something. I have a pen pal who lives a long ways from here - he's one of the, er, higher-ups of the company, though he's told me he's trying to crack their code. Apparently I'm not the only small business who's been benefited by them with little expense."

"Thank you so much, I"m sure I can find him," Ryan couldn't believe his luck.

"B-But he lives way off the beaten path, it's treacherous and nearly impossible to reach there by car-"

"Then I'll walk. I'm looking for someone else, too, so this might just help me find them..."

The woman was gazing at him with some sort of fascinated look. Ryan supposed that the casual way in which he said 'walk' may have sounded a lot more jerkish than he meant it to, as if he walked great distances everyday.

"I'd recommend you get a ride as far as you can, dear, the mountains become dangerous at night - or really at any other time."

"The mountains?" Ryan's mouth was agape. He didn't exactly think far meant that far.

The woman gave a sad chuckle. "Surprising, isn't it? I asked him what possible reason he could have for living in such a place, but he only said he wanted the peace and quiet. Each to their own, I suppose. Are you sure you're still up for it?" Ryan nodded, though he felt a churning in his gut that was rather unsettled from the idea of skipping through the wilderness.

"Seems like I can't stop you then." She bent over underneath the desk, the sound of papers and other trinkets rustling as she pulled out a tattered sheet of paper and a pen with a selection of colours to choose from. She was about to write something, but stopped. She looked at Ryan with a grin and asked, "What colour?"

"Uh, green is fine," Ryan wasn't overly sure why she was asking. The woman scribbled down upside down words. Ryan was almost certain they were directions. Sure enough, as she flipped over the paper, a hastily scribbled map with word directions on the side were just barely legible.

"Sorry about my messy writing," she apologized. "But it should be enough. Out of curiosity, who are you looking for?" Ryan pocketed the note, a grim reminder flashing across his eyes. The woman must have noticed, because she instantly stuttered out an apology, her face flushing a light pink.

"He's very important to me," Ryan interjected, his eyes reflecting something unseen. "Even though I only met him a few days ago, he kind of took a shine to me, and me to him."

"How old is he?" said the woman after a pause.

"Nine and three-quarters," Ryan answered instantly. "he was taken, so it's up to me to find him again, right?"

The woman opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it, and instead gave him a heartwarming smile.

"I wish you the best of luck." She shook his hand.

"Thanks, er..."

"Judy. Call me Judy."

"Then what's with the name of the shop?" 

Judy laughed. "Christine was my mother. She's long since passed, but I couldn't bring myself to change the name. Speaking of the store, why don't you take this?" She reached inside her shirt and pulled out a necklace with an ebony, sharp crystal at the end. "If you're going on a journey, you should have all the help you can get."

She placed the bark-like, pitch crystal in Ryan's hand, and Ryan was surprised to feel it to be smooth and warm.

"I...I can't..." Ryan trailed off, unable to find the right words.

"You can. I think you'll need it more than I. It's called Black Tourmaline, and it's supposed to ward of negative energy. Take it, please." Judy insisted. She closed Ryan's hand over the crystal and gave him a smile.

"Thank you," he breathed, and was on his way.

* * * 

"...if you can't do this measly little task, then you can kiss your little one goodbye." The man in the mask gave one last sadistic grin towards the camera, and suddenly dropped the expression. His smile turned into something more playful, and the knife against my throat slackened.

"That's a wrap, fellas!" he called. "I've always wanted to say that," he added afterwards. I stood by in horror, unsure of what to do. The bars of the cell opened with ease, and the man motioned for me to come out. I didn't move. 

I was scared. I hardly knew where I was. I wanted to see Ryan again.

"Come on, kid, we don't have all day." 

"Aren't you going to keep me prisoner?" I asked stupidly. It was such a straightforward question that I immediately regretted uttering it.

"Hon, if we were to let you live in a box like that I'm sure you'd develop schizophrenia or something along those lines. I'm a lot more kind to my guests than you think. Now, come along, I need to show you around." 

The way that he said guests sent a shiver through my core. I only had bad feelings about what was happening, but decided to follow anyway. What choice did I have?

I gazed upwards at the villainous man who led me across the seemingly elongating hallway. He had a cheery, pointed face. I had intentionally expected him to speak with a drawl, but instead he spoke with an unnatural enthusiasm that was so sharp it could pop a balloon. 

Maybe it was all an act. The intense psychopathy I sensed from him was clearly present in the way he forced a smile at passersby. The corners of his mouth never quite met the twinkle of his eyes.

His eyes were an icy blue, seemingly penetrating through the eyes. In the short times he had looked me straight in the eye, I felt as though he saw something more. Maybe he was hiding it in his wide grin.

Maybe he knew.

No, that couldn't be right. I'd kept myself well-enough under wraps. I put tape over every hole that could be prodded, it was unlikely that something could leak so easily. 

And yet, I couldn't tell whether this man was truly friend or foe. Clearly, he should be an enemy, considering he swept me away so swiftly I barely had time to blink. But his demeanor and odd body language seemed to place him as something completely different.

"Now, I know I look fascinating, but you should really pay attention to where we're going," the man said with a curl in his lip. I averted my eyes from his slender figure, fixating my gaze on the shining tile that clicked under our feet.

"Who are you?" I finally gathered up the courage to ask.

"That's what I'd like to know." He looked to me with expectant, snake-like eyes. 

My breath caught in my throat. I cleared it, and spoke, "Marcus. Now what about you?"

"Don't sound so eager, Mark." The man waved away my question. "We're almost to where you'll be staying. You can find out anything you have questions about from the staff." He placed a thin hand on my shoulder, squeezing a little harder than necessary. I gathered the message clear enough. 

We came to a tall, thick, wooden door with simple engravings welded into it. The engravings swirled around each other, adding a simple, minimalistic design to the surface. The man opened the door with a mighty push. It creaked as though it had never been opened before, though the interior looked like it had just been polished five minutes ago.

Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting abstract pictures that I couldn't understand. The one that made the most sense was a clown in a faded suit frowning and staring out of the painting. The rest of the wall was shaded in a dim, red hue of light that could only make me think of blood, and the carpets weren't any better. It was a less intense scarlet, but the crimson fabric still sent off all the wrong messages.

There was a dramatic, giant mass of a bed that seemed only fit for a princess, its sheets pale as a vampire. The nightstand that sturdily stood beside it was polished a dark brown, as well as any other wooden furniture that eerily stood in the room, such as a low table, the dresser, and the desk. 

But the most offsetting thing about the entire room was the fact that is was almost singularly filled with dolls, giant stuffed animals, and one sinister-looking, stuffed harlequin figure that sat in the middle of the room. It had no arms, two dangling, striped legs, an impossible smile, and a jester hat to top it all off.

"Welcome home, Mark." The man whispered, a short chuckle escaping his lips. His laughter echoed in Mark's head as the door slammed shut.

He was trapped.

5: Mysterious Encounters

The leaves crunched against Ryan's dirty running shoes as he traveled along the woodland path. He had come quite far in his journey, having taken a day to get this deep in the forest, but surprisingly hadn't come across any problems. He was genuinely surprised to have even reached the forest without much difficulty, since it was way off the beaten path, but even so found himself well-equipped and prepared for the trek ahead.

"Just follow the path, it doesn't branch out at all do you should be fine!" Was what the chicken scratch on Judy's note said. It was simple.

Too simple, a tone stereotypical of a cheesy action movie rang through Ryan's head. He ignored it. There was no way he was going to succumb to that of ridiculous clichés. They didn't belong here of all places, anyway.

And then, like the quiet before the storm, he felt something stir.

Goddammit, Ryan thought irritably. 

Gathering his bearings and shaking away his absurd thoughts, Ryan decided it was probably better to focus on the matter at hand - the noise he had heard. It sounded like the crunching of leaves, though he couldn't distinguish it from his own noisy footsteps.

Ryan stopped on the path he was on, listening intently. He doubted there would be anything else out here than himself and wildlife, if he was lucky. 

Crunch.

There it was again, except now Ryan knew where it was. It was...he felt an ice cube drop in his stomach. It was behind him. He whisked his head around with such force that his neck felt like it was about to snap.

The only thing that was behind him were the colourful trees that swayed ever so gently in the breeze. He sighed, disappointed in his fickleness. He turned around, shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweater, and went on his way.

He only got about five steps ahead when an awful screech echoed through the forest.

With a blast of light narrowly missing his ear, the feeling of dread that he was so unfamiliar to easily crept back into him. He was able to see something in the distance, and though it was blurry, it was unquestionably anything but a human.

What was more confusing was the fact that a laser had almost killed him. Technology was advancing, but it wasn't that advanced...was it?

As if to answer his inquiry, the shadow in the distance grew closer. Ryan squinted to try and make it out, and it was only until the shadow was nearly on top of him that he realized it wasn't a creature. It was literally a shadow swiftly slinking across the ground; and it was headed straight for him.

Startled, he jumped back, desperately trying to figure out what to do. A thousand thoughts raced through his head. Hide in the trees? Run? Where? None of his questions heeded answers, and the shadow was advancing. 

Ignoring all logic and reason, he ran straight towards the ebony beast. Praying that his whimsical plan would work, he grazed his arm against his whip tattoo. 

Just reach inside, he told himself. And then pull out the whip. His fingers met the tan, firm skin of his forearm. It was as if a barrier separated him from his power, rendering him completely vulnerable. But by this point, it was too late. 

The shadow lurched from the ground, knocking Ryan in the stomach and sending him flying backwards. Ryan felt all the air wheeze out, and felt like his lungs were about to collapse. He landed on the leafy ground, dirt coating his back and a pain in his stomach like no other.

He tried reaching for his tattoo again. The mark refused to glow, no matter what he tried. Ryan was practically clawing at his arm, desperate to have some sort of power to fight. He hardly had any time to react as the shadow threw him again, this time sending him several feet forward. 

He landed on his stomach, lying on the ground and staring at his arm. He couldn't believe he was going to be finished off this easily. Ryan always saw himself going out in a more meaningful way, not being tossed like a dog toy.

Now that he looked closer at it, Ryan noticed that his tattoo wasn't as vibrant as it usually was. In fact, it appeared to be quite faded, as though it was only half there. A sickening thought hit Ryan like a brick. Maybe he wasn't able to use his power because it had to recharge. Was it possible that there was a set waiting time after each time he used his power?

If so, he was out of options. He had used his whips to defend Mark; the sun revived him from the dead...he had his wings. 

No way. Humans couldn't fly, even if they did have supernatural-inky-generally-odd powers that could being their tattoos to life. And yet...Ryan had to do something. He could feel the shadow preparing to strike again. Ryan highly doubted a shadow could fly. 

He mustered up all the hope he had left, concentrating on his back. A warmth that was akin to the flames inside a fireplace spread gently through his upper back, making its way down. Ryan caught a glimpse of them out of the corner of his eye - a set of beautiful wings that seemed almost transparent. It was as though he were inside a painting, and van Gogh had just finished the final addition to a masterpiece.

The shadow seemed to had stopped, but only momentarily. It must have been just as captivated by Ryan's wings as he was. Within seconds, the shadow snapped out of its trance and launched itself at Ryan. Ryan gasped, jumped back, and found himself over ten feet in the air. 

The warmth on his back was reminiscent of a charming smile, and he could feel every part of the wings as though they were his fingertips. He pushed, and soared higher. The shadow rose from the ground, watching Ryan as he ascended. It looked to be almost human-like, with glowing white eyes that emitted the only bright light that came from the creature. Though its body was cloaked in darkness, it seemed to be melting, having the consistency of tar. The shadow gaped with a mouth that drooped far lower than a human's mouth could ever reach.

Ryan couldn't believe that he had gotten away. True, he was shooting through the air at an unbelievable speed, and he hadn't exactly gotten the feel of the entire staying in the air thing, but things seemed to be fairing...alright.

But alright wasn't enough for him to almost fly straight into trees several times. Alright didn't mean he wouldn't crash into a fairly large tree with a thick trunk. Alright didn't give him the knowledge of how to steer. 

In fact, he was less than alright when he noticed that his wings were fading. Slowly but surely, the once vibrant ink was growing thin. He was going to have to land sooner rather than later.

That seemed to bring up another valid question. Just where exactly was he? Scanning the trees, the only thing revealed to him was that there was no path in sight. Ryan lowered himself so that he was closer to the ground. Even still, he was completely lost.

The final spirit of his wings vanished from existence, and Ryan stumbled as he was forced to face the crippling aspect of gravity once again. All that surrounded him were trees. Endless trees. Ryan did a full 360, worried that he would be stuck here until the end of time, or worse; until it was too late to save Mark.

He squinted to the right, focused harder to the left. He began to wander, seeking refuge somewhere, anywhere to gather his bearings. After a fearfully long while of searching, Ryan spotted something. Upon closer inspection, it was a cave. 

A stone cave in a the middle of a forest? It seemed rather strange to him. Peering inside the cave didn't clarify anything either, since it was darker than night. There was nowhere else to go...but his powers couldn't save him if he needed them. He was spent, not a single cent left to his name.

As he pondered whether this cave was a good idea or not, a horrifying screech echoed through the forest. Ryan flinched, nearly having a heart attack, and whipped his head around to face where he thought the noise came from. He squinted and saw the same creature from before, bellowing the racket. It sounded like it was calling for backup. 

That seemed to settle the decision rather quickly. Hoping it hadn't seen him, Ryan darted into the cave, soon finding his surroundings to be nothing but a blind man's world. He felt around, searching for a wall to follow, and felt his hand graze on bumpy, yet smooth, stone. It was damp to the touch as well, with a hint of a musty smell nearly hidden by the scent of rain.

Ryan decided not to go too far into the cave - he still wanted to go back outside, after all. He found a sturdy bit of rock that extended out far enough that he could easily use it as a sort of chair. His body nearly collapsed into the seat, worn out from a level of exercise Ryan was seldom used to.

His eyes were drooping, his head falling slack. But he couldn't sleep; what if the shadows discovered he was hiding out in this cave? He was going to run out of time to save Mark - the psychopath that held him was going to slaughter him long before he got there. 

And yet he couldn't stop his consciousness from drifting off, until his eyes were nearly closed. Just before he passed out, a large, dim, white light gleamed before him. He could hardly ponder what it was, as his body drifted off. Ryan was asleep before his head rested against the stone of the cave.

* * * 

Impressive, very impressive. I didn't think he had a way to escape one of my creatures. Turns out he's at least moderately capable. I think that easily brings him to the top fifty...but now he's taken refuge in that silly excuse of a cave. I don't think I even have to send anything out there to conflict with him this time. Ha. I can't wait to see the horrendous horrors he has to endure next.

"Hey," It was the voice of that boy. I flinched, dropping a blotch of ink on my research journal. I glanced at the entry I had just written, and shut the book. Turning, I saw his innocent-looking eyes gaze at me with such fierceness it brought a smile to my lips.

* * * 

The psychopath's icy eyes glittered at me as though I were a frog about to be dissected. A strange expression crossed his face, and his lip curled into an unsettling, sinister smile.

"What is it?" he asked with a cunning undertone.

"Where's the bathroom?" I asked without shame. At least, I didn't display my shame. 

"Didn't I specifically say you could ask the staff?" His steady gaze was unrelenting. Creepy.

"I couldn't find anyone. Where is it?" I refused to let my voice waver. I was going to get through this...alone, if I had to. If Ryan couldn't make it here, I was on my own.

The psychopath chortled. "Look across the hall from your door. It's three doors down. Now, off with you. I have work to do."

"Like what?" I pressed.

"Adult things, sweetie. I'll tell you when you're older."

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair. Now get out." He flicked his finger at me, and though he was a good distance from me, I felt myself forced backwards, easily stumbling out the door. It was as though a giant, invisible hand had pushed me out.

Rude.

I huffed a sigh, picking myself off the ground and gritting my teeth. I so badly wanted to know what he was writing about. What he was planning. I knew he was watching Ryan. Gaining an advantage. An unfair one, at that. He was learning what he could do through observation. 

Such a clever tactic for such a rattled mind. When I was studying him moments earlier, he seemed to be jotting something down frantically, as though an exciting thought had just burst its way into his head, and he just had to write it down.

It tormented me to be unaware of what he was writing down.

Well, I didn't have much else I could do. I headed back to my room. I'm sure that that Mr. Psycho knew that my question of where the bathroom was was a lie. I had already discovered that the moment I was out of that petrifying room. 

Though I knew I wouldn't be out of there if it wasn't for the being that hovered beside me. I had tried to ignore it, believe that it didn't exist, so that perhaps it would just fade away. A ghostly harlequin figure had come to life, and I wasn't exactly up for getting chummy with it.

I still don't understand what I saw. One second the giant figure was as solid and creepy as all the other dolls in the room, and right after I had grazed an idle fingertip over it, it sprang to life. 

It reminded me of a macabre and sinister rendition of Frosty the Snowman, minus the fun and dancing.

I also couldn't be sure whether or not I was the only one who could see it. Mr. Psycho didn't seem to be able to, but that source was misted at best. The spooky harlequin just followed me with that jester-like grin permanently plastered on its face. 

Nonetheless, it had proven to be an assistant rather than an enemy. Recalling the incident, I remembered skittering to the farthest wall, terrified for my life. I thought the ghostly being was coming straight for me, when it suddenly changed directions to the door. Somehow, whether it be magic or a clever lock picking trick, the door gently creaked open, which was a miracle in itself since the door was so heavy.

I thanked it, and ventured out. I didn't exactly expect it to linger, but it ended up tagging alongside me as a companion. In all honesty, I didn't mind the company. It made talking to myself feel a lot more natural.

Though the occasional maid or butler would sardonically gaze at me, one eyebrow raising to the very top of their head. I learned to ignore them fast enough.

Now, I came into the hallway where my cell of a room was. A quick glance around was hardly enough to remember just how much of a maze this fortress really was. All the doors were seemingly identical, and not one door had a label. 

I pushed the door that I thought was my room, and easily discovered that it wasn't so. Instead, what greeted me was a vacant room. There was no furniture, no flooring or wallpaper. Nothing hung on the walls; it was just a small room of concrete. 

I closed the door. I didn't want to know what that room was possibly for. I walked a couple doors down, randomly choosing another symmetrical door and opening it.

Inside was an extravagant, professional-looking kitchen. This, too, was vacated. Not a single soul aside from me and...Sir Marx, if I could count him at all. I figured that the 'x' at the end of his name made him sound at least a little cooler and personable than he actually was. 

With that out of the way, I wandered around the kitchen, my feet making clapping noises as they hit the bare tiles. Before me stood a tall, powerful fridge. Opening it, I was surprised by the heavy amount of food that was in here. The shelves of the fridge were practically stuffed with fruits, vegetables, meats, and the occasional pudding.

As I debated whether or not to splurge on pudding, I heard a startled voice beckon towards me.

"You shouldn't be here," It sounded like a girl. I spun around, surprised to see a girl my age blinking at me through one green and one black eye. 

"Hello," I breathed, the shock still not quite gone. I felt as though I was forgetting something. The girl looked beside me, and then back at me with a face contorted with worry.

"Leave," she said, walking towards me. "Please." 

"B-But-"

"Go!" Her voice was suddenly louder, almost a roar. I shut my mouth, skittering away. I glanced back, opening my mouth to say something. My breath caught in my throat. She was directly behind me. I hadn't heard any other footsteps than mine.

"I'll find you later. You have to leave now, they're coming," she whispered the words so quietly, her mouth hardly moving. I didn't understand what she was talking about, but nodded anyway, exiting the room and hurriedly darting down the hallway. 

After trying a few doors, I found where I was supposed to be. Marx followed me in, and I shut the door once he was inside. My mind was still reeling; I had so many questions. 

I put them to rest for now.