“Well, Ian, you don’t appear to be from this zone. What brings you here?”

Ian saw no reason to lie—there were many that likely aspired to reach the center where the most powerful and wealthy were said to reside.

“I need to go to the center.”

“The center?” said Sylvan in disbelief, glancing sideways hesitantly. “Not to be a party crasher, but your chances suck. It’s not just about being strong. You’re either born there, or one of them has the hots for you, but that never works out.”

Ian couldn’t rely on the coat tails of a stranger that could betray him. His back prickled as he recalled the soft brush strokes that had trailed over his skin. He had an ally, but it was a matter of proving he was worth investing in.

He needed to climb the ranks. He needed to become worth something.

“Listen,” said Sylvan when Ian didn’t reply, leaning forward on the small table.”We’re in one 5-C because it’s the least monitored.” He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “Here, we’re the least safe from diseases and pitted against Rifts, but we’re the safest from a worse danger.”

“The center is cruel,” nodded William. “I’m not sure of your reasons, but the glory and power comes with a price. And that price may be your life.”

Ian didn’t waver, his back pressed against the broken chair. His words were an irrefutable statement, one he needed no permission for. “I need to go to the center.”

Sylvan sighed loudly, scowling. “Don’t be stubborn, seriously! You don’t look half-bad, and sure, sometimes low-leveled rifts pop up near here and monsters escape. But life here is alright.”

Ian shook his head again. Sylvan clicked his tongue in exasperation.

“Fine. Fine, alright. Do you have anywhere to go? No, right, or you wouldn’t have been wandering around towards that District. Join us for our next mission.”

“Mission?”

William nodded, folding his hands around a chipped cup. “Registered Guides and Espers can pick up tasks, or form small teams to participate in the Rift extermination. It’s safer to register as a pair.”

“Yeah, you get those real twisted bastards that whisper nasty things into your ears. I thought mine would fall off.” Sylvan rubbed his ear in disgust. “But you have to start somewhere. Have you ever been in a rift?”

“I haven’t.”

“Crazy!” Sylvan exclaimed, rattling the chair. “And you’re aiming for the center? Wake up. The most you can do now is take on a low-level task, like foraging. The higher-ranks will take care of the battle while we collect material. Foragers only have two tasks, it’s simpler.”

He had no options. Uncertainty simmered in his stomach, but years had come and gone with that same anxiety ghosting the edges of his skin.

All he could do was walk forward and pray he didn’t drown.

Sylvan’s fist curled against the table, and he collapsed back in defeat. “That settles it, bastard. We’ll sign up for the next one together, there’s one that opens tomorrow.”

Ian nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s like I’m sending a chick to death. How old are you anyway?”

Ian didn’t want to hear such a thing from somebody younger than him—the youthful face made Sylvan appear younger, but there was a distant maturity in his liveliness that told of experience.

“24.”

“You’re older?!” Sylvan jumped again, and William laughed, placing a hand on the small of his back to placate him. The former cleared his throat squinting. “I guess, yeah. You look young, but you’ve got a good build. 24 is pretty young.”

“Syl,” reminded William softly. “You’re only 21.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a crazy chick seeking death in the Rifts.” Sylvan pulled out of the chair, pointing at a second weathered mattress pressed along the wall. A heavy quilt sewn of various fabrics draped over it. Ian had overlooked it, thinking it was a pile of clothes.

“You look good and all, but also miserable. Sleep here tonight, and I’ll rob it from you next time!”

Ian shook his head. He didn’t like imposing, and the kindness stirred unease. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No can do,” said Sylvan, dragging Ian by the arm with surprising strength despite his shorter stature. He shoved him crudely onto the bed and demanded loudly. “Now sleep.”

Obediently, Ian rolled over and closed his eyes, eliciting a delighted laugh from the other. A silly person, he evaluated. He listened to the rustle of fabrics and soft whispers as the light dimmed, plunging the room into darkness.

With his eyes closed, his thoughts drifted in and out of waking.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lost in his thoughts when a whimper sounded behind him, and he rolled over, propping himself up. By the table, in the corner of the room and surrounded by worn pillows and blankets, Sylvan trembled.

The cheerful man curled into himself, burrowing into the blankets like a small animal that had suffered grievous injuries. All traces of confidence faded.

Ian watched as another shadow—William—gently coaxed the bundle into his arms, whispering soothing words. His large hand traced comforting circles against the other’s back, and Sylvan stilled, furrowing his eyebrows deeply.

Outside, the low howls and screeches of nearby monsters circled the bases’ walls. Abnormal sounds and scraping dug against the fragile walls, made strong by their human barrier, a zone of flesh and sacrifice that protected the Center.

The outside zones had the occasional breakthroughs, when higher level monsters breeched the defenses.

Who knew if one of those monsters were once a friend or lover?

But what was better to stall them than the countless, worthless lives bundled into one place? Sacrifices that had no other choice but to prey it wasn’t their turn under the hollow red moon.

Ian tossed and turn but could not sleep in the unfamiliarity.

In the late evenings, he would lie still in that creaking metal bed and listen to Lucian’s pencil scrape against scraps of paper he’d gather from the bins. He would write and lightly press the papers flat under his mattress.

It did nothing when the cameras blinked red in the upper corner of the room, but the illusion of security seemed to grant him some peace.

When he finished, he would always turn and gaze quietly at Ian.

“Good night, Ian.” He would say, regardless of whether he knew the other was quietly listening. And Ian was. Always.

He would close his eyes then, and dream of his sister dancing in a meadow of blooming flowers, as free as a bird in a flourishing world. She would dance and dance until red painted her feet, scattering across the white petals that seemed to shake with laughter.

His eyes would snap open, sweat slicking his skin as he heaved, gazing at the familiar metal ceilings that trapped him.

Sometimes, the bed across from him would be empty. And sometimes, a sole figure would lie sideways facing him, breathing softly. Ian’s breaths would slow in synchrony, eventually returning to a regular pace.

Perhaps those regular days, torturous and slow and familiar, would never return.

No, he couldn’t let them return.

“Can’t sleep?” wondered a gentle voice, and Ian rolled over once more to meet the softly smiling face of William. He lightly combed through Sylvan’s hair, setting him against the bundle of pillows.

He stood, maneuvering to the kitchen with quiet steps, and twisted the knob on the stove, striking a match to light the gas. It took several minutes for the fire to flick on, a small and trembling glow of heat.

After setting a small blackened pot, he poured in a cup of milk and water.

They waited in silence as the liquid simmered, slowly heating up. Once it heated, he retrieved the chipped mug and poured it into two, walking over to hand one to Ian. He sat down before him, cross-legged.

“If you can’t, let’s talk a little?”