"So there are kidnapped kids all over Dogson?"

Mr. Orion tumbles to Roy's chair, not daring to lean back, as if afraid the chair might collapse soon. His eyes are brimmed with sorrow, or maybe the burden of the secrecy he must carry all this time. "I've heard of the plan. But I'm not involved."

"But still, you knew." As Roy's tone rises, he marches forward with his sickle still in hand. Lin-Irene rushes to snatch it away, but one look at his hatred-burned eyes stops her. "Their lives could be saved, Dad. My Lowlife friends and their child might be alive by now..."

"Don't call them your friends. You barely know them."

"I'm prouder to ever have them as friends, rather than sticking with people like Jorge and Beatrix Kamal."

As if sensing the sparking tension between the two, Lin-Irene steps back, approaching my mattress with a roll of her eyes.

Driven by my instinct, I grab my backpack with the safe of Mantis shrimps inside, hugging it above my lap. Yet, my action makes her chuckle.

"You're still afraid I'll take them back, aren't you?"

"You're their caretaker." I need to raise my voice to survive amidst Roy and Mr. Orion's argument. "You'll do anything to get them back."

A sinister smile curls up on her lips as she leans on the wall while avoiding Miro's dirt-speckled mattress. "I would. But now, I'm not sure."

I search for a hint of betrayal in her voice—a quivering voice or anything—but there's none. I hug the backpack tighter, still full of anticipation. Someone's drastic change rarely means something good, either by their behavior or their more-relaxed tone of speech.

Moreover, when it's someone who has locked up Auntie Morgan in prison and hurt Sandra with her weapon.

"After I got into the hospital, I realized that I was just a pawn." She chuckles bitterly, biting her cheeks' insides afterward. "I wanted to get my shrimps back because they're my pets. And I wanted to get Jorge's attention so he would help me achieve my goals. He once needed me to handle OCZ's dirty schemes as well, after all."

"Goals?" I raise my voice again at the evolving cries in the father and son's exchange.

"Yes. Higher ranks in society. I need to get there to not lose the competition between"—she counts with her fingers—"one million people in Dogson."

"Does that involve me?" I tilt my head, trying to make brief eye contact. There are glimmers in her charcoal eyes that are impossible to look away from, once one stares at them too long. "Am I also a competition for you?"

To my surprise, she giggles with a hand covering her mouth. "You are, in lots of things. Getting Jorge's attention seems to be what you do best—"

"You could've saved lots of people, Dad," Roy emphasizes his words with an accusing finger.

"Are you asking me to betray my best friend for people I've never known before?" Mr. Orion jerks up from the chair with his hands gesturing above his head. "I don't know who they are; I don't even know their names."

Yet, the concern in his eyes betrays his words.

"Correction: people you've never known before, yet whose safety depends on their Chief of Police. Though he has been acting like himself instead of how his title wishes him to."

Lin-Irene groans, cupping her face. "This is why I don't want to be around them at the same time."

My muscles relax a bit. The atmosphere is still oozing with unbottled rage, yet as I sit next to Lin-Irene, who treats this as nothing, my anxiety melts slowly into nothingness.

"Do you remember how Dad said that we both have our separate purposes of coming here?"

I blink several times, squeaking out an agreement.

"I'm here to apologize as well. To both of you." She looks at Roy, and for the shortest moment, there's longing displayed within. I shift in discomfort, guilty for witnessing such a personal scene. "These injuries remind me of how vulnerable I am. That I have my weaknesses..."

"... and that you're not as cruel as you look like."

She snaps her neck to me, her grin spreading wider. "You finally know how to talk properly, don't you?"

As if her close observation isn't unnerving enough, she needs to interview me as well. My sweat adds up to my soaked t-shirt, but it's not only caused by the weather. My stomach twists like the clothes in Auntie Morgan's century-old washing machine. The words are stuck to the roof of my mouth too. "You just... told me your thoughts."

Her grin turns goofier with every second, contrasting the constant sternness in Mr. Orion's sentences. "How does it make me less evil?" But after my long silence, her smile gradually falls. "Now that I think of it, you should've hated me for everything I've done..." She pauses, biting her lower lip until it sheds a tiny drop of blood. "Uh, about your flat..."

"My flat?"

"Come on, you crab." She closes her eyes, inhales a few times, before wearing a grim expression. "Those Mantis shrimps didn't get to your flat by themselves."

"What does that mean?" I dread the answer. But once it dawns on me, I choke back a disappointed sigh. "Did you do it to the whole city as well?"

She shakes her head as she wrings her hands together, rubbing the sweat off it. "No. Out of all regions I should visit, I chose yours because I wanted to know what made you so special in Jorge's eyes."

Beezus. If only I stayed back at Dad and Mom's flat after they got into prison, instead of staying at Auntie Morgan's... maybe things would've been different now. She and Miro wouldn't have gotten dragged into this whirlpool of troubles. They would've lived simply, like they had managed over the years, even without Uncle Oregon's presence.

Again, people sacrifice themselves for me. And I'm always late to realize it.

"But then I understood what he saw in you. Have you ever wondered why he's so keen on getting rid of you and your family? Aside from the reason that he was once a Lowlife, and that he was your father's best friend."

"Jorge was once a Lowlife?" I stutter like a frostbitten bird as I try to push my negative thoughts and the answer to her question further away. Discussing that might boil my emotions toward Jorge again, and it's the last thing I need.

She grunts, palming her face. "Why are you always questioning the obvious? Have you ever stalked him after he put your parents into prison? Or did you just let it be and accepted everything he threw your way?" I'm yet to spurt out a reply when she interrupts, "Knowing you, it must be the latter."

There's a tiny and warm flicker glowing inside of me at her attention, yet it's still not enough to put out the flames of anger after her revelation regarding the Mantis shrimps.

"Jorge was the son of Lowlifes—a road-sweeper and a florist. He didn't fit in with his friends because he was too ambitious and goal-oriented. Plus, his parents were quite familiar with the subject of flowers and plants, thus giving the impression that his son was included as well. Back in the old days, people weren't this open-minded."

"But plants are important nowadays. All buildings must have them. Were they not important back then?"

My train of questions, however, is stopped by a loud gasp from the cave's entrance. Three figures stare back at me: a little boy, a robot no taller than the boy's shoulder, and a tiger with a mud scent. It doesn't take long for the latter to snarl at the newcomers, before leaving the cave and roam around its natural habitat once more.

The bucket in Miro's grasp shakes as his breath comes out in puffs. His gaze lands on Lin-Irene and our close distance, causing my cheeks to get warmer, like steamed rice.

Two more figures appear in the distance, trudging on the steep soil as they carry a bulging duffel bag and Roy's backpack. Their eyes also widen once they discover the guests. At their arrival, Mr. Orion and Roy's bickering die down, leaving room for the breeze to sing through the rustling leaves.

Dropping the duffel bag on the floor, Mrs. Sybil glares at Mr. Orion. "What are you doing here, Chief? Aren't you supposed to be on a patrol, looking out for potential suicide bombers?" Though her words aren't for me, the sting they bring still pushes deep into my chest.

A subtle squeak comes from Grand-Mad as she treads to her mattress behind Roy's desk, staying as far as she can from Mr. Orion.

"You should be grateful Jorge hasn't hunted you down, Sybil. A betraying Senior Administrator is the last thing he needs in The Office."

"Are you here since you can't shrug off the nightmares after that accident, Chief?" There's a more sinister level to Mrs. Sybil, and while her actions are usually self-oriented, she behaves rationally this time. Like a properly mourning wife and relative. This serves as good revenge to Mr. Orion, as he soon scratches his nape and frowns, throwing his gaze away from Roy's questioning one.

The cave's air almost chokes me. Is it the high tension within, or are there too many people here?

As another lulling silence embraces the cramped cave, Jorge's voice from the laptop, which has been a background sound since Mr. Orion and Lin-Irene's arrival, bounces off the cave walls. It makes Xin-Yo shudder, and the poor creature seeks shelter near the entrance, its head dropping like over-filled wheat.

"Now that the questions regarding the tax raise and the loosening lock-down have been addressed, I'll move on to the fourth matter: rebels within Dogson City. As we all know, there have been some unnecessary movements going around. Beginning with the secret meeting in Nexon Neighborhood, the infiltrating of The Office by several rebels"—this makes my heart leap with fright—"to the hideouts made within Huntshire Woods."

A heavier silence lies upon the cave. Even Mr. Orion holds back his breath as his shoulders tense. Lin-Irene also grows restless as she picks on her nails.

"The Office and Dogson's Police Department might haven't taken any drastic measures yet, since we believe it's too early to do so. However"—his tone changes into more threatening—"it won't be long before we take an action. There have also been suspicions regarding the mysterious suicide bomber—if the culprit was linked to any underground movements, then the government won't stay put. Whoever is against The Office's goodwill must be punished."

Both 'goodwill' and 'must be punished' in one sentence? Jorge's brain might already be filled with Chiroquin by now. Why is he shifting the blame on us?

My heart thumps in my chest as if begging to burst out. An invisible fire warms my insides, sending a spirited wave all over me.

Hell, why would we kill one—or four—of our own?

Before someone removes the silence draped around the cave, Jorge's droning voice is replaced with some statics, like the ones appearing in Auntie Morgan's century-old TV back at the flat.

With a loud gasp, Roy stares at his laptop with rapidly blinking eyes, while his lips tremble with yet-to-be-poured words. "Allice, look at this."

His alarmed tone slaps me awake, and while ignoring everyone's close observation, I approach Roy's desk, focusing on the laptop's screen at once.

I immediately gulp down a handful of words. Well, how should one react if there are Sandra and Arsy on the dim-lit screen, yet viewed from a hidden, all-seeing camera somewhere around the ceilings, without them noticing?