Though the pit has nearly cleared out, a few men remain to tidy up the last of the deliveries. They wave here or there as December makes his way to the truck that once housed the human boy. Standing by the open loading end of the truck is a man who pays no attention to the approaching boy, whether intentional or accidental December does not know.

As he's nearly on the delivery man's tail he turns around and allows December a full up and down survey of him. He stands tall, a little overweight it seems from the way his coat is missing a button, almost as if it were thrown on with a false hope of fitting correctly. The sterile white coat he wears clings snug to his upper arms, a loose thread sticking out here and there and the left arm stitching appearing stretched out and distorted from the ill fitting garment.

His sparse beard is peppered with gray hairs and a dirty baseball hat with the name of an old sports team covers up what is sure to be a balding head. The man finally takes note of December's presence and stretches out a dirty and calloused hand towards him, a wide smile flashing across his bright features before he removes his hat in respect.

"December, ain't that a surprise! I didn' expect to be seeing you down here doin' deliveries." He starts, the slightest of a southern accent rolling off his tongue. "Figured that was for a lower pay grade than Head o' Lab and heir of Haven but I'm not complainin'!"

His smile is complimented with a blush on each cheek, the sight of the nineteen year old clearly overwhelming to the man as he nervously tugs at his hat, rocking on his heels as he awaits an answer in awe.

December isn't phased by the star struck man's demeanor, however, as he directs his focus elsewhere. The young boy rather turns to the last few cages before lecturing, "At Haven it's everyone's responsibility to make sure our operations run smoothly. As heir to the facilities, it's my duty to make sure I understand how every aspect of Haven is ran and how to improve on these departments."

December finishes off with a sprinkle of a smile, unimpressed with his talent at reciting the words his mother has practically drilled into his head since youth. He's proud to be the heir to Haven, to continue their best work, but sometimes the workload can seem a bit...tiresome?

The worker is clearly impressed, ignorant to the conflict bouncing within December. He absentmindedly plays with the hat in his hands as he nods in full agreement, soaking up the corporate speech December spills to him.

"Ever since you were a kid I knew you were gonna make Haven somethin' great and you really have, December. Y'know it was a tragedy what happened out there an' all but you and your mother have really made a difference bout it. It may be above my head what y'all do up there but whatever it is, it's changin' the world."

December merely smiles at the speech, mind too far off to really focus on the substance of it. "Thank you, but it's simply God's Work Through God's Creation." He repeats the company mantra, all the while scanning the room for the caged boy from the sides of his eyes.

Almost as if summoned by the thought, the cage appears in a corner of the room, tucked beneath two other cages with creatures pulsating inside. Their slime covered skin seems to breathe on its own as liquid drips down into the boy's cage. His body instinctively pulling away from the thick, mucus-like substance that has began to puddle in the corner of his inhabitance.

December can't make out much of the situation from a distance, just the general shape of a human curled in on itself like a dog, body rising and falling with the steady breathes of a sleeping boy.

"Hey..." December starts, voice nearly as distant as his racing thoughts. "Mind running me through the shipments over there?" He points with a nudge of his head in the direction of the cages as he awaits an answer from the peppered man.

The worker, after placing his hat stiffly back onto his balding head, beams proudly in place of a 'yes' and beckons for December to follow him to the corner, a chorus of growls growing louder as they cross the distance of the room.

With each step December can feel his stomach turning, a raw mix of bile and fear bubbling and stewing with each quaking step. The caged boy still hasn't noticed their oncoming arrival, or if he has he hasn't given himself away. Rather laying dormant at the bottom of the barred cage waiting for a turn of events that neither he nor December can be sure of.

The worker, Terry, according to the name patch strapped haphazardly across his lab coat, lectures about the new figures ignorant to December's obvious disinterest. December only catches a few words here and there as he stares at the cage in disbelief, not quite sure of what to do next. The image of Ryder wiping his tears only plays on repeat in the back of his mind, a dramatic silent film that's sole purpose is to remind him of his only role in this heist: to free the human boy.

His heartbeat is in his ears, the steady thump driving into a frantic commotion as he struggles to control his breaths when the boy nears closer into view. What have we done? He thinks to himself, a hand cautiously rising to his chest, heart nearly cracking his rib cage in its forceful attempt to free itself.

What have I done? A million and one scenarios flash through his mind. The public outrage, the onslaught of shame as the doors of Haven are padlocked shut. The building burning in the distance as he's forced to watch its downfall due to one harmless mistake. But is it really harmless? Every thought is accompanied by a doubt, his arm still halfway outstretched between the cage and his body as if time itself has slowed in the process.

Painfully, he grips the tag tied onto the cage, fingers trembling slightly as he turns the thin piece of paper around to read what is written on the other side.

LAB A/SUBJECT A1
WREN

Wren. That one small word releases every ounce of pressure bundled and knotted within December. An audible sigh escaping him as his heart rate slows to what seems a near deathly rate compared to moments prior. "What's a Wren? Have we caught one of those before?"

Terry lets out a deep chuckle, unaware of how a small shake of the head can devastate December all over again.

"That's not what it is, that's who it is."

The man chuckles once again, holding onto his torn hat flat atop his head and waiting for a pat on the back from the teen.

But December is already seeing red, oblivious once more to the poor man as his brain pounds against his skull. "Why did you cage a human?"

December is nearly seething, voice low and cautious as he continues to hold onto the tag with whitened fingers, praying for an explanation good enough to relieve Haven of this scandal.

His grip is so tight his hand cramps, almost as if by releasing the tag he would also release every inch of the rage stored within him at the miscommunication of his team. He's Head of Lab, mistakes like this fall back on him after all.

"Now, I know he may look like a human but that's that glamour, c'mere," the man grabs December by his limp arms and pulls him away from the cage a considerable distance. Positioning December parallel to the corner of the cage as he holds his shoulders square. "look to the left a bit and tell me what you see."

December follows the instructions given to him as he leans his body slightly to the left, a small shimmer making itself noticeable. It's so faint that the naked eye can only focus on it for a moment, almost like a rip in time itself. December focuses his weight on his left foot then the right and back again, watching the air shimmer as if a wall of crystal waters were in its place.

"That's that glamour," Terry mentions once again as proudly as the first time. "He ain't really layin' down in there, that's how he got Cruz, damn near rippin' his arm straight out the sockets. We had to haul him down to med center soon as we arrived."

"So he's magic?" It's the only part of the speech that December really picks up on, his ears practically perking up at the realization of it. "Has he been tested yet? Blood drawn? Anything?" The word magic is, well, magic to his ears, a glimmer of hope per say as he's snapped to reality. Ignoring the shimmering exterior of the cage he dashes to the outer corners of the room, all thoughts of his promise flying out with the mention of the 'm' word.

A storage closet stands built into the wall, blocked off by a heavy padlock and chains. He grabs the clunky lock, rust flaking off into his palms as he grabs a key from a nearby ring set and unlocks the cabinet with a jiggle. In a clash of metal on metal the cabinet is open, an assortment of instruments there for the taking.

Reaching inside, December grabs at a metal stick. It's around a foot and a half long and not very thick, just a rod of clean and simplistic silver metal that ends in a round knob the width of a finger tip. There's no switch to turn the object on, just a faint buzz of electricity simmering off the foreign instrument as he waves it gingerly around.

December makes his way cautiously back to the cage, now fully aware of the glamour surrounding it that can manipulate his senses. There's no knowing of what is truly inside that cage and whether it's human-esque or not. For all he knows it could be a slime covered beast like the rest in the room, just slightly more powerful than its contained brothers.

The glamour calls for going in at a painfully slow speed, December sticking the rod between the bars of the cage and watching as the glamour surrounding it wavers with the intrusion of the contraption, practically disappearing into its depths. He's never seen anything like it, curiosity threatening to take over formality as he withdraws the stick and renters it into the cage, watching in fascination as the front half disappears into what's supposedly thin air.

Deeper the rod goes, sinking into the air until December is up to his fingertips in the substance. He blindly prods around in the cage until the end thumps something fleshy and hard, a piercing cry erupting from the cage. The glamour wavers and erupts in an instant and the true image of what's inside comes to light, December in awe at the true sight.

For within the cage, backed into the farthest corner with a petite hand crossed over his stomach, is a boy. He's not as human as before, something off about his features that leaves December uneasy, as he can't quite put his finger on the subtle differences between the two.

Blood seeps between his pale and bony fingers where the rod had touched him. The substance seems too bright to be of this world and emits a floral scent into the air as it clumps under his shaky palm. The boy doesn't look up from the wound, just pressing his other hand over the first in a poor attempt to stop the steady slosh of blood pouring between his fingers now dyed red.

December can't help the slight grin that bubbles up from within him though his mind urges against it. A guilt forming inside the recesses of his mind that his first reaction was blatant jubilance at the pain of a being.

The rod usually only emits a small shock to most creatures, creating an electrical current that feeds off the strength of their energies. For the rod to make the boy bleed, a slight burnt aroma entangling with his floral scent and floating through the air, meant that whoever he is, wherever he came from, he's more powerful than anything Haven has ever encountered. The thought alone has December tingling, his hand still gripping the rod tightly as a smile plays at the corners of his lips, the sight of the boy one of possible salvation.

The caged boy, Subject A1 according to his tags, scoots further into the corner of the cage.  He's ignorant to the events taking place outside of his confinement, the calculations and scenarios all running through December's mind at a mile a minute. The boy only lets go of his wound when he takes notice of December bending down to his level, placing the rod aside as a poorly demonstrated motion of trust between the two species.

December eyes the boy up and down now that the glamour is gone, taking in every inch and placing a mental note for later. There's slight tremors running through the boy, his body small and bird like, bones not quite visible but no muscle to show either. He's short, most likely even shorter than Ryder, considering the way his body doesn't double over inside the cage as if he's small enough to comfortably sit.

December continues his examination of Subject A1, eyes trailing the boy and soaking in every inch of detail. The way his petite nose curls upwards at the end and the nearly lavender tint to his eyes. His brows are groomed neatly and hair a blonde-red and curly mess, the tight ringlets frizzy and falling over his forehead. The clothes he wears on his back are clearly homemade, December notices. As he attempts to touch them through the bars of the cage, Subject A1 lets out a high pitched whimper and tight kick in response.

The squeal breaks December out of his scientist's trance, bringing the man behind him back into focus. Nearly forgetting about Terry's presence, December finally turns to face him, keeping one hand on the cage to stop himself from rolling over as he steadies his weight on his toes. "Where did you pick him up at exactly?" This time he's all ears for the man, impatiently awaiting the full story of the capture like a child craving a bed time story.

"Couple miles west of the woods, he was near the river all we had to do was set a couple traps an' we had him." He's beaming. Smile wide and weight shifting nervously as he once again anticipates December's praise for a job well done.

December doesn't notice the action, only rising to his feet and squarely facing the man as he flashes his most authoritative look to really catch his attention.

"I want him taken back to Lab A, immediately, Terry." He places extra emphasis on 'immediately', wanting to make sure the delivery man fully understands the urgency of the task. "Cover his cage with a blanket and don't let anybody see him, understand?"

Terry nods too enthusiastically at the task given by his higher up, the teenage boy taking note of the way his cheeks still rage red, almost as if he stays in a constant state of embarrassment in his vicinity.

The older man immediately gets to action hauling the other cages off of Subject A1's. A sweat breaks out onto his forehead as he scrambles around the room for a blanket and drapes it over the cage, silencing the boy's whimpers and hiding him from view.

Before he can leave the room December has him by the arm, his fingers locking around a damp part of the polyester fabric where his sweat has drenched through his white coats, dying the material a slight grey.

"And Terry?" December asks of the man one last time, watching his brow cock as he anticipates his next move.

"Yeah?" he questions, cage tight in his grasp.

"If you see Ryder...run."