Owen didn't remember anything else from that night, only that when he woke up the next day, two empty bottles of vodka were on a three-legged table, with a stack of cardboard boxes making up for the fourth leg. No sign suggested anything had transpired over the previous night, save a few oddities here or there, but all the furniture was rightened, and the floor was devoid of any of that corrosive blood.

Battling the hurricane of dizziness in his head, Owen groaned, standing up from the chair that he had spent the entire night slumped over. For a moment, everything was still hazy - he only remembered taking a quick drink - but as he instinctively glanced over at the door to Jessica's room, the memories suddenly flooded back into him.

Jessica. Bloodfire disease. Grailcorp-

Grailcorp.

The souls.

Owen began to frown, beginning to wish that he had the mercy of forgetting again. The souls. No, not even souls. One soul. One soul and it could possibly save Jessica. Let her see sunlight for another day, let her enjoy the warmth of life once more. It was a prospect so tempting, right in his reach, yet it was almost as if Schulmer set it all to mock him, knowing how impossible, how insane the idea seemed. Owen allowed himself to dream of actually succeeding for another moment, and then snapped back to reality, shoving the thought away. It would be suicide, trying to steal from wherever Schulmer kept all those souls, and there was no question about that.

So why do you keep thinking about it? 

The headache slowly beginning to vanish, Owen headed to the shower, partly by routine and also partly because of the massive blotch of... something on his shirt. Coming out of the bathroom several minutes later with a completely new set of clothes, Owen reached for the McDonalds jacket hanging on the coat rack beside the apartment door and sighed. Everything had changed for him, and yet nothing seemed to change in reality.

Soon Jessica will die, and I will be all alone. Nobody will know... nobody will care, I will simply fade away. I am a doll once played by fate, now thrown to the corner and left to rot, now that fate has done pulling me by the strings!

A rush of anger and determination suddenly coursing through him, he thrust the jacket back onto the rack, turning his back to the door and reaching for the phone in his pocket before managing to calm down, taking a deep breath. Looking at what he was doing again, he put his finger over a number on the phone dial. It was a depressingly worn phone, like everything else he owned, with the screen cracked and the phone barely able process a simple Google search. At least it was still able to make calls, though Owen almost suspected that would even fail.

As if in spite of him, it only took two rings for the other end to pick up, and a voice that Owen knew too well asked, "Hello?"

Owen grimaced, barely able to restrain himself from bursting into a rage again. "Hi, Alan. It's... ah, Owen. My daughter's caught a sickness... Bloodfire Disease-" That would probably be enough to convince Alan, "And I need to stay home to tend for her. Do you mind me staying home today and making sure she's alright?"

There was silence on the other side of the line for a moment, and then Alan replied, "You know, we can't really refuse. You're still entitled to a certain amount of leaves of absence, and you haven't exhausted that amount yet." With an afterthought, he added, "I hope your daughter is okay."

"I hope so too," Owen muttered. "Thanks, Alan." Hesitating for a moment, Owen waited for a response and then ended the call. Hope your daughter is okay. Ha! Alan might as well have been mocking him! I'll prove him wrong, eh? Because those souls-

Owen clenched his teeth, shoving that thought back again. Yet it persisted, the temptation growing every time he thought of it.

Quickly checking how Jessica was doing, still in that state of agony in her bed, Owen sighed. Perhaps he could go work at McDonalds anyway - after all, there was no way of helping Jessica. No way.

Weighing his decisions, between going to work or staying at home, Owen decided that he might as well make the best of his time. But not from those two options.

After all, there was a third option too, for him.

*     *     *

The Dice Cup, one of the more respectable gambling halls in Agarlan, was only a half-an-hour's bike through the miserable cold and snow-covered streets. Then again, the place was probably worth it, as Owen wasn't sure what he would do in the dingy apartment of his, and making sure Jessica was alright probably wouldn't help either of them.

The place was fairly organized, or at least, it was supposed to be. On one side was a row of slot machines, several people feverously yanking joysticks or slamming buttons in futility. On the other side was a bar, where the overpowering reek of bourbon likely came from, and in the middle was an assortment of different tables with different usages, with one particular person appearing bored as he sat beside one of them.

Hoping that the person noticed him, Owen waved his hand and began to walk over to him. It wasn't as if he wanted to see James, but when you owed somebody enough money, it was better to get on their good side and try to bargain with them as much as you could. 

James didn't seem to notice him, though it was probably because of the other people in the way. The same couldn't be said trying to notice James, however, with the man's unusually tall height and strange attire. No matter what occasion, he would always be found wearing a fancy tuxedo suit and black tweed pants, making Owen almost look rather uncultured with his own bland grey shirt and ragged blue jeans.

Owen had also learned not to underestimate James, though. For all he knew, James could've had two switchblades under his belt and several darts hidden elsewhere. And goodness knew he was not afraid to use those.

"I see you came," James said, motioning for Owen to sit down as he neared the table. "Did you ask Alan, or did you just run away?"

Owen smiled, more grim than amused. "Stuff happened."

James shrugged - that man hasn't seen little enough in his life to still be able to shrug, Owen thought - and then asked, "Care for a drink? On me, you already owe me plenty enough."

Owen wasn't sure if that was a friendly gesture or just another reminder how much he owed James. Nearly a million dollars. The man's luck was unreal, or perhaps it was just Owen's unluckiness. With a million dollars, I might be close to buying another soul for Jessica.

Suddenly realizing that James was still waiting for a response, Owen shook his head. "No, not today. I already had too much last night-" At least, I probably did, "-and I'm not really in the mood."

James, appearing to be slightly disappointed, scratched his head and smoothed his finely-combed hair. He cared too much about appearing presentable, in Owen's opinion. The slightest stain of mud on his clothes would set him into a frenzy.

Then again, once spoiled, always spoiled. James had grew up in a rich family, with loving parents, sheltered and oblivious to the pains of the outside world. So sheltered and oblivious, in fact, that it eventually seemed to numb the man's emotions or regard for anybody else. 

"Care for a game of cards?" James asked, taking a deck from the wooden table. Owen chewed his already-bleeding lip and then sighed. 

"Sure. Might as well."

James grinned and walked over to the other side of the circular table. "Blackjack?"

Owen took out a five-dollar bill from his pocket and put it on the table, not expecting much. "I've got the entire day."

Putting down his own five-dollar bill, James dealt two cards to each of them and drew a third one for himself. "Have you heard about the disputes over the threats in Tashar?"

Owen also drew a card, face remaining blank. An ace, how convenient. "You know me, James. The world could be collapsing and I wouldn't know unless I saw it."

James clicked his tongue. "Ah, yes. You and your... money problems, not being able to afford any media." Owen scowled. "Well, news is that the signs of war are getting worse. Suspicious military activities have been reported rather frequently, with interesting cargo shipments are constantly crossing the border, rumored to be carrying resources, ammunition, and souls. And just yesterday, Tashar launched its first all-out invasion on a nearby country. 

Souls, Owen mused, though he wasn't sure how that scrap of information would help in any way. The whole Tashar thing was interesting, though Owen hoped it would settle easily without going too far. A similar thing had happened about twenty years ago - Owen still remembered himself back in high school at that time - in which a mass war broke out in Europe and completely screwed the boundary lines for multiple countries. The name Tashar still felt foreign to him, even though it had been a long time since then.

Drawing another card, James put his deck on the table faceup and grinned. "Twenty-one. Good game." Without waiting for a response, he took the ten dollars and shrugged. "Double or nothing?"

"I'm fine." Owen didn't know whether he should've felt disappointed or not, and upon further inspection, James wasn't lying either about the twenty-one. At least it wasn't the most money he had bet before.

"Suit yourself," James said, and then seemed to notice something. "Get it? Suit yourself? As in a suit in a deck of cards?" Looking at Owen's blank face, James sighed. "I always hated puns too."

"Y'know, the Tashar thing is going to raise the price of souls by a lot," James rambled on, switching the subject. Owen began to look at James intently, though he was pretty sure the news was nothing good for him. "But for me, that means that if I plan it right, I can sell a lot for the soul I have. Bought it a while ago, out of boredom." You spend a million dollars out of boredom? Owen thought incredulously. "Hopefully, I can sell it back at twice the price now. They've already started to limit the amount of souls you can buy, and I heard news that they're even moving all the souls into the main headquarters, to make sure that nobody is sabotaging them and illegally shipping them to Tashar." 

At that moment, something seemed to click in Owen's head.