Jett never realized until this exact moment just how much he hated fences.

He currently perched on top of the compound's inner fence, which was a seven foot barrier made entirely of solid concrete bricks. It wasn't as tall as the first two fences nor did it have the horrid barbed wire coiled along its top. Even so, getting up the one side had nearly killed him.

"Hah, hah, hah," a tortured wheezing sound squeezed from his lungs with every breath. Tears burned in his eyes, brought on by the horrible pressure beating on the inside of his skull. There was not even a shred of energy left within him. Every last scrap of strength had been used up to get him to this point.

Fortunately for him, the two Troit guards stationed in the yard were on the far side, standing beneath one of the insanely bright light posts. It hurt his eyes just to look in that direction, so he didn't. He just squatted where he was, trying not to wheeze too loud.

As long as they didn't hear him, it would be fine. Since his little section of fence was conveniently right beneath another light post that was mysteriously burnt out, he didn't have to worry about them seeing him. For once, he was glad for the ugly coveralls that covered up his white flyer suit. Not even a burnt light bulb could hide that particular shade from view.

Now what?

It was a dumb question. He knew what to do next. The only problem was, he felt like the dirt beneath a steam roller. Forget about taking out those two guards - how the heck was he going to get down from this fence?

He leaned forward slightly, and peered down at the ground. It seemed like a mile away. Maybe if he just shifted his weight a little, he could fall headfirst and knock himself out. Then he wouldn't have to go through with this.

"Urgh!" A shocked sound broke free as the fence wavered beneath him, upsetting his balance. His hands scrambled along the cold concrete, grasping weakly for any kind of hold. It took a superhuman effort, but he managed not to fall off. Stabilizing himself with both hands, he closed his eyes as the entire world warped and spun around him.

Well. This is going well. Yeah right, who was he kidding? There was no way this situation could get any worse.

"You hear that?" One of the guard's voices drifted across the yard. Stiffening, Jett opened his eyes only to see both of them turn away from the light and look over in his direction.

"Probably just an owl or something." The other sounded completely dismissive. "I'm sure I saw one the other night."

"Hmm, maybe." The first guy frowned a little. Then he started walking over. One hand dropped towards his utility belt, where he fumbled around the little loop that held a slender flashlight. Jett scoffed inwardly, because clearly these guys were only given the crappy Troit budget.

Flashlights? That was so old tech. Every soldier on the frontlines had high powered lights attached to their headgear. And a really cool one on their body armor. It was a tiny thing, but beamed from the shoulder like a heavy-duty searchlight. He'd seen them in action once, and was actually jealous, because all flyers got was some lame vision enhancers in their helmet visors. He didn't care for thermal filters or night vision or even radar scans - all he wanted were those cool search lights.

At least he wasn't like these poor guys, stuck with cheap -

He suddenly realized he could hear the guard's footsteps lightly scraping on the asphalt of the yard. That's how close the man was.

Right. The guards. Forget flashlights, these guys were about to discover him! And if they raised the alarm, then this mission would end in epic failure. Which meant he would probably be dragged back to Troit in chains. Or something.

Jett sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. Focus. Focus! What do I do now?

The guard was about ten feet away from the fence, a little to the right of where Jett was. He flicked on the flashlight beam. Jett flinched as the guard immediately illuminated the gray concrete of the fence in a white circle of light. It trailed to and fro the fence as the guard slowly stepped closer.

He finally stopped, barely four feet away from Jett's position. At this point, Jett held his breath, his skin clammy with cold sweat.

The guard lifted his gaze upwards. The flashlight's beam moved as well, following the direction of the man's gaze. It passed mere inches from Jett's crouched form before it careened out into the darkness of night.

"See anything?" The other guard stayed near the light. He stifled a yawn, clearly uninterested in his buddy's investigation.

"Nah," the first guy finally turned away from the wall. Jett breathed a silent sigh of relief. Great. This guy was going to go away, and he'd be safe.

Then the flashlights' beam dropped down from where it was pointed at the sky and down towards the ground. In the process, it happened to swipe across Jett's small figure perched on the top of the fence.

"Huh?" The guard froze.

Jett's heart sank. Oh no...

Once again, the guard directed his light upwards. This time, it moved deliberately and only took a second to find Jett once more. Once it found him, it stayed there, shining in his face like a giant spotlight of doom.

It was too bright, causing Jett to instinctively recoil and lift an arm over his eyes. "Ow ..."

There was a soft exclamation. It was followed by a gun being shoved in Jett's face, though Jett barely noticed it over the blinding light stabbing through his eyeballs.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Words were barked at him rapid-fire, and Jett knew that he had only moments before the alarm was raised. He had to get rid of these two guys fast.

At least he was good at being fast, right? Feeling somewhat encouraged, he slowly shifted his hand toward his right thigh, where he had a small blade sheathed. Now he just had to -

His stomach convulsed without warning, and practically everything inside his torso seemed to cramp violently. He managed to lean forward slightly before he puked something bitter all over the grass below.

The closest guard shouted in surprise, instinctively stepping back to avoid the splatter. Fortunately for both him and Jett, there wasn't much that came up other than a small amount of bile.

Jett clutched his stomach and groaned. "Sorry," he said. "I think I ate something bad earlier."

The guard stared at him with wide eyes for a long second. Then the gun was shoved back in Jett's face. "Who are you? And what are you doing here?"

A dumb idea suddenly struck Jett. He wiped his face on a shaky arm, then gave a few weak coughs. "I was looking for ..." he purposefully dropped his voice into a near whisper, sounding weak and shaky. Which he was. He coughed again, swaying on the fence like he would fall over any second. It took very little effort to do so, since his body wanted to fall over dead anyway.

The guard looked hesitant, the gun's muzzle drooping ever so slightly. In his eyes, there was a young man on the fence who appeared to be very ill. Nothing about this picture fit the bill of an intruder that meant harm. He relaxed a little, but still remained somewhat wary.

"Ah," Jett exclaimed, turning a horrific shade of white. "I think I'm going to -" He pitched forward, dark eyes going glassy. Instinctively, the guard dropped his gun, reaching out with both arms to catch the teen before he hit the ground.

Jett twisted his body as he fell, managing to drive a sharp elbow into the soft flesh of the guard's throat. The man staggered as Jett's body collided with him, and they both went down. The second guard saw this happen, and immediately shouted out. He pulled his gun and sprinted the rest of the way over.

By the time he reached the pair, his partner was still and motionless. Jett sprawled on top of the fallen man, appearing close to a comatose state himself. But he still managed to lift his head and gave the other guard an apologetic look.

"I think he hit his head or something. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall on him. Is he gonna be okay?"

He got a cold stare for his troubles. But the second guard didn't lift his gun from his side as he knelt to check on his partner. It might have been because aiming a weapon at Jett would be practically the same thing as aiming at his partner. Or maybe he just didn't think a gray-faced puking teenager was much of a threat.

Jett went with the first option. It didn't feel quite as pathetic. He waited until the man was practically leaning over them, reaching out towards his friend's face, before he finally moved. He twisted his torso to get better leverage and then slammed his fist right into the underside of the guy's chin.

He heard teeth snap together as the man's head jerked backwards. Yet it wasn't enough to put him on the ground, for the guard grunted before bracing himself with a hand on the pavement.

Jett knew that he couldn't give the man time to recover, so he lunged at him. He rammed into the other's chest, letting the momentum and the weight of his own body do most of the work. They ended up in a sprawled heap on the ground.

There wasn't much strength left in his arms, but Jett did his best. He drove a fist into the guard's face to stun him, then shoved an forearm against his throat. Leaning in with all his weight, Jett tried to pin the struggling guard down while he choked him out. It wasn't an easy task, considering Jett both smaller and lighter to begin with.

It took a couple of weak blows to the face before the man finally passed out. Jett sagged on the guard's chest, panting. Exhaustion wrapped itself around him, forcing his tired eyes shut. A little nap would be nice; surely the guard wouldn't mind being used as a pillow for a bit.

Moxie would probably kill him if he fell asleep now, though. She wouldn't shoot him or anything - nah, she'd just shower him with derogatory insults until he keeled over from the sheer cruelty of it all. And Jett had no desire to go through that.

With a grunt, he rolled off the guy. His stomach informed him that it wanted to puke again, which struck him as strange since it had nothing left in it anyway. Grimacing, he tried to ignore it and started rifling through the guards' pockets.

It didn't take long to find what he was looking for - a keycard. Perfect. Security seemed to be pretty basic here, if one ignored the numerous Troit soldiers guarding the place. For a place that housed their prisoners, it seemed a little strange, but Jett wasn't going to complain.

He stumbled his way over to the set of heavy steel doors. For a side entrance to the headquarters, they were pretty impressive. Unless he used his tiny supply of sticky bombs that Lante had given him, there was no way he'd be able to bust his way through. Thankfully, he didn't have to.

Beside the door was a small electronic reader. Jett held the keycard up against the reader. After a beep, a green light flashed and the great steel doors immediately slid open.

Before he entered, he glanced back at the two fallen men. Both appeared dead to the world, but he knew they'd regain consciousness after a while. Lante would have been disappointed, because he always told Jett that the only kind of enemy you left behind was a dead one. Otherwise they would come back to bite you in the worst way possible.

Jett wasn't about to kill anyone, however. Not ever again, no matter what. He wasn't a murderer, not like Troit. Not like the Kairg.

His expression somber, he stepped through the steel doors. The walls seemed to spin a little, so he reached out and braced himself against the closest. It seemed to steady him a little.

Raising his head, he looked around. A long hallway stretched out in either direction, deceptively silent and empty.

The left, Moxie had told him. It would lead him to the holding cells in a roundabout way, but it would avoid the majority of the patrols. Or so Moxie said. Jett wasn't so sure, but he had no choice but to believe in her.

One hand on the wall, the other grasping his cramping belly, he started moving down the left hallway.

~*RW*~

Nearly two hundred miles away was a inn.

It wasn't a large inn, by any means. It was more like a large, two story house. It had eight rooms upstairs and a large common area and kitchen on the main floor. While it was kept pretty busy by merchants and farmers travelling through the area, the locals never set foot inside.

It meant in the bitter winter months, when people didn't travel, the inn was dead silent. The locals kept their distance like the inn housed the plague itself, and whenever they could, they turned newcomers away.

In one of the upstairs rooms, a young woman currently stood at an open window. Dressed in a white nightgown, she stared at the small village sprawled nearby. Lights glowed through curtained windows, and the sounds of voices drifted across the night air. She could hear children laughing, while a baby wailed.

For all appearances, the little village was a warm, welcoming place. But it wasn't. Not to her, and not to her father.

Because the villagers knew. They knew her family name, and knew what it meant. And if they hadn't been so afraid of the consequences, she was sure they would have burned the inn to the ground. They might have even gathered a mob and -

She sighed softly. Her father always told her that she was safe here, that no one would bother them. In a way, he was right. They weren't bothered. Who would dare bother the family of Erik Wilhas?

A bitter smile came and went, and she turned from the window. Invisible. That's what she was. It didn't matter if she pranced through the streets naked - not a single person from the village would even speak to her.

She went around her bed and sat, back to the window. The cool night wind blew inside her room, gently caressing her long brown hair. Below, there was a muffled crash, followed by a man's angry swearing.

She sighed again. The sounds meant her father was drunk, an event that was happening more and more often. At this rate, he'd drink himself into the grave.

"Good evening," a man's voice spoke behind her, low and velvety.

Ava started violently, a gasp tearing free from her throat. She grabbed a pillow and spun around, holding it against her chest as if it could shield her.

A man in black crouched in her open window. He balanced perfectly on the narrow ledge like a cat, elbows resting lightly on his knees.

Her eyes trailed up his body, starting at his boots and passing over his lean, dark form to stop at his face. There was a hint of dark stubble on his chin, and beneath her stare, his lips slowly curled upwards in amusement. Her gaze went higher, to his eyes, and it was there all form of thought was lost.

Oh wow...

"Miss Ava Wilhas," the man said. His tone was firm, yet gentle, and it was enough to bring her back to her senses. She immediately averted her gaze, feeling warmth blossom on her cheeks.

"Who ... who are you?" She clutched her pillow tighter, feeling very small and vulnerable. Her heart raced, fueled by an odd mix of fear and anticipation. "Why are you here?"

The man lightly leapt from the window with feline grace, the sound of his landing softer than the whisper of the night wind. She glanced up at him warily, then froze as he stepped into the range of her bedroom's lamp. This time, she clearly saw his formfitting body armor. Its design and shape were entirely unique, but she knew a flyer suit when saw one.

Fear curled its icy fingers around her throat, and her breath caught in her chest. She trembled, growing pale.

"I am Mr. Black," he said, looking down at her. He gave a gentle smile, one that did little to soften the intensity of his gaze. "And I am here to take you away."

"Why?" she whispered, once again trapped by those unique eyes.

A dark brow rose in an elegant arch. "I think you know why."

She did. "My grandfather?"

His smile grew, became almost warm. "Yes. Erik Wilhas, one of the finest Elders of Troit. Did you know what name he's calling himself now?"

Shivering, she shook her head.

"Kratos," Mr. Black told her. And even though he smiled, there was a bite to his tone, one that made the hairs rise on her skin. It terrified her. "A man of power, is what he likes to think of himself. But you know what, dear Ava?"

"What?" Her voice was barely audible.

"Even the most powerful of men have weaknesses." He loomed over her like a black shade, and held out a gloved hand. "Come with me, Miss Ava. I will bring you to a safe place."

A safe place? She stared at his hand, utterly terrified. She knew what flyers were. She knew what they did. Where they congregated was the complete opposite of safe.

Lifting her eyes, she peeked timidly at his face. His gaze both captivated and frightened her, yet his expression was gentle. The contradiction made her stomach churn uneasily.

Hesitantly, she asked, "Will I really be safe?"

To her surprise, he let out a chuckle. "Of course. You will come to no harm. Not even Troit itself will be able to touch you."

She blinked, his words striking her as odd. Wasn't he a flyer? Wasn't he a part of Troit? Or was he the enemy? What did he mean?

Despite the strangeness of it, she found herself believing in his reassurance. Knowing there no other choice, she reached out and tentatively took his hand.

Strong fingers curled around hers and pulled her to her feet. A thud came from downstairs, followed by a muffled grunt. She frowned, then hesitated. She had a ridiculous thought.

"Can you ... can you take him too?"

"No," came the calm response. "I can only carry one person at a time. Besides, I have another use for him."

"What?" Ava stiffened, suddenly alarmed. "What do you -?"

Her voice was cut off as she was suddenly picked up in a pair of strong arms. Mr. Black carried her to the window, before placing a foot on the sill. "Hold on," he said, amusement clear in his voice.

Her shriek broke the silence of the night. By the time her father managed to stagger up the stairs, there was nothing but the curtain blowing gently in the window.