He dreamed of screams, of fire, of vacant eyes forever staring and rivers of blood endlessly flowing. Hands reached out, clawing at his legs, while voices pleaded: Choose me, please choose me.

First, he tried running. With his speed, he should have been able to out run anything. And for a while, it seemed to work. Each stride broke free of their grip. Hands tore away, unable to hold him. But then more reached out, from behind, from in front, from each side and all around; more and more snaked out and dug their fingers deep into his flesh. Each step became slower and slower until he strained against their hold.

There were too many to run from.

So he tried fighting. Grabbing and tearing and snarling and flailing; he fought wildly like a savage beast. But just as before, the more hands he tore from his flesh, the more came to replace them. He tired even faster, and soon stood immobile in a cocoon of hands.

With nothing left, he pleaded for them to leave him alone. No matter what he said, it had even less effect. Instead, they began to squeeze...

Light fell across his face, piercing through the multitude of hands. A horrible scream rippled through them before they suddenly vanished into thin air. Jett looked up. He blinked.

Then squinted, because the bright light shone directly on his face. He became aware of the hard kitchen floor beneath him, the rough cabinets against his back. The fire, the blood, the hands were gone.

"He's here," an man's unfamiliar voice called out. It had a drawling accent to it.

The light abruptly left his face, leaving Jett with blinding spots in his vision. It was dark, sometime during the night. Other lights flashed across the yard, just outside the door. The man in the doorway stepped back, allowing a second to step in. This one was tall and thin. His boots made soft sounds as he took a few steps into the small kitchen.

He too held a brilliant light in one of his hands, but he had the courtesy not to shine it right in Jett's face. Instead, he set it down on the table, before adjusting it from a harsh beam to a more gentle light that diffused through the entire room.

It allowed Jett to get a good look at the intruder. It was a Troit flyer in a pale yellow suit. A medic, then. But not just any medic, because that narrow face and pale hair and eerie, knowing gaze were all too familiar to Jett.

"Syk," he said tonelessly.

"Mm." Syk was observing him from a distance. That kind of creepy stare would make anyone's skin crawl, but Jett was past caring. Huddled in little cold box of emptiness, there was nothing that could reach him.

Except in his dreams.

Syk took a few steps closer, then crouched in front of him. His eyes focused on Jett's face, but Jett didn't even flinch. He just looked back dully. Syk gave a slow smile, white teeth flashing. Interest glimmered within his piercing gaze. "My, you are a mess, aren't you? Seems like the life of a traitor is full of difficulties."

Jett said nothing.

"We've probably got three or four hours," another flyer walked in. Jett glanced at him briefly, only taking note of the style and coloring of his suit. A Scout. The face was unfamiliar. Beyond those few details, Jett didn't bother to look any further.

What did it matter? Ra'Skevvor was gone. Troit was here. Either way, nothing changed. He averted his gaze from both flyers, instead gazing at the kitchen floor to his left. She wasn't there right now, but somehow he knew she wasn't far away.

"That's not very long," Syk murmured as the other flyer came closer. He rose, and both of them stood nearly shoulder to shoulder as they both looked down at the white flyer.

"I thought you said you'd need only an hour to get the information from him," the Scout flyer frowned. "There should be more than enough time, considering he looks a bit... subdued."

Syk began to tug at the fingers of his left glove, slowly pulling it off. "He may appear so, but that's because of the mental wall he's erected. Until I break through it, it will be difficult to see what his true psychological state is."

"Still, it shouldn't matter much in regards to getting the truth from him." The Scout flyer's frown deepened.

"It does, actually." Syk finished pulling off his other glove. Both were tucked into a small pocket on the back of his waist. "The dosages very much rely on both his physical state and mental strength. The first is easy to determine. The second, a little more complex. It's a delicate balance, my dear Raith. "

As per medic tradition, he had a lot of storage placed about his person. It made his suit a bit bulkier than the others', but he still wore it elegantly. Now he reached into a large, rectangular case fastened on the front left side of his waist. From it, he withdrew a series of what appeared to be medical supplies.

As he unpacked his items, Syk explained further, his tone calm. "If one pushes to hard against a delicate psyche, then there is a risk of collapse. Getting any kind of answer from a drooling retard is obviously quite difficult. So until I determine the state of the board I have before me, I cannot draw my design upon it."

Raith rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I see. Then, do you ah, need my help?"

At that, Syk actually paused what he was doing to look over at him. "Curious, are you?"he asked in amusement.

Raith looked away, staring at something on the table. He didn't answer.

"Is it my methods you are interested in? Or what the boy has to say?" Syk pressed a little further. He watched Raith for a second, then gave a short laugh. "The latter, then."

He turned back to his work, smiling faintly. "Stay and watch if you wish. I do not mind. However, it may not be wise to leave Yvan alone to devise the trap. He's creative, but he does not have a mind for the fine details, if you understand what I mean."

Raith sighed. Syk spoke the truth - it wasn't a great idea to leave the job entirely in Yvan's hands. Some people might have just thought Syk was just pointing that out. That he could do this task alone and Raith's time was better spent elsewhere.

However, Raith knew better. Syk knew very well that he was uncomfortable with these interrogations. In a way, Syk was giving him an out, but he was also pointing out that he knew Raith's discomfort. His weakness. He knew it, he marked it, and he wouldn't forget it.

A mix of annoyance and relief mixed together within, and Raith didn't like it. His expression carefully neutral, he gave a slow nod. "All right. I'll go help Yvan. But I want to know everything the kid says. Everything."

"Of course," Syk agreed easily. "Before you go, would you mind setting up another light? It's still a bit dark in here."

Raith wordlessly did so, sitting one on the floor on the other side of Jett. Then he immediately left the small building.

Jett was left squinting a little against the brightness that now shown across his face. Other than that, he showed no other reaction. He'd heard every word that was spoken. They were obviously here to interrogate him, probably on his relationship with the Kairg. That couldn't result in anything good.

Yet Jett didn't feel afraid or worried at the moment. Instead, he just felt dull. Distant. His mind whispered warnings, but was easily ignored. He couldn't bring himself to care. These guys couldn't touch him anymore. His little wall of unfeeling ice kept him safe, right?

Syk reached forward, cool fingers firmly taking hold of Jett's face. He shone a small light at Jett's eyes, noting the appearance and general lack of reaction. Then he proceeded in a brief examination, murmuring to himself as he did so.

"Dark coloring around the eyes, unfocused, obvious fatigue. Skin is pale and clammy, tremors in extremities, overall weakness. Could be result of lingering sickness or general poor condition. Malnourishment? Signs of dehydration. Significant bruising, physical trauma. In general, physical condition is quite poor. It seems the Kairg have not been kind to you."

It took him that long to figure that out? The thought flickered through Jett's mind. He found it oddly amusing, and the corner of his lips faintly twitched upwards.

Syk didn't catch it, as he had lowered his attention to a case filled with small jars. He pulled one it, observed it, then put it back. The second one he selected satisfied him, and he set it aside before choosing another. It too, was set aside.

In the end, he chose four different jars. They were arranged carefully in a neat row on the side. Syk then chose a set of needle tips and an injector. These too, were laid next to the jars on top of a clean pad of gauze that he'd set on the floor.

Jett watched. If he had the energy and motivation, now would probably be a good time to get up and run for the hills. Whatever Syk was planning wasn't a good thing. Yeah, he should probably try to run.

Yet he didn't move. What good would it do?

Once he finally had everything organized, Syk reached opened a small packet of disinfect wipes. During his earlier examination, he had unzipped the top portion of Jett's suit in order to gain better access. The armor pieces had been removed long ago by the Kairg; they were somewhere in a corner of the kitchen.

Now Syk just had to pull aside the collar of Jett's suit before he wiped down the side of the Jett's neck and a portion of the shoulder with disinfect. Throughout it all, Jett sat like a stone, his gaze distant and cold, his face expressionless.

"I saw what happened to the rebels," Syk suddenly said as he worked. "It was merely the aftermath, yet it was still quite ugly. I imagine it was even more horrifying to have seen it in person."

Despite the distance he'd built between himself and it, the memory flashed into the forefront of his mind. Jett twitched as heads flew before his eyes, a blade arcing beautifully as it reaped one life after another. He closed his eyes, teeth clenching fiercely as he shoved it all beyond the wall.

Barely a second later, he opened his eyes once more. They were as cold and blank as before. Syk hovered above him, wearing an entirely unsettling smile.

"Let's have a chat, shall we?"

No thanks, Jett thought dully. He flinched when Syk reached out and pressed the cold tip of the injector gun against the base of his neck. There wasn't even a moment's pause before he felt a pinch, and whatever was inside was forced directly into his vein. 

 He blinked a couple of times, then looked up at Syk, brow slightly furrowed. Just what was in there? What's it going to do?

"Easy there," Syk pulled the injector away. A small bead of blood formed at the injection site. He carefully wiped it off. "No need to be afraid. It's merely something to help you relax. You won't remember too much, but that's for the best."

A sedative? Somehow, Jett doubted it was simple as that. Especially when Syk was loading another little bottle of liquid into the injector. Or was it a mix of two bottles?

Jett's eyelids started feeling heavy, his vision growing fuzzy around the edges. A warm sleepiness settled around him like a cozy blanket. True to Syk's words, it was a very relaxing feeling, not at all unpleasant. He was barely aware of when the medic injected another round of mystery substance into his neck.

Syk was talking - Jett could see the man's mouth moving. Yet he couldn't make anything out. His head felt heavy. It flopped to the side, the world darkening. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of cool fingers brushing against the side of his neck.

Then he was gone, floating in a comfortable, warm void. It felt so much better than the sharp coldness of before. Why hadn't he found this place sooner?

~*RW*~

Outside, Yvan and Raith busied themselves with disposing of the Kairg bodies. With Ra'Skevvor away, it had been a fairly simple matter for the three of them to take out the enemy unit stationed around the small property. Now all they had to do was get them out of the way.

Having dead corpses lying around wasn't exactly helpful when you were trying to trap someone.

"I didn't think Ra'Skevvor would actually leave this place," Raith muttered. He was unpacking a series of small, metallic posts from one of three large bags.

Yvan hammered one into the ground with a large rubber mallet, so that only its flat head peeked out. He brushed some dirt over it, hiding it from view. "He just needed the right reason to leave. Your lack of faith hurts, Raith. It was actually really easy - I just had to spread the right rumor in the right places."

"I don't doubt you," Raith sighed. He carefully handed over another post to Yvan. "I just find it odd that Ra'Skevvor would rush away on account of a mere a rumor."

Yvan grinned as he lined the post up a few feet away from the first. "Like I said, you need the right rumor."

Raith watched as the second post was hammered into the ground. "And what was that?"

Glancing up at the other flyer, Yvan's grin only seemed to grow. "I just spread the word that Raven himself showed up at the Troit headquarters in Mianka."

"Raven's dead," Raith said flatly. "That's ridiculous."

Yvan held out his hand for a third post. Raith handed it over, and Yvan walked a few feet away. His position formed a triangle with the two planted posts. It was there he knelt, preparing to hammer the third post in. "Yep, it's crazy," he admitted. "But it worked, didn't it? To someone like Ra'Skevvor, Raven's still very much a threat. If there's even the slightest chance he's alive, Ra's not going to be able to relax until he confirms it for himself."

"He'll realize it's just a diversion," Raith said.

"Of course he will. But he'll still have to check it out, right? It's how people work - it'll itch and itch until you scratch it away. And by the time he's satisfied that itch, we should be ready for him here." Yvan finished speaking, and for the next few moments, the only sound was him hammering down the third post.

Raith scratched his chin, feeling somewhat impressed. He'd knew Yvan had a knack for getting close to people - it was one of the reasons he chose the man for his team - but it still left him pleasantly surprised. Of course, how well Yvan's little plan worked remained to be seen.

As he pulled more posts out of the bag, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Raven running around Troit headquarters in Mianka? How utterly preposterous!

~*RW*~

At Mianka's Troit headquarters....

Moxie gasped as the door to her cell crashed open. She'd been dozing in the corner, so the sound jolted her awake. Heart racing, she looked up and saw a tall, dark figure standing in the doorway.

He wore a long gray coat with a huge hood pulled low over his face. He stretched out a hand to her.

"Come," he commanded. "I'm breaking you out of here."

What? She stared at him, eyes wide. Maybe she was still dreaming. Moxie looked around her cell, as if searching for clues that would prove this was just a dream.

"We don't have all day," the strange intruder drawled. Despite his light tone, the air around him seemed to darken. "You want out of here or not?"

Moxie looked at him. She quickly reviewed the pros and cons in her head. Option one - stay here in the cell. Cons - she's either be in jail for the rest of her life or quietly disposed of when Troit finished with her. That creepy medic flyer might come and question her again. (She shuddered at the thought, grimacing.)

Okay - pros of staying here. Well, she got fed regularly. And -

"Aw, fudge it," she muttered and stood up. "This is stupid. Let's go."

She went over, ignoring his outstretched hand with a wrinkle of the nose. "Eew, did you swim through a pool of puke before coming here? You stink."

There was a pause. If Moxie was looking, she would have seen the man's lips twitch. But she wasn't, and so was totally caught off guard when he grabbed her around the waist and threw her over a shoulder.

"Oomph! Hey, you -"

"Hold on," the man interrupted. Then he moved, and the world blurred before Moxie's eyes. She caught glimpses of walls, of limp heaps of what she assumed to be the Troit guards, and then they were outside.

The sun was starting to set, so she caught glimpses of a pink and orange sky. She pounded a fist against her rescuer's back. "Hey, let me dow-nnnnnn - !"

Her voice disintegrated into a startled wail as her rescuer only seemed to move faster. He clearly had no intentions of letting her down. Within seconds, he'd disappeared deep into the narrow side streets of the city, twisting and turning past trash bins and rats and the odd, teetering drunk or dozing homeless person.

It seemed like hours, but in reality was only minutes before he stopped in some dark, uninhabited corner of the city. Moxie was dumped to the ground in a twitching little heap. As she managed to get herself into a shaky sitting position, her rescuer crouched before her.

"What the heck was that?" She hissed at him. She threw a fist at his head, thoroughly enraged. He leaned to the side, effortlessly avoiding it. "That's not you how -"

"Where's Jett?" the man suddenly interrupted.

Moxie froze on the spot. Then her expression grew guarded, her eyes sharp and wary. The ones at Troit had wanted to know the same thing. That horrible smiling flyer had asked the same question, over and over and over -

She shuddered despite herself. "Who are you?"

"The person who saved you," the man said. "Isn't that all you need to care about?"

Moxie stared at him. She wasn't stupid. "Are you with Troit?"

"No."

"Then why do you wanna know about him? What's so special about that baby?"

"Baby?" The man's voice raised slightly in pitch, clearly taken off guard. Then he chuckled, to Moxie's surprise. "I see he's been making friends."

Friends? That weak-looking kid and her? She scoffed. "You didn't answer my question."

"Hmm. You're quite persistent, aren't you?" The man's lips curved. "All right. Jett's family. Do you understand?"

Her brow creased. Family? This guy? And Jett? It struck a chord within her, causing her heart to twinge with an old hurt. After a moment, she sighed. "Yeah, I get it. I don't know where he's at now, but I can tell you what happened."

The hood dipped in a single nod. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

The two figures remained in the little dark corner for quite some time. One silent, the other talking.

And above the city, a dark figure circled. To be more accurate, it was above a particular section of the city. His eyes roamed over every inch of the Troit headquarters, but he saw nothing. He widened his search, spanning several blocks around the headquarters.

Still, he saw nothing.

A low snarl was hurled out in the cooling air, scattered by the winds and heard by none. He barked orders into his communicator. Not everyone replied.

His rage only grew as suspicion turned into realization. Wheeling in the sky, he returned the way he'd come.

It was a pity. Had he arrived sooner, he might actually have seen something interesting.