Nothing good... I've lost a lot of blood.

What comes to mind after the silence of the aftermath comes to you is how cold you’ve suddenly gotten. WIthout the panic of the situation to distract you, you’re now shivering with pain. The numbness you once had on your limbs is now being rapidly replaced with a stinging agony. You try a few steps towards Hard Print as you jump over No Slack’s corpse, shot to shit and barely recongizeable, if it weren’t for his clothes, you might’ve mistaken him as one of the attacker that came out of the mouth of the natural trench.

You mumbled to yourself, cursing the others that came with you. It seemed shallowed to blame No Slack and Hard Print, but you wouldn’t have come here if you were alone… Probably, at least. You suppose putting your faith in the old timers you weren’t familiar with was a fault you should have carried on your shoulders. No Slack was dropped faster than you thought possible for a contractor, independent or even guild tied. What did he leave behind? A wife? A few kids? Any kids? “Christ,” you murmur. “Are my final acts really blaming others?”

You shuffled out of a rut and… “Good God… What’s Arabella going to do when she finds out I died out here?”

In total, you didn’t even walk half the 100 yards towards before you finally blacked out and fell someplace between the battlegrounds and the rally point you had set with the members of your party.

…

..

.

You faded in and out of consciousness. Finally, you vaguely registered all the pain shooting throughout your entire body as you saw familiar faces hovering above you. Among them, you easily pick out Arabella, mouthing something at you, and you’re lifted to a table, maybe a stretcher. She’s holding your hand, but whoever else is there pushes her back. Scarlet, you think, but you close your eyes and fade into blackness.

When you wake up, you’re sitting outside on a porch in nice jeans, a dress shirt, and your original watch without the dings, scratches, or other imperfections. The porch is bathed in warm sunlight. Outward, a vast pine forest lay erected, stretching up mountains and down into alleys.

Somewhere, tucked away in the peaceful recesses of the pine, there is a gurgling stream accompanying the sing-song of the many birds chirping in the branches. You lean forward and touch your right arm and leg, as clean and toned as usual.

“What’s wrong?” A soft voice belonging to Arabella stretches out verbally and caresses you. You turn to face her, half-expecting her foxy characteristics to be softened or somehow gone, but it’s just her as she was always.

Pale… curious… cute, and friendly, with a slight curve at the corners of her lips like she was remembering or preparing a joke. Your eyes wash over her. Her summer dress hugs her frame as she stretches out a small hand to grab your forearm. “Warren, you had a nightmare,” the corners of her lips quirk as her head tilts to one side. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She becomes Delilah, and the exterior becomes the outside of Tiny’s Tavern. The little town has no horses or townsfolks walking. Delilah’s expression is tight with worry, her teal eyes going over you like you’ve returned to the tavern in the condition you were in while in the desert. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Just like Arabella became Delilah, Delilah became Scarlet, but now inside the interior of Tiny’s Tavern. The fireplace crackled as she sat beside you on the often unoccupied, dusty old couch. Scarlet’s hair was messy, pinned, and fashioned strangely. Blonde, she had jeans with muddy boots and a tucked-in black T-shirt. She looked at you. “Contactors have a hard time talking about these, don’t they? Feelings, I mean… We have this persona of having nerves of steel, but aren’t we still human? So, do you want to talk about it?”

“Master,” another voice comes out suddenly as you feel fingers grabbing your other arm. Mikko. “Don’t you want to talk about it?”

You blink, and now it’s Gwendolion. She’s in tears. “Master! Please, talk about it!”

You wake up in a hospital room, sweating. The light, or lack thereof, indicates that it’s nighttime. Your mouth’s dry and your lips are cracked. Beyond that, your right arm is bandaged to the shoulder. Even though your right leg is covered by a blanket, you figure it’s in the same condition.

“Fucking dreams,” you murmur, surprised you’re as loud as you are when you speak.

“Dreams?” Scarlet says beside you.

You jolt, alarmed you didn’t see her. She was in the open, lounged back in a cushioned chair with wooden legs and arm rests. Scarlet laughs a little and apologizes. “Sorry. Did you want to talk about it?”

“What?”

She knits her brows. “Your dreams?”

“No,” you shake her words off, getting goosebumps. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Good idea,” she gets up and opens a bottle of water before handing it to you. “ I wouldn’t want to learn anything before any of your precious fox girls do.”

“Are they here?” you ask between swallows. Scarlet nods, saying something to the degree of “they’re worried sick,” but your mind is taking a break from doing anything, so she has to repeat herself.

“They were crowding you, so the nurses made them wait outside,” she says. “I’m sure the circus scooped them up to keep them busy. Working helps distract troubling things, even if mundane or utterly pointless.”

In the glow of the electric light beside you, you notice Scarlet’s nose is red, and her eyes are pink and slightly puffy. “Were you crying?”

Scarlet blinks. “No,” she lies, and for the first time, you know you’ve caught her. She then narrows her gaze. “It wasn’t about you, but I am glad you’ve woken up.”

“What about then?”

Scarlet looks down and sighs. “I don’t know. Doesn’t every contractor on Earth have a reason to cry?”

You pause… And then ask. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not with you,” she says quickly, already having the answer to the question before you even thought it up. “I’d rather take a walk and smoke.”

“Alright…”

“I won’t leave you alone,” she smiles. “I’ll bring in your special friend out there.”