She thinks we should go upstairs.

“Let’s just go upstairs,” Scarlet decides. “I’d rather not get fucking lung cancer looking for some idiot and his lost property.”

You glance up, taking keen notice of the integrity. It doesn’t look like there are very many years left in it. “I’ll do my best to catch you if we try if you fall.”

Scarlet screws her eyes up to the ceiling. “Just take extra precautions.”

You proceed up the stairs with your weapons drawn. Your light casts a much-needed light, igniting the dark corners the weak morning sun doesn’t shine into from the broken windows. Scarlet’s breathing becomes inaudible as you step over rubble and tipped over furniture. Everything is otherwise silent, however. The only time you hear anything out of the ordinary is when a sudden wind cuts through the buildings and howls through the broken walls and webbed windows. You step suddenly with a hunch. “What is it?” Scarlet whispers, becoming small as she shoots a glance behind you.

“Instinct,” you whisper, reversing into a previously cleared room. You cluck your flashlight off before you slow your breath, listening to the building as the howling subsides. There is no denying the sounds of stepping on your level. Neither of you tense, but your ears strain to pick out the natural and unnatural sounds of the building. Natural being human, of course.

A shadow begins to stretch out in the hallway, and you direct the ****-end of your pistol out at the doorway where the shadow and the footsteps emit. A small figure comes into immediate view, and your finger twitches. It looks like a child. Close beside you, Scarlet inhales. “HEY!” She shouts, nearly causing you to go deaf on one side.

The kid spins around on her heel. Her blonde hair is a similar shade to Scarlet’s. In her hands is a gun, but she hesitates before pointing at you. Your finger slips to your pistol's trigger, but Scarlet pushes past you. “If you pull that trigger you better not miss, girl.”

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” The girl doesn’t shoot, but you’re already at the wall of your trigger. Scarlet looks back at you and flares her eyes in warning. You better not shoot.

“We’re here on behave of the ARS… To help your,” Scarlet considers her following words carefully. “Caretaker.”

The girl darts her eyes to someplace down the hall. “Who else is there?”

“Just me,” she says. You know she’s lying.

“Lie to me again, and I'll blow another two holes in your skull,” you spit.

“Knock that off,” Scarlet hisses at you. “Who else out there, kid?”

She hesitates, refusing to answer, so Scarlet presses. “What’s your name then?”

“Angelica,” she smiles somewhat, lowering her gun. You ease off the trigger, but you don’t make an effort to aim elsewhere. Angelica swallows hard. “You’re right that I’m not alone, but I don’t know if I can trust you enough to tell you anymore.”

Scarlet lowers her rifle. “Alright, let’s holster our weapons then. We’ll step out, and we can talk.”

“Scarlet,” you whisper. “Are we sure?”

“Of course,” she says. “She’s just a kid.”

Angelica darts her gaze again and slightly nods to whoever else is there. She’s about as sneaky as a rhino in a spotlight. Scarlet regards her, reminding her that if anything is tried, she’ll likely be dead along with her companions.

When you step out, you discover a young boy— probably 10 or 12, unlikely in his teens. Now that you’re closer to the girl, you think she’s either 15 or 16. However, it’s challenging to make an accurate prediction. She was at the weird stage of puberty, where she could have been 17 or 18, too.

You eye the boy suspiciously as he struggles to stow away a hunting knife. Angelica gasps, though. “Warren? As in… Warren Visser?”

“What about it?” You glare at Angelica, and she blushes.

“Angel— our caretaker— he tried to hire you, but he found out you were under contract,” she looks at Scarlet and apologizes. “This all makes sense now. Listen! He’s not here right now, but I can take you to where we’re all at.”

Scarlet shifts her legs. “Where you are ALL at? How many of you are there?”

Angelica looks at the boy. “About 20. Mostly boys his age.”

You tried to share a glance with Scarlet, but her eyes weren’t focused on you. They were locked in with the boy. Her nose was pink, just like her cheeks. She’s gone flush for a reason. Your lips and throat have gone dry, too, but you ignore it. Scarlet finds her voice and asks Angelica to take them to the others while inquiring when Angel will return.

“Later tonight,” you’re told by both of the children. You glance at your watch and figure you have about 6-8 hours of investigation— if you want to.

You’re led to a closed door, three rooms down to where you and Scarlet are away. You try to read the sign next to it, but it’s too faded to judge its original designation. Angelica opens the door, but no sounds greet you as she slips in. She lets the boy go first and opens it more comprehensively for you and Scarlet, but Scarlet shakes her head. “Give us a moment, would you?”

Angelica narrows her eyes quizzically. Scarlet spreads her arms out. “I just need to talk to Warren briefly.”

“OK then? I’ll take him down to the others and be right back?” Angelica slips in, and the door behind her closes.

As soon as the door is closed, Scarlet turns to you. “That gross fucking prick,” she says before releasing a heavy breath and then repeating it a few more times before grabbing something from the floor and throwing it out the window.

You gesture at the door with a thumb. “So, it’s as bad as I think then?”

“Probably,” she goes to the window and leans out.

“You OK?” You try, joining her to look out.

“Kids scare me,” she replies. “I can’t do this. I’m going to kill Angel as soon as he gets here.”

“Angel is John Doe, right?”

“Yes,” she snaps. “I hate the irony in his stupid fucking name.”

“Relax,” you nudge Scarlet. “Let’s get the full story first.”

She slaps your hand away. “No offense, Warren, but I don’t hear any of their stories,” her voice cracked. "Goddamnit.”

“Scarlet?”

She starts fanning her face, cursing angrily at herself. She moves her eyes to you. “Sorry. This is— personal. Amara knows I don’t handle these contracts very well. She should have sent you and Kenji instead.”

You realize it’s not a good place to ask, but you try anyway. “Why is this personal to you?”

“Not here,” she says softly. “Not now.”