The underground station, located behind three locked entrances and a surrounding fence, required a particular access card to enter. Only visiting Espers and researchers with special permission were permitted.

  The pay was excellent, and most sacrificed their lives on the surface for enough money to support their families. Not everybody was willing to join the foraging team to scrape what was left of the world among the Infected and destruction, and not all could survive the Rifts.

  Two guards dressed in bulky gear nodded in greeting as the unnamed Esper and Ian approached.

  The blonde man merely glanced over without response, striding forward with his long legs dressed in a sleek, fitted military suit that revealed his powerful figure and prestige.

  Ian kept his head low, wrists tightly bound by handcuffs. It was protocol to ensure the Esper's safety as they left.

  They stepped past the gates, machines rumbling in operation as steam emerged from one of the vents. Wires intercrossed along the flat ceiling. Ian peered at the endless tracks that continued down the dark tunnel, lit by a dim white light.

  The intercom clicked, and a mechanical female voice echoed above.

  [Vehicle 11 is now approaching. Please remain standing behind the yellow lines.]

  [Vehicle 11 is now approaching. Please remain standing behind the yellow lines.]

  Two lights flashed down the tunnels, and the rumble of an engine echoed, rattling the earth. A train scraped from old metals, but fashioned into something functioning and stable, pulled up in front.

  Ian followed the Esper behind, his eyes darting around curiously. The guards watching snickered, but Ian ignored the sounds.

  He was good at ignoring insignificant things.

  However, he didn't enjoy being looked down upon. Keeping his chin steady, he entered the third section after satisfying his need to look around. The two took a seat, separated by a metal pole.

  [Welcome. The next station is Zone One, Station 1-A. Please remain seated in the case of sudden stops or emergencies.]

  The train rumbled, speeding off into the tunnels, light and dark switching rapidly into the windows until they became dashing streaks.

  Lucian would have liked the train. He had a fascination with most things, viewing the world with brighter eyes. That thought flickered in Ian's head but he didn't let it linger.

  In order to proceed in life, there were things he'd have to leave behind.

  Silly things, important things.

  Irreplaceable things.

  "Will you miss it?" The Esper tilted his head, his posture straight against the seats, carrying a noble allure.

  Ian continued staring at the windows. He answered honestly in this quiet space of two. "I don't know."

  "I thought you'd say you wouldn't."

  "I shouldn't. I don't plan to look back at that damned place." Ian's gaze remained level, without any disturbances. The steadiness intrigued the Esper. "But it was twenty-four years of my life."

  There were good memories, even drowned by all the horrors and rage that he experienced. It was the only world he knew for the longest time.

  Sometimes, it was the places you most wanted to escape that brought the most comfort.

  The train continued to get further away—away from his world, his life. His twenty-four long years. His first word, first walk, first everything. It was hell, but it was his.

  Even if he didn't miss it, those years would remain etched into memory until death.

  Ian took in the silence, glancing sideways. They sat close, although the pole drew an imaginary barrier that separated their thighs by a few centimeters. The Esper's in question were wrapped in expensive black cloth.

  A pity, thought Ian dully as the train rattled underneath his feet. To hide such fine muscles under an unnecessarily luxurious piece of fabric. The Esper's personality belonged in the trash, so he should've contributed to the world with his appearance instead.

  Knowingly, Ian remarked, "You don't understand."

  There were people who hated assumptions being made of them, much less being straightforwardly told that there was something they didn't understand.

  No person liked not knowing.

  Ian sought a flicker of irritation or amusement and saw nothing. The Esper simply looked at him with that unnerving smile.

  "I don't understand," he agreed.

  "Then, did my answer matter? Do you care what I think?" Ian paused. "You don't."

  The wind whistled through the thin gaps in the window as they approached the surface. Ian swerved his head, and he could see the light ushering into the tunnel, banishing the darkness into the corners of the space.

  The Esper watched him. He watched how the black pupils absorbed the light greedily, housing all the daylight in the darkness of their gaze. He watched how the Guide's lips parted a crack, a silent gasp of awe.

  There was a small beauty mark under his lip, placed with purpose at one corner.

  The Guide yearning for daylight was neither cute nor small, neither fragile nor endearing. The Esper wasn't fond of delicate things—they broke easily. Too easily.

  Bringing back a Guide was an impulsive action, one that wouldn't trouble him too much. If the F-ranked Guide failed to perform, he would be discarded like the many others before him, failures brought to the surface by other Espers and trashed like a malfunctioning tool.

  Victor Wolfe did not have the hobby of giving Guides false hope.

  But when he looked at this tall, slender man disguising darkness under his simple appearance, he didn't see trust, hopefulness, or any positive feelings in the slightest.

  When Ian looked at him, all Victor saw was greed.

  To the F-class Guide, Victor Wolfe was merely a satisfactory tool.

  Victor thought that calmly, tugging out a silk blindfold. He held it between his black-gloved hands, holding it neatly. Ian turned back as the train slowed, screeching against the rails.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  [Arriving in Zone One, Station 1-B. Doors will open to the left.]

  "The second protocol. Guides are not permitted to find the exit to the facility," stated Victor.

  "We're almost at the end."

  "I forgot," said the Esper casually. "But we can pretend."

  Ian scoffed. "So you're a liar."

  Then, he nodded without resistance, closing his eyes as he drew away from the light and turned his back to the Esper. Victor couldn't tell if this Guide was reckless or trusting, although he doubted the latter, with the way the exposed slope of his neck revealed a sense of vulnerability.

  Broad shoulders sat underneath a loose-fitted shirt, and a ruined collar had been torn unevenly. The Guide's uniform in the facility. The raven hair, once long and beautiful, had been hastily chopped into crude layers.

  His skin was a light tan, weathered and drained from the lack of sunlight.

  Victor allowed the blindfold to fall over Ian's eyes, leaning over his shoulder to ensure that his eyes were blocked. Ian felt the fan of a hot breath tickle the edge of his ear.

  The blindfold rested over his eyes, pulled tightly against the back of his hair. Long fingers untangled knots, grazing against his head. The back of his neck tingled, ghosted with a casual touch.

  Victor drew away, observing how Ian's straight neck curved, head lowered to allow for an easy tying.

  He stood, leather boots colliding against the metal floor. Ian distinctly felt the presence of a body before him. His other senses narrowed, sharpening with his lack of sight.

  "Your hand."

  Ian raised his hand, and it was captured between a reliable and broad palm. It was strange, being unable to rely on anything but this stranger with indifferent eyes. He stayed close to the Esper, chasing after the one known source in a world of unknowns.

  They walked for a short time before he heard the mechanical sound of a door unlocking, and wind rustled through his hair. Sunlight lapped against the blindfold, soaking into his skin.

  He wanted to drown in it.

  Victor pulled him along lightly as Ian felt a little disorientated, furrowing his eyebrows. Eventually, the warmth disappeared, and they were in another building, ascending a flight of stairs.

  Ian clung closely to Victor, careful to feel each step underneath his foot. The Esper wasn't impatient, walking steadily but unhurriedly, waiting a fraction for Ian to regain his footing before continuing. A door clicked, unlocking, and he was pulled into another room.

  They continued in silence as the Esper lightly directed him into a chair. He was going to trim Ian's hair, he decided. Ian didn't resist, listening to the small snips of scissors and the light brush of fingers that dusted away the small pieces of hair that clung to his clothes or neck.

  It itched. His fingers twitched, but remained limp against his lap.

  The blindfold remained on.

  It remained on as his clothes were carefully removed with a single warning, and it remained on as a glass of water pressed against his lips. He felt hands, a jarring cold, lightly pull against his shirt and lift the thin fabric over his head.

  He swallowed, sitting still.

  "Are you into blindfolds?" wondered Ian casually.

  The movement in the room stopped, and footsteps approached him again, seeming to regard him silently. "This is the question you're finally asking?"

  "Is there a different one I should have asked?"

  "There isn't."

  "Then answer it."

  The Esper remained silent, and Ian itched to move, restless in the seat. He wanted to see the man's expression, however false.

  Then, a thumb grazed over his eyelids, on top of the blindfold. "It's not bad."

  He was positioned, vulnerable and bare against dark sheets, lying on his stomach. Yet strangely, Ian didn't feel the repulsive fear that followed the touch of other Espers, hands against his skin, leaving him feeling sticky and filthy.

  He felt fear, without a doubt, but it was more primitive, the settling boil in his stomach that made his skin prickle.

  A hand traced against his back as if measuring the expanse of space. His senses flared, in-tuned with the absence of sight. A drop sounded lightly, and the rustle of fabric before something soft and cold brushed against his skin.

  He shuddered, adapting quickly and stilling. The brush continued to draw powerful, confident strokes against the curvatures of his back muscles. The dim light flickered in the corner of the room, casting shadows against the two in silence.

  "I'll ask you once more, Guide," mused the Esper with a touch of amusement, as if prompting rejection. "Will you consent to my aid?"

  Ian's back arched lightly as the cold paint dipped into the crevice of his shoulder blades. "Didn't I already ask?"

  "I need to hear it out loud. I don't like uncertain deals."

  Ian didn't understand as the weight against his back lifted, and the Esper seemed to admire his work thoughtfully. Then, the large hand splayed against his back, pressing firmly by the divot above his hips.

  The lines where the brush had touched prickled, lightly at first, before a searing pain bloomed against his skin, and he gasped, agony splintering his vision.

  "What the hell are you doing?" seethed the Guide.

  "No questions," said the Esper simply. "At least, I wouldn't expect an answer."

  The Esper held him still, pushing his large body down against the bed with one hand, dismissing his writhing.

  "You agreed," the Esper reminded.

  Ian gritted his teeth and said nothing, bending his head and groaning into the pillow. They remained there for what felt like decades, until the pain faded into something dull and ancient, like a pulsing memory lingering at the back of his mind.

  He remained limp and obedient as a new shirt was carefully slipped over his body, and those cold hands touched him minimally.

  As if he wasn't worth touching, yet. But a mere doll to dress up.

  Once the Esper finished, he was led out of the apartment or room–he heard the door lock, and his senses leaned into the warmth of the man's body.

  The Esper's energy licked the edges of his skin, diving in and out as they sought relief. Ian didn't give it—the previous night's guiding had exhausted most of his energy, and there was still a bottomless pool of chaos simmering within that strange man.

  [Vehicle 38 is now approaching. Please remain standing behind the yellow lines.]

  Ian finally spoke.

  "Where are we going?"

  The Esper held his hand tightly, staring ahead as the train pulled into the station. "I thought you'd ask earlier."

  Ian didn't move. "You're usually wrong, aren't you?"

  He wondered if the Esper was smiling, but all he received was the release of their hands. They'd been holding hands for the majority of the day it left Ian feeling lost, his fingers closing around nothing. Instead, the hand pressed on his back, leading him towards the open doors.

  "Then we have something in common. There's no we."

  Ian stumbled over the edge where the train met, stepping over the small gap.

  The pressure on his back released, and he spun around with bewilderment. Although he'd expected the unpredictability of the Esper's movements, he didn't expect to be abandoned by his golden ticket so quickly.

  [Doors are now closing.]

  "Run along, F-class. It's the freedom you've spent twenty-six years of your life yearning for. I wouldn't recommend exiting until you reach Zone 5, Station 5-C."

  The doors creaked, slowly closing. Ian stretched out his arm to untie the blindfold, loosening it as half slipped down his face, resting on his nose bridge.

  His eyes narrowed. "Twenty-four," he corrected.

  The Esper stood behind the doors, a step away. His pale blue eyes were fixed on Ian, reflecting the departing train. The person reflected was a useless guide, a nobody with nothing to offer.

  A person like that could hardly stand alongside that man, much less use him as a tool.

  Before the doors slid together, Ian lifted his chin coldly. Confidence manifested from nothing, coiling in the arrogant jut of his head. "I'll see you in six months."

  The Esper raised his eyebrows slightly and smiled. He lifted his hand and offered a casual wave as if he had no faith in Ian's abilities to crawl his way to the top.

  [Welcome. The next station is Zone One, Station 1-C. Please remain seated in the case of sudden stops or emergencies.]

  Ian remained standing at the door as the Esper's face disappeared into the distance and the train sped down the dimly lit tunnels, further from his destination.

  After the train departed, Victor glanced quietly at his hand that still contained the soothing traces of warmth that eased the turbulence in his body. In fact, the cooling sensation remained wrapped around his chaotic insides, mildly calming the chaos that rattled in his body.

  He'd slept with many Guides before, and the sensation was still the same. But none had imprinted on the madness within him, leaving a trace of tranquility in the depths of his soul. A mere touch was all it took.

  A touch could be addicting, a drop of calm in a sea of madness. But Victor didn't have an addictive personality, and he didn't like tools that could malfunction.

  "An F-class," muttered Victor as he stared into the long-empty tunnels.

  What a liar.

  If his ranking was faked, then the compatibility results in the database might have been falsified as well. Judging by the sensation, he thought that the big liar's affinity shouldn't be too bad.

  He turned around, exiting the train station.

  The Guide was a little older than him, worn by the sufferings of the underground facility. His back was broad, and a lean muscularity to the malnourished limbs carried an explosive power.

  With some time, he could develop into something far beyond the beautiful and soothing Guides that often escaped the facility.

  A Guide that disobeyed the world's design.

  A laugh slipped past the Esper's lips, cold and detached.

  In the end, nothing would matter if that man fell prey to the Rifts or society. He'd left a sheltered feline, wild and ferocious, in an entirely unknown terrain. Whether he had the fortune of surviving or not, it was no longer Victor's business.

  Not for the next six months.

  He briefly glanced at his wristband, eyes flickering to the date before he walked away.