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Now heading home, Ethan was silent for most of the walk, but was in high spirits. In contrast, Brook and Eli were talking up a storm. The young fighter was still feeling a combat high, his boiler suit now tossed over his shoulder. Taking that stupid suit off was like peeling away a second skin, like he now had access to a whole new range of motions that he hadn't had before.

"Seriously, what was that move, at the start? He was, like, a head taller than you, probably more, yet you managed to kick him in the head while he was standing!" Brook said, a cigarette in her hand, leaving a wispy trail of smoke alongside her exaggerated hand motions.

"It was just a basic kick, the hardest part was hitting his head. It's easy to go too low and just hit them in the shoulder, you'll cause no damage that was." He said, not minding the smell of the cigarette, or at least not commenting on it.

"Seriously? Basic? That was anything but basic? Seriously, who taught you how to fight? They had to be really good." She took a drag on her cigarette, exhaling through her nose, "Would love to meet them."

"A whole bunch of people taught me, actually, but I never really knew them. I mean, they taught me but I never knew their names."

"So, some weird sort of private training? Mysterious..."

"I think? I can't really explain it."

"Fucking sweet, either way," She said, snickering.

Eli nodded, thinking for a moment, rubbing his chin, "Yeah..." He drifted off, mumbling something to himself. Brook's voice began to felt distance. If she was saying anything, it was lost on him. "They trained me... Somewhere... Not here."

Where did he learn to fight?

"Where..." Eli hummed, closing his eyes.

Where did he learn to fight? Who trained him to fight?

Who did he...?

He heard a voice, a distance memory, the voice wasn't talking to him but it was talking about him. In a room, somewhere.

There was someone there, with him,a man calling himself... No, he didn't remember. Everything was coming to him in vague concepts. A few words began to form at the back of his mind. It was just one sentence and didn't answer any of his questions. "A name? I suppose he needs a name. Very well... How about..."

"Eli?" Brook said, snapping Eli to attention, his eyes wide.

"Huh?" He said, confused, looking around. They were still on their trip home, but the apartments were now in sight.

"You suddenly stopped in place there, dude, what happened." Ethan said, sharing in Brook's concern.

"I did?"

"Yeah, are you okay there?" Brook said, looking at him closely, as if she was inspecting his body for any injuries. Nothing visible. Other than anindent on the fur on his arms, where he was punched earlier.

"I'm fine," He nodded, "I just got lost there, lost in though." He said, his expression still looking bothered by something, whatever that could be. "But, um, about my training. I don't know where or who trained me. All I know is that I really like fighting."

"Well,don't hurt yourself thinking about it. Why don't we head home and you can take a nap. I probably could use one myself." Brook reassured him. "I'm also sure you worked up an appetite after that, huh?" Nothing beat a huge meal after hitting the gym, or in this case, a violent fight.

Eli's eyes lit up, smiling once again, now that he was promised food. He didn't even have to say anything for Brook to know she struck the right note.

"There we go. Because..." She said looking to Ethan, putting on baby doll eyes. She didn't even have to make a verbal request for him to know what she was asking.

Ethan looked at the two and gave an annoyed sigh, but was still smiling; it was the good type of annoyed, whatever that meant. "Sheeesh... Fine, yeah, I'll cook tonight." He looked at the apartments, stepping into the parking lot. "I'll get the ministove ready."

"Thank you!" Brook and Eli said in unison.

Ethan stopped though, he had a question for Eli actually, one that was on his mind. "Hey, Eli, one more thing, that's been bothering me. How old are you?"

Eli answered quickly and happily, "Oh? As of 3 months ago, 18."

Both Ethan and Brook looked at each other in disbelief, they knew he was young, yes, but not that young. "18," Ethan said, running it over in his head. How can someone so young be that experienced at combat, to call him a prodigy would be downplaying it. At least letting him live with them was a little less awkward, now that he knew he was technically an adult.

Brook was mumbling to herself, as she extinguished her cigarette in an ashtray of a trashcan. "18 and an experienced fighting...? I'm 25 and have done nothing... What the hell have I been doing this whole time?"

Eh... She'll get over it. It's lunch time now.

Once they were home, the day passed by quickly. The whole apartment smelled like grilled fish, once they made use of the tuna steak; although the portions were going to be smaller than they were use to, now that they were feeding a third person. They also had some sliced tomatoes to go with it! Ethan ate them just fine, Brook ate them reluctantly, having the taste buds of a child. Eli required a bit of convincing, but seemed to really enjoy them.

Finally, things were returning to something resembling normal, no more history lessons and no more worrying about where Eli was from. For now, all they wanted to do was talk about ordinary things. Brook would go on and on about matches she saw on TV or wrestling moves that she loved, Eli would follow her up, showing mutual interest; thinking, perhaps, he could do some of the moves that she mentioned. Ethan wasn't the most talkative person, even when it was just him and Brook, but he was an amazing listener, knowing the best times to provide his commentary. That was, until, the subject fell upon card games or games of chance, then it was time for Ethan to take the chance.

It was a night of bonding and breaking bread, between these two friends plus a new one they had just met. In the minds of the two old friends, they knew that they would have to find a home for Eli or at least people to act as his caretakers. But tonight wasn't the time for that. Tonight was a night to sit at the table with him, and forget about the future, just for a while.

---

Hours passed, the sun had set. Augustus walked out of the police station, into the streets of Palegreen; he had been let off with a warning. He, after all, didn't actually hurt anyone, plus wasn't the one who instigated the fight. Besides, he was friends with a few police officers.

The pain in his crotch was weaker, but hadn't subsided just yet. Personally, he just wanted to go home. No... He couldn't go home just yet. He was going to go straight to Ethan's apartment, break that fucking door down, and get his revenge on all three of them; his pride had never been hurt this badly before and he wouldn't let this one go, never, not in a million years. "Just wait and see," he bared his teeth, growling. But, before that could happen, there was one thing he had to take care of first. He looked at the note in his hand, "Just you wait, punk."

It was a simple note, written in a steady and effeminate handwriting that Augustus recognized, "Meet me." Plus an address. It was given to an officer, then handed off to Augustus.

The address ended up leading him to a small parking garage, just a short walk away from a shopping center. Late at night, few cars were parked here, other than a few late night shoppers and people working the graveyard shifts. He looked around, making sure no one was following him or watching him, his heart was racing, fast. Why was his heart beating so fast of all times? Why was his hand trembling?

The moon was a thin crescent, like a reaper's scythe.

Fuck it, no more waiting around, he walked into the garage.

Only for him to find that it was empty. He looked around, seeing no one around, not even people going to their cars or people pulling in. Moving to the center of the garage, now fully in darkness, other than a few dim lights, then called out. "You wanted to see me?"

No answer.

"Pavlov?"

There was no answer.

Tempers flared, he shouted, "Pavlov, get your ass out here!"

No answer again.

Augustus spit on the ground and turned around, going to go back to his original plan, only for him to come face to face with the man known as Pavlov.

"Right behind you." He said coyly, a grin on his face.

Augustus, startled, stepped back, "You dick!"

Pavlov was an innocuous looking man, a dingo, often mistaken for a large fox or an orange colored wolf. Despite said plain appearance, his toned musculature was shown through his outfit, a long jacket, sleeveless shirt, and ordinary pants. Although, his most distinctive part of his outfit was his old military cap, still wearing it on days that he considered special. The Northist symbol was displayed on the top of it. "Augustus, my friend," He said, speaking in a polite, friendly tone. "Just what were you up to today?" He said, taking a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket, lighting it. The cherry of the cigarette being one of the few sources of light in the darkness.

"Why's it matter to you?" Augustus asked, staring the man in the eyes, with a mix of fear and contempt.

"Doesn't matter at all actually. Doesn't matter at all." He shook his head, "That is what I would say if I was lying." he exhaled, blowing a pillar of smoke towards the roof. "Nah, let me ask you something, only gonna take a few minutes. Can you remind me about the ideals that us Northist's uphold?"

Augustus said nothing, he knew this man, he knew what he was like. They had the same ideals and the same beliefs. But even he wasn't comfortable in front of him.

"Nothing?" Pavlov raised a brow, taking another cigarette out of the back, and offering it to his 'friend,' who knew better than to refuse. "Okay then, let me remind you. The unification of all nations. One culture. One creed. All under one flag." He lit the cigarette with the end of his, "Beautiful things." Bowing his head and blew another trail of smoke, his eyes were focused on Augustus' crotch. "Genetic superiority is a plus." Looking back up, he began to laugh. Despite his very deep voice, his laugh was a high pitched, impish cackle. "Oh believe me, I saw the video, check the internet lately? That shit spreads quick. You didn't just lose that fight, you got emasculated!"

"That's why you brought me here?!" Augustus said, spitting his cigarette out, barely finished.

"That's exactly it! You made a fool out of yourself and you made a fool out of our creed, by proxy. That ain't a good look in this day and age." He adjusted his hat, the metal symbol on the brim gleaming faintly in the darkness. "Next, let me show you something pretty." He reached into his jacket pocket, and took something out. It was some sort of card, a bit smaller than your average piece of paper. The dingo held it close to his face. While hard to see in the darkness, under the dim lights of the parking garage, the back of the card displayed the symbol of an orchid, wrapped in barbed wire. To Augustus, the symbol didn't look familiar whatsoever. "This, my fine friend, is my new meal ticket. The key to saving Northism." He took inhaled deeply on his cigarette one last time, before flicking it away. Then, exhaled. "Goodbye."

Augustus didn't even notice Pavlov pulling his trusty knife from its sheath. Pavlov was fast. Very fast. In one quick motion, he swung the knife, the blade slicing cleanly through the mastiff's neck. Blood sprayed from the wound, onto the concrete floor and only Pavlov, who had a relaxed smile on his face. "That was for calling me a dick earlier."

The mastiff, hand to his throat, unable to stop the flow of blood, mouthed his last words. "Pav... Lov..." Then, with a heavy thud, he fell to the side, dead.

Pavlov turned around, flicking the blood off the knife, and putting the card back in his jacket pocket. Feeling the cold night air, he smiled.

Big things were coming soon.