There's a fizzle in the air. It smells like hot metal. Spiro instinctively backs away a half-step before standing his guard.

In the chair, feet away from him, a boy materializes in front of him.

Spiro stares.

"What the-" He says.

"That's what people usually say," the boy says. Spiro looks closer. Upon further inspection, he sees, the boy is chained to the chair, heavy metal links wrapping around his arms and torso. He appears to be around Spiro's age.

"How did you-" Spiro says, throat dry, swallowing. The boy in the chair stares at him through narrowed eyes.

"Let's say it's a trade secret," he says, shifting in his seat. "That guy told you how to get me out of this, right? I've been here for days. You took your damn time."

"No, uh," Spiro says, stepping closer. "He only contacted me yesterday. Are you... do you know what the 'asset' is that I'm supposed to be picking up?"

The boy snorts.

"You're not too bright, are you?" He says. Everything he does is bright and sharp. Spiro smells a metallic scent on him. "It's me. I'm the asset."

There's a pause.

"Shit," Spiro says, stopping. "I'm not getting involved in any human trafficking. Drugs, I don't care, but not people."

The boy rolls his eyes. "Do I look like I'm being trafficked?" He asks.

"Uh, kind of." Spiro says.

The boy frowns.

"Okay, I'll give you that one," he mutters. "But I'm not. Just get me out of this damn chair and I'll get in touch with the old man."

"Old man?" Spiro asks, walking around to the back of the chair, where a heavy padlock secures the chains together, and kneels to inspect it. After a moment, he unzips a pouch on his belt and pulls out a ring of small, thin wires. The boy in the chair cranes his neck to see what he's doing.

"Yeah, the old man." He says. "He's, like, twenty-five."

"That's not old," Spiro scoffs. "That's only a few years older than me."

"Yeah, well, he acts like an old man." The boy mutters. "Shitty guy. Obsessed with books and shit."

Spiro shrugs. He works one wire deeper into the lock, tracing it carefully against the metal tumblers, holding his tension pick steady with the other hand.

"There's plenty of those rich guys who like stuff like that," he says. "Company schools have literature classes and stuff."

The boy makes a noise of annoyance. He tenses against his bonds.

"Damn Company." He spits. "Don't talk about those bastards."

Spiro glances up. "Uh," he says. "Okay. What's your name, anyways?"

"I don't have to tell you," the boy snorts.

"Shit. Alright." Spiro mutters. "Attitude problem."

> Are we sure letting this individual loose is safe? Orion asks in Spiro's ear. In your brief conversation with him, I have concluded that the possibility of him committing some act of violence in the next five days is over 60%.

"I don't know." Spiro says under his breath. "But if I do leave him for another couple days, he's probably going to starve."

"Who the hell are you talking to?" The boy asks, irritated. "It's not the old man, is it?"

"Uh, no." Spiro says hastily, fumbling his picks at the sudden question. "It's, uh. A friend."

> Have I been upgraded to friend status? Orion asks, in what would be considered a humorous tone for a human. I'll have to make note in my function settings.

"Oh, shut up," Spiro mutters. The lock finally clicks. The metal bonds fall away.

"Oh, damn," the boy groans, standing and stretching his legs. "You have no idea how good it is to be free."

"That sentence is incredibly ominous in nature," Spiro deadpans, tucking his picks away and standing up. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"

The boy shakes his head.

"The old guy told me not to." He says, looking at Spiro with narrow eyes. Spiro suddenly notices that his eyes are grey. There's something off about them. Spiro feels a tendril of dread curl in his stomach. "Witnesses are inconvenient, but I guess he still needs you for something."

"Witnesses?" Spiro asks, mouth dry. The boy stares at him for another moment, and then suddenly does something he hasn't before. He smiles. His teeth are white. Spiro feels fear curl around his heart. He's attractive, he vaguely registers in a way he hadn't before, with jet dark hair and a lean physique, but something about the way he stands and the ripping, pale scars that curl around his arms like arcs of lightning makes Spiro mentally remind himself of where the exits of the warehouse are. He's taller than Spiro, only by a bit.

The boy stops smiling abruptly. He sighs.

"I'm starved." He says. "Where the fuck can I get some food?"