San Diego was big. Bigger than Ishram remembered. Last time he was here, it was only but a small village soon to be incorporated as a city. Now, the whole place was different. It grew bigger, gnawing at the nature around it. He didn’t recognise it anymore, didn’t know where was what. The minivan was moving slowly within the afternoon traffic, and Ishram took his time to admire the place. It was warmer than Detroit.

“4409, Wightman Avenue...” Kibwe was repeating, hands on the wheel.

Ishram had to put down Kibwe’s phone at one point, because staring at it while driving in the city made him wanna puke. That, and Kibwe needing the Google to guide him with his map. A moving map. Ishram still couldn’t stop staring at it. The arrow moved with the car, a bit delayed maybe, but it moved. How the hell did it move?

He almost jolted when the device spoke to tell them which turn to take. He cursed, too, which earned him a snicker from Andrea. After a solid half an hour, and more nausea, he finally decided to tear his eyes away from it.

Now, he was looking the street with a silent gaze. His eyes met many faces, many other cars. The air smelled, it was completely different from the one he breathed in the woods, or during their trip.

Silence filled the minivan. Sometimes Andrea and Amanda would start talking together. Sometimes Kibwe would try and speak to Andrea, but didn’t get much more than blunt answers. It was clear that Andrea didn’t approve of his behaviour towards Ishram, and Ishram couldn’t really blame him for that. It was either Ishram or Andrea, and Kibwe wasn’t taking any sides.

“There,” Kibwe finally pointed, using the turn signal and moving from one lane to another.

Ishram followed his maneuvers closely. By now, he understood some of it. Kibwe was kind enough to answer his questions whenever he’d ask them. Slowly, his understanding of ‘today’ progressed. He felt less lost, but still quite impressionable.

Ross texted them weird dashes and haphazard letters. A link, Ishram was told, to be able to open it on the Internet. They were looking, apparently, for a workshop named BReckeless.

Kibwe proceeded at moderate speed, letting other cars pass them and go on their way. The street was crossed by small steam clouds at one point. Streets were crawling with people everywhere, like an anthill. Colourful and bright and lively, they moved like a swarm and then dissolved into nothing with no logic. Shops were open, filled with more colours and lights, smells and noises.

Ishram stared, overwhelmed by curiosity, feeling helplessly lost. The world had changed so much, he wasn’t sure it was still the one he knew. It felt more chaotic, too complex to understand. The more humans advanced, the more their cities became hectic, both flourishing with life and extreme poverty.

When Kibwe stopped the van, Ishram resisted the urge to exit it and run on the sidewalk. He knew better than to move without someone who knew how to be in their time. So he waited until Andrea and Amanda too got out of their seats to imitate their gestures, joining them on the sidewalk.

Once outside, Ishram was met with a flow of people. They were all young, with backpacks on their shoulders, chit-chatting and laughing—phones in their hands, and some wires trailing up to their ears. Ishram trailed them until they disappeared down a flight of stairs. That was when he noticed the shop Ross was waiting them in.

Right outside of it, a very uncovered version of Ross leaned the wall. She wore military green trousers and black boots, a dark purple tank top. Her hair was a mass of dreadlocks with blue ends, skin was of a darker shade than Ishram remembered—probably because of all the sun and hot weather.

Ishram exhaled hard, deflating. He moved, sped up when she turned and noticed him.

She opened her arms just in time for Ishram to hug her and hold her. Her golden round earrings gently picked at his cheekbone, large and slim, asking for some space.

“Fashionably late, are we?” Ross laughed against Ishram’s ear.

Ishram laughed, too. “You know me, I’ve got an appearance to keep up,” he chuckled.

Ross let go of him, but kept her hands on his shoulders. “You need a haircut,” she said, a smile on her face.

Ishram shook his head. “I always need an haircut, if it were up to you.”

Ross’ eyes focused past Ishram, as she realised who was waiting behind him, her expression sharpened. “So these are your famous plus two,” she observed, walking past him and greeting the human family.

Kibwe looked wary, but not as much as Amanda and Andrea did.

Ross shook Kibwe’s hand, before inviting them inside the workshop. Ishram followed them in silence. The workshop was a mess. It smelled of grease and metal and sweat. Ishram caught something that resembled one of the cars he’d seen everywhere since he woke up, but parts were missing, and the whole thing was open. He got close, looked over and studied the parts. The engine was smaller than the ones he remembered, he could see new added things he didn’t recognise, and a lot of valves and cables.

“Hey, wonder boy, over here,” Ross called from across the room. Ishram turned and found her holding the door open. “I know you’re a nerd for this stuff, but we gotta discuss business.”

Ishram knew the drill, but it didn’t make it any easier. He wanted to know, not go through bureaucracy. He moved, walked inside the room and kept looking. He could wait. Ugh. The room was filled with shelves and boxes of all sizes and shapes. Ross guided them through them to the other side of the room. Ishram the urge to open the boxes and see what was inside when Ross moved some of them from the ground and pulled a trapdoor open.

Steep stairs ran down into the ground. A dim yellow light surfaced from the bottom of it, casting a warm colour on the dark underground walls. The place was narrow and chill, old and dusty light-bulbs hung from the ceiling, softly buzzing.

Ishram settled behind the group when they reached the underground room. It was a tidier version of the workshop upstairs, but with smaller TVs and shelves full of binders, books, and haphazard papers stuck between them. The rest of the walls had glass boards with pictures and ticked lists beneath them. Ishram noticed Ross’ face, too, among them. He searched for familiar faces, too, and was pleased to find none. Ross knew better than to keep evidence of his family.

The underground room had another two doors, both closed, but Ishram could hear muffled footsteps and voices coming from one of them.

“You’ve kept busy,” he noticed.

“You’re not the only Kishaard who needs human documents from time to time. Now they got planes and shit, it’s easier to move for us as well.”

Andrea halted. “You a falsifier?”

“Yeah, why? You a cop?”

Andrea’s eyebrows raised, then they flashed to Ishram. “This is who should solve our problems? Really?”

Ishram shook his head and closed his eyes. “Ignore him,” he said to Ross, following her to a spare desk. He sat down and stared at the pile of papers in front of him.

“Do I have to read all of this?” he groaned.

Ross smiled, before shaking her head. “Nah, you got everything you need here.” She tapped on the TV screen, before moving something Ishram wasn’t sure how to name. It wasn’t even directly connected to the TV, but the screen lit up anyway and showed Ishram a name.

He frowned. “User guest?” he read out loud. “Uh, what?”

Ross laughed, moving away the pile of documents to reveal yet another thing. It had letters on it, and she tapped on each one of them way too fast for Ishram to read. “Password is assclench, so even your nut brain can remember it.”

Ishram mimicked her words with a face. “Alright, how do I open the Google?”

Ross laughed. Hard.

Ishram knew what it meant. “What did I say?”

“Oh, no. Not until I have a video of it,” she joked. “Taavi will love it.”

“Come on, you have plenty of stories.” This wasn’t fair. At all.

Ishram sighed, and then went back to the TV screen. He moved the first thing, but nothing happened. “Is it supposed to do this?” he wined. Which was why Ross took pity on him and explained how a computer worked. They barely made it to what icons were, that Ishram found what he was looking for; a folder named Catch-up. Ishram clicked on it. It opened a window full of files.

“Look at him go,” Ross’ chimed, elbowing at someone out of his peripheral. Ishram shook his head and snorted, muttered a, “let me work,” and tuned her out. He didn’t mind the jokes, they felt like home. The closes thing to familiarity and stability he could have.

“Alright, see you in a few hours. I’ll take care of these guys here,” Ross chanted from... somewhere.

Ishram didn’t even turn, he trusted her to handle the humans. Besides, he was too busy to learn what had happened to the world while he was away.

[:::]

Andrea lost track of time when they followed Ross down the trapdoor. He didn’t trust any of it, but he didn’t have more choices than to follow. The only reason he agreed, was because he could control Ishram. Hurt him, even, if Andrea wanted to. First, he needed to make sure his parents were safe.

Ishram was sitting in front of the desk, devouring pages after pages with methodical precision. Andrea was still staring at his back when Ross moved in the way, smiling at him, a telltale glint of fangs under her lips.

“Shall we?” Her tone was friendly, almost too much for Andrea’s likings. She gestured towards one of the doors, a clear invite. “I won’t bite you,” she reassured. “Yet,” she chuckled, deep and suave.

Andrea avoided a full-body shiver, but not the stiff posture.

“Ross.” Ishram called, still not looking at the screen. “He’s another Tariin.”

Ross’ face changed, she looked at Ishram and then back at Andrea. Her features relaxed into something concerned. “Well, shit,” she exhaled. “Could’a told me beforehand.”

“My fault.” Ishram was still not looking.

Ross turned, looked at Andrea and petted his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your friend,” she whispered.

Her change in attitude was off-putting at best. Andrea grimaced, the sting of Seth’s death still fresh. “Why should you be sorry? You eat people too, right?” he hissed.

Ross nodded, and Andrea expected more, but nothing else came. Instead, Ross opened the door and spoke, “I’ll need to talk to you when we’re done. Privately.”

Andrea frowned and checked in with his parents. A slight nod, and they were walking inside what looked like an office. Four people were sitting in front of desks, quietly typing, while another sat in front of a craft table, pliers handling a thin, golden bracelet. In front of her, many others were mixed with earrings and necklaces, a vial in front of each one of them. A deep red, thick liquid inside of them, one the woman let drip onto the bracelet.

Drops of Seth’s blood hit his face when Ishram cut his best friend’s throat. Did he brush them away? He’d been lost and confused, realization sinking in slowly. Did he? Seth had called to him, and he had just. Stared.

Andrea averted his eyes, force-swallowed bile and ignored his guts twisting inside his stomach. It was like running in the cold weather; a fire inside, and ice cold sweat on his skin. Guilt gnawed at his insides.

He focused on following Ross.

Someone was mumbling in a language Andrea couldn’t understand, but the murmurs and typing grew quiet as they walked in. They all turned and stared at Andrea, eyes hungry and sharp. Andrea’s skin crawled as he hurried behind Ross, inside her private studio. He only dared to breathe once the door was closed.

The place was full of old pictures, drawings, and hand-drawn maps with curly handwriting. A dusty green toolbox rested open on the furniture, inside of it there were tons of trinkets, many of which looked old.

The desk was made out of solid wood, crusts of a dull green paint still holding onto it. On top of it, papers and all kinds of stylos, quills, and fountain pens. Was that a dial phone? Andrea walked into the room, curiously studying Ross’ mess. It had sense, in a way. On a steel and glass drawer laid a glass bottle with a few glasses, the liquid a warm orange.

“Want a drink?” Ross asked, following Andrea’s gaze.

Andrea startled and turned. “No. I’m good.”

Kibwe was helping Amanda sit and calm down. Andrea had never seen his mother so furious in his life. She sit, but she still glared at Ross, a hand reaching for Kibwe’s and holding him close. “Explain.” Her tone was calm, but Andrea knew her. She was scared, so much she bared her teeth.

Ross smiled softly, and then nodded. “I can answer your questions.” She shifted on the desk, walked around it and plopped on her chair. “Although I’d like to ask you to refrain from inquiries on Ishram. He can and will answer those, if he wants to.”

Andrea frowned. “What’s so secret about him, exactly? I know you two had a fight this morning.”

Ross’ eyes widened in surprise. Andrea hid a satisfied grin. “It wasn’t a fight. Even if it were, I doubt it’d be any of your business. The topic doesn’t involve you,” Ross pointed at Andrea with her head, then she did the same towards his parents, “or their safety.”

“If he’s freaking out, he can’t do his job.”

Ross stilled, shifted just so that her face eyes became a sharp thing. Andrea changed his footing, uncomfortable, but held eye contact. “Andrea, right?” Ross tilted her head. “I know he killed someone you cared for, but don’t you think for a second that he’s not someone I care for as well. What you call a ‘job’, we call a curse. You’re the only thing keeping him here with us, and that’s the only reason I will help you and your family to stay safe.” Ross leaned towards the desk. “If I, let’s say, were to think you weren’t doing that anymore, I will make sure he’s relieved of another handler. Even if it means I’ll have to wait another century to see him again.” Ross settled back. “Did I make myself clear?”

Andrea swallowed. Anger boiled in his chest, face aflame. He opened his mouth to speak, but his mother was faster.

Amanda raised from her seat. “How dare you?! He may have saved us, but we owe him nothing. You touch my son, I’ll show you,” she snarled, fists clenched and face twisted.

Ross turned and faced her. “No, you don’t. But him? He does.” Her finger pointed at Andrea. Nausea raised once again in his guts. “A life for a life. He owes it from the moment he accepted the contract. And if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be here and able to get mad at us. And neither would you.”

“It’s not like I had a choice!” Andrea snapped.

“Why, do you think Ishram had one?” Ross fired back. “Do you think I like to do this? Filing documents after documents, hope he’ll appear somewhere near me so I can get him to safety faster, and hope that’s enough for him to spend borrowed time as peacefully as he can? Do you think he choose it?”

“I can speak for myself, y’know.”

The room fell silent. Ishram was standing by the open door, leaning against the frame. His eyes were inscrutable, his face a blank page. Andrea coughed, but Ross spoke.

“Sorry Ish,” she whispered.