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  Friday, September 9, 2253: Two Weeks Later

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  The weak, early morning sun did little to dispel the chill of the shadowed outskirt streets. Dozens of abandoned and semi-abandoned buildings lined the wide street to either side. Despite being one of the poorer suburbs, this part of the outskirts of Prima City — named the Crossroads by locals — had once been a bustling gathering center for the outskirt residences.

  Once, this pce had been alive. A chaotic refuge for outcasts, drifters, and anyone too strange, dangerous, or inconvenient to be welcomed within the city proper. It had thrived, in its own loud, wless, and vibrant way.

  How did someone feel safe knowing they were closer to the bogeymen and monsters that haunted the Outer Wilds than the Heroes who were supposed to protect them?

  By hiding under the banner of a bigger boogyman, of course.

  Big Red.

  The self-procimed “Boss” of the Crossroads had ruled for over a century, an aging megalomaniac obsessed with the so-called “old ways.” To outsiders, he’d seemed like a caricature, a relic pying at viliny. Yet, for as much as he refused to adapt to the changing times, he had the power to resist such changes… to an extent.

  Not even Big Red had been able to go against the Senate of Five, though. Few could, and Big Red was no Fulcrum or Shankenary. He sure as hell wasn’t All-Bite.

  But within his tiny ‘kingdom’, he had kept the monsters in line and the chaos contained.

  Until he didn’t.

  All it took was one upstart “Hero” with more power than brains to finally end Big Red’s reign. Without the old devil to stabilize the area, the Crossroads soon erupted into violence and warfare as every small gang and minor vilin rushed to fill the power vacuum.

  To the would-be demon syer, he’s put honest effort into making up for his mistake, but just one Hero can only do so much. It wasn’t until a few like Machina Redux and Bnk Ste got involved that things started to calm down.

  The people who could leave, did. Those who couldn’t… faded into the city’s blind spot.

  Now, the Crossroads stood like a ghost town draped in rust and regret, its crumbling bones hollowed out by time and violence. The st stubborn remnants clung to it like ivy to a crumbling wall — too tired, too bitter, or too broken to move on.

  And yet, nestled on the northern edge of this decay, sat a strangely well-kept apartment complex. Surrounded by boarded-up shops and graffiti-tagged ruins, it looked out of pce, almost defiant. Most passed it without a second gnce — if they even noticed it at all.

  A battered, paint-chipped taxi wheezed to a stop in front of the building. The door creaked open, and a thin young man stepped out, his expression unreadable. The trunk popped with a mechanical clunk, and Jeremiah shuffled to the back, pulling out a scuffed travel bag with one hand.

  He pced it on the cracked sidewalk and turned to the driver.

  “Thanks, Mark,” the young man said, his voice ft.

  The driver gave a warm nod, a faint smile creasing his weathered face. “No problem, Jerry. Gd I could help.”

  Jeremiah dipped his head and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through it with a scowl. The few bills inside barely made a ripple against the cracked leather folds. The first time his account had been hacked, he’d chalked it up to bad luck. By the third time in a month, it had become clear — he was a target now.

  The bank covered the losses, technically. But between frozen accounts, blocked cards, and endless calls to customer support, Jeremiah had learned the hard way to carry cash.

  “How much do I owe you?” he asked, though his tone said he already dreaded the answer.

  Mark raised a hand and shook his head. “Forget it. This one’s on the house.”

  Jeremiah frowned, knuckles whitening around the wallet.

  Mark gave him a gentle look and rested a hand on Jeremiah’s. “Don’t get me wrong, kid. Your sister… she helped me through something no one else would touch. Let me return the favor, even if it’s just a ride.”

  Jeremiah’s jaw worked as if wrestling with words he couldn’t quite voice. His eyes held Mark’s a moment longer before he let out a breath and pocketed the wallet. “Thanks,” he murmured, barely audible, then turned toward the looming apartment building.

  Mark watched him go, then leaned out his window. “Hey, Jerry!”

  Jeremiah hesitated but didn’t turn.

  “Sarah was one of the good ones,” Mark called after him. “Some of us haven’t forgotten that. Keep that in mind, okay?”

  Jeremiah stiffened. His shoulders tightened, back rigid as stone. For a moment, it looked like he might respond.

  He didn’t.

  He just picked up his pace, heading for the doors without a word.

  Mark sighed and shook his head, but didn’t press the young man further. Instead, he started his taxi and drove down the empty road.

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  Jeremiah stood inches from the apartment doors, the tip of his nose nearly brushing the polished, weathered wood. He stared at the reflection of his own weary face, willing himself to hold together just a little longer.

  After months of setback after setback, he’d thought he’d finally managed to stitch together some sembnce of normalcy. But seeing Samantha at the college had cracked the mask he’d worked so hard to keep in pce. Now, it felt like it might slip off completely.

  It didn’t help that he still hadn’t summoned the courage to open her messages. Or anyone’s, really, except the ones from his city-appointed wyer.

  With a long, slow breath, Jeremiah raised his free hand and reached toward the buzzer. The panel beside the door, in contrast to the building’s old-world charm, gleamed with high-grade tech — sleek, responsive, and clearly expensive. The kind of thing you’d expect in a corporate tower downtown, not here.

  Then again, when you lived in a pce like the Crossroads, there was no such thing as too much security. Something to keep in mind going forward.

  He reached for the call button, but a sudden, high-pitched voice rang out behind him.

  “Hey, Mister! Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you around here.”

  Jeremiah jumped, twisting around in a fsh, heart hammering in his chest.

  At the bottom of the steps stood a young girl, no more than ten, grinning up at him with unabashed curiosity. Bright yellow eyes sparkled beneath a wild halo of golden hair that looked like it had lost a battle with several thorn bushes. Bits of twig and tangled knots jutted out in every direction, and yet somehow, it gleamed faintly in the sunlight — clean despite the chaos.

  Her freckled face beamed with an innocence that could’ve melted a stranger’s guard, if not for the oddly feral aesthetic. Her jeans were torn and caked with dried mud. The pin white shirt she wore was more brown than white now, stained by grass, dirt, and time.

  Jeremiah blinked. Where had she come from? He was sure he’d been alone just seconds ago.

  “Huh… nothing interesting in the bag. That’s boring,” came another voice — this one far too close.

  Jeremiah whipped his head toward his luggage, heart leaping again.

  A bck-haired boy, maybe the same age as the girl, was crouched beside his bag, elbow-deep in clothes. The kid looked up, completely unbothered, and fshed a grin, Jeremiah’s wrinkled shirt hanging from one hand like a trophy.

  “HEY! Get out of there!” Jeremiah snapped, swiping at his shirt with his free hand.

  The bck-haired boy ughed and ducked easily beneath Jeremiah’s swiping hand. In a blur, he darted down the stairs and stopped beside the blonde-haired girl. Like her, he wore tattered jeans and a stained shirt, but a thick, oversized bck scarf — far too big for his skinny frame — was wrapped several times around his neck, its ends dragging close to the ground.

  Most of his face was buried beneath the scarf, but his bright sky-blue eyes and sharp features gave away the grin hidden underneath.

  Jeremiah’s shirt had been dropped somewhere along the way, but the boy had somehow fished out one of the energy bars from his bag and was happily munching on it, crumbs clinging to the corners of his mouth.

  “Want some, Stel? It’s honey-fvored!” he chirped between bites.

  The blonde girl, Stel, apparently, crossed her arms and frowned. “We’ve talked about this, Mani! You can’t just take things without asking!”

  Mani’s grin widened, chewing zily. “Sure I can! It’s easy. I’m just not allowed. Big difference,” he said through a mouthful of bar.

  The two instantly devolved into a spirited back-and-forth, voices rising as they debated word meanings and technicalities. Jeremiah, still standing a step above, was momentarily forgotten.

  His eye twitched. He took a step down, jaw tightening, ready to give the little thief a proper scolding.

  But before he could speak, a third voice cut through the commotion. Calm. Apologetic.

  “Sorry about those two, mister. They get... easily distracted sometimes.”

  A new figure stepped into view from behind the brick railing along the staircase.

  Jeremiah blinked. Had they been hiding there the whole time? No… that didn’t make sense. The railing had clear sightlines from the street. He’d been alone. He was sure of it.

  The newcomer was another boy, a bit older looking than the other two — taller, broader, and dressed in paint-spttered jeans and a faded work shirt. His messy brown hair hung over a youthful face, but his heavyset build and rexed posture reminded Jeremiah more of the maintenance crew Sarah used to hire than of a child.

  It was a strange juxtaposition: the build of a handyman with the expression of a patient older brother.

  The boy approached the arguing pair, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

  “An!” Mani whined, spinning to face him. “Tell this idiot I’m right!”

  An sighed and flicked Mani’s forehead with a thick finger.

  “Mani, Mom already told you not to take stuff without permission. Doesn’t matter how you twist the words, this isn’t the old man’s house anymore.”

  “Ow!” Mani clutched his forehead with a scowl.

  An shook his head. “Besides! You two are being rude to our guest!”

  Stel and Mani froze. Their eyes went wide, and they peeked around An’s solid frame, finally noticing Jeremiah still standing there, arms folded, frowning down at them.

  Stel marched around An and jabbed a finger up at Jeremiah, one hand pnted firmly on her hip. “That’s right! The stranger! You still haven’t told us your name, mister! What are you doing here?!” Her tone was sharp, almost accusatory.

  Jeremiah frowned, brow furrowing. He raised a hand, ready to give her a piece of his mind, when the sound of a door opening behind him pulled his attention away.

  A woman stood in the doorway. Middle-aged, with features that hinted at a former beauty softened by time and hard-worn years. Deep bags hung beneath her eyes, and crows feet wrinkled her face slightly, but the ugh lines etched into her face spoke of someone who hadn’t forgotten how to smile. Her curly, dirty-blond hair was tied back in a thick ponytail, and she wore a stained apron over damp clothes. Likely fresh from scrubbing something.

  “Mani! Stel! An! …Mani! What do you three think you’re doing?” she called out, voice full of tired authority. “Stop pestering our guest and go get ready for school!”

  “Yes, Mom,” An replied at once.

  “Yes, Mother…” Stel muttered, her shoulders slumping.

  “Wait, why’d you say my name twice?!” came Mani’s indignant squawk.

  The woman — clearly their mother — fixed him with a look. “Because whatever trouble the three of you are causing, I know you’re twice as guilty as the others. Now move it. Clean up and get ready. The bus’ll be here in an hour.”

  Mani groaned dramatically but followed after his siblings all the same. The three of them pushed past Jeremiah and disappeared into the building, their footsteps thudding up the stairs beyond.

  With the children gone, the woman turned back to Jeremiah and offered a warm smile. “Sorry about that, hun. They’re good kids, I swear. Just a bit... high-energy sometimes.”

  She stepped forward, extending a hand. “You must be Jeremiah, right? Our newest tenant. I’m Merry. Merry Grim. I manage the building. We spoke over the phone st week, remember?”

  Jeremiah sighed and took her hand. “Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Grim. And it’s no trouble. I understand how much… energy kids can have.”

  His mind briefly fshed to memories of all the crazy things he had gotten into in his youth, and all the trouble he’d caused Sarah as a result.

  Merry’s smile dipped for a second, just barely. But then it was back in full, as bright as ever.

  “Tell me about it! Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking, having so many kids. Then again, nobody pns for triplets.”

  That gave Jeremiah pause. He’d noticed the kids were about the same age, sure — but triplets? They were so different, it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

  “Oh, and please, call me Merry. Mrs. Grim was my mother!” she said with a wink and a ugh. The oldest joke in the book, but somehow, her delivery made it charming.

  Despite himself, Jeremiah felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward — though the smile didn’t quite make it past the surface.

  “No problem, Merry. Thanks for taking me in on such short notice. I’m sorry if things felt… rushed.”

  Merry waved it off like it was nothing. “Don’t be silly, hun. That’s what Tell Tales does best. No one knows when a storm will blow through life, after all. We’re always here to accommodate.”

  With a practiced motion, she reached out and took his bag from his hand.

  “Now! Let’s get you settled in, shall we? You look like you could use a break.”

  With that, she turned and led the way into the building. Jeremiah cast one st gnce outside, at the cracked sidewalk, the faded sky, the silence.

  Then he nodded and followed her in, the door swinging shut behind him.