One year earlier…

She'd gotten used to the rumbling of the train long ago. Keiko Oliphant-Hidaka was pulled out of her sleep by the feeling of her little sister tugging on her arm.

If that was all, she could have returned to slumberland quite easily, but no. "Keiko," came Sora's plaintive voice, keeping her from falling back asleep. "Wake up. Wake up, I'm bored. Keiko."

Keiko shook her head with as much effort as she could muster, savoring the soft feeling of the seat behind her. "Gimme a minute," she mumbled, the words drifting into each other to such a degree that the sentence was nigh-incomprehensible. She was sure she must have been having a nice dream, so she'd just dip back into it for a little while…

Needless to say, Sora Oliphant-Hidaka did not give her sister another minute. The second shove was much tougher, pulling Keiko firmly out of her dreams with the force of a pile driver.

She yawned, rubbing her eyes as she turned to look at her little sister, sitting next to her. The two of them were the only ones in the sleek, luxury carriage -- the train belonged to Father, and the only ones aboard apart from the siblings were security who knew how to make themselves subtle.

Through the outside window, just past Sora's pout, Keiko could see the winter wonderland of Alpis. Endless snowy mountains, as far as the eye could see, with metal settlements like bee hives protruding from the sides. A storm of red birds brewed on the horizon -- this was their migration season as well.

"What's up?" Keiko sighed, cracking the joints of her neck. It was a six-hour trip to the winter villa, and she'd been hoping to just sleep through the trip. Her sister, it seemed, didn't share that aspiration.

"I'm bored," Sora repeated, scowling. "This is taking forever."

Sora was always like this -- craving stimulation, never being satisfied with anything for long. She'd been rambling excitedly about the train before they'd got on, but it seemed she'd already gotten bored of it. Her stubby pigtails -- the unfortunate casualties of a recent haircut -- stuck up in the air as she crossed her arms in frustration.

Keiko managed to pick a frustrating crumb of sleep out from her eyelid. "Well," she sighed, the slightest irritation in her tone. "What do you want me to do about it? I'm just as bored as you are, Sora."

More sleepy than bored, but whatever.

Sora glanced up hopefully. "Do you have games on your script?"

Keiko blinked, considering refusing for a second -- it wasn't like she had things on her script she didn't want others to see, but still. Then, the idea of sitting on this train while Sora loudly complained came to mind, and the decision was made.

Sora snatched the script out of Keiko's hands the instant it came into reach, logging on with hands that moved like she was playing a piano. It was a little concerning that she already knew Keiko's password, but to be perfectly honest she didn't have the energy to care right now.

"You play on that," Keiko mumbled, already closing her eyes again -- her own shoulder a makeshift pillow. "Don't wake me up again, okay?"

"Okay," Sora lied, the bleep-bloop of the script almost drowning her out.

Even with the new noise, tiredness won out, and sleep pulled Keiko down into its embrace once again. The only thing better than going to sleep, Keiko found, was going back to sleep -- and so she remained in that empty abyss.

Until the bomb went off, that is.

Present Day…

"You shouldn't be moving around on your own," Keiko snapped, glaring at Cottian. "What if someone had followed you back here? You could have blown this whole thing."

Cott smiled -- and that simple expression in itself was laced with dismissive arrogance. "Don't worry, missie," he said, allowing himself to fall back into a waiting armchair. "I never move alone -- and there isn't a person in the world capable of following me without me wanting them to."

Keiko exchanged a glance with her Aunt Carla, receiving the slightest nod of acceptance in return. Carla had much more experience with these types of people -- she'd trust her instincts in this arena.

"Assuming you're not just here to hang out," Carla spoke up, scratching her ear with a finger. "You got anything to report?"

Cott slouched in his chair, crossing his legs. "All the pieces are in play," he grinned. "Roy Oliphant-Dawkins arrived on the station an hour or so ago -- the last guy on the guest list. Ruthlessness, Curiosity and Caution confirmed the other senior members haven't moved from their home bases, either. Everything's set for the family meeting."

Uncle Roy. Keiko had considered enlisting him in this endeavour, only to decide against it later -- there was no way that man would be able to keep a secret. He had a good heart, and he was strong, but he had no regard for subtlety.

"Nobody's moved, huh?" Carla narrowed her eyes. "Has anyone made a move, though? I don't expect our enemy to just sit still. If Alpis proved anything, it's that they're willing to toss caution aside if it's advantageous."

Alpis. At the very mention of the word, Keiko felt a shiver ripple out across her skin -- pulling her arms tight in an instinctive, infuriating reaction. After the bombing on Alpis, the Oliphant Clan's primary concern had been the simultaneous attacks on her father's businesses, but Keiko had only one objective in mind.

The list of people who could have given access to plant that bomb, who could have killed her sister, was very small -- and every single one of them had the same surname as her. She'd flush them out whatever it took.

Which was why she found herself in the same room as scum like Cottian del Sed.

"Everyone's sitting tight," Cott reiterated, waving a vague hand. "If the person you two're looking for is really here, then they're sitting tight as a mouse."

The best way to move unseen was to not exist as a possibility inside anyone's head. Nobody knew that Keiko was on the Cradle, so nobody would suspect her moving behind the scenes. It was the same with Cott -- he was an expert at becoming a ghost.

Cott's green eyes flicked from Carla to Keiko as he got no response. "If there's nothing else, I need to check in with the rest of my employees."

Carla chuckled, putting a knuckle to her mouth. "Funny way of referring to them, don't you think?"

"Everyone's a little bit strange. Don't hold it against me."

And with that, Cott rose from the chair and strode back out of the room, offering Keiko an insincere smile as he passed. The echoing clicks of his footsteps faded as he descended the stairs outside.

She only just managed to keep the fury off her face. Had that same smug smile been on his face back then?

"Careful," Carla muttered, a certain darkness in her eyes. "Don't give him anything to worry about. We still need him until the very end."

It was no coincidence that they'd hired Cottian del Sed to assist them with this investigation. The bomber had done a good job of wiping themselves from recordings of the train's maintenance bay, but one loose frame from one video had shown their face clearly. Cott wasn't as good as he thought.

They'd make use of him until he led them to the one who'd hired him.

And then Keiko would kill them both herself.

"Hey, Dragan," Ruth said, cross-legged on Bruno's bed, leafing through an analogue book. "What do you think of this? Révolutionnaire."

Dragan looked up from the videograph on the wall, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think about it?" she prodded again insistently, frowning.

Distressingly, conversations like this had started to become routine for Dragan Hadrien. "What do I think about it? It's a word, I don't know. It's fine, I guess? Why?"

"You think it sounds good?"

"As what? It depends on what it's being used for. If it was, like, a soft drink or something, I'd say no. If it was, I don't know, a cool sword or something, I'd probably say yes. Why?"

Ruth shrugged to herself, returning to her book -- silently mouthing the words as she went along. Dragan had known already that she wasn't the strongest reader, so it was surprising to see her so absorbed in something made of paper.

As he turned back to the videograph, eager to resume watching his documentary, the universe decided to make it clear that Dragan could never be happy. Skipper opened the door.

"Hey hey!" he grinned, raising a plastic bag in his prosthetic hand. "Look who's got snacks!"

The book Ruth had been so interested in was unceremoniously tossed over her shoulder as she climbed off the bed. "Snacks?" she asked with great interest. "You got cheeseburgers?"

"Cheeseburgers ain't snacks," Skipper shook his head. "Once the number of ingredients goes above three, that's a meal, yeah?"

Ruth frowned, her interest dying down. "Buns, cheese, burger. That's three exactly."

Skipper smirked as he achieved victory in this battle of wits. "Sesame seeds make four. Checkmate."

"That's bullshit!"

Dragan finally accepted he wouldn't be learning any more about the history of Paradisos simulations today; the videograph was turned off with the click of the remote. "You're a little cheery for the situation we're in. In a couple of hours, we're going to be right in the middle of a nest of vipers, you know."

Skipper put the bag down and patted Dragan -- heavily -- on the shoulder. "Ah, that's nothing. You should know this about me by now, Mr. Hadrien: I'm a glass-half-full kinda guy!"

He couldn't hide from Dragan's eyes. He could tell, clearly, the real motivation behind this behaviour: Skipper wanted Dragan to be more comfortable in this awkward situation. He hadn't exactly hidden his anger at being put through all this, but the idea that he could be seen through so easily still irritated him to an unimaginable extent.

Still… it wasn't bad to know that people cared.

Not like he'd ever say that, though. "Doesn't matter how full the glass is if it's broken," Dragan snarked. "Shouldn't we at least put together a game plan in case anything goes wrong? Where's Bruno, anyway?"

Despite her earlier protests, Ruth already had the end of a carrot stick protruding from her mouth as she slowly nibbled it down to oblivion. "He said he was gonna go check out the venue -- make sure it was secure or something. He'll be back in a little while."

Dragan frowned. "And you just let him go? Isn't that a little risky?"

"It's what he's good at," Skipper waved a hand. "Serena too. Believe me -- this ain't their first rodeo."

"How's that? And what's a rodeo?"

"Some kind of food, I'm pretty sure," Skipper said, the waving of his hand intensifying. "Anyway, those two have been doing this, uh, clandestine stuff since their days with the UAP --"

"Ahem."

Skipper's exposition was quickly interrupted by Ruth's awkward clearing of her throat. The sound was innocent enough, but the firm look in her eyes was much less so. The message for the older man was clear: shut it.

"Serena wouldn't like it," she said simply -- and with that, Skipper seemed to remember himself, and zipped his mouth shut.

"Sorry, my guy," he shrugged, glancing back to Dragan. "You want any more, you'd be best asking them yourself."

Dragan nodded. He couldn't deny he had at least a little interest in this topic -- even more so since it was apparently confidential -- but there was no way he'd be hearing more any time soon. By the time Bruno got back, it'd probably be time to head for the meeting and 'repay his debt'.

The very notion made his blood boil. How in the hell had he been talked into doing Fix's dirty work? Even if nothing happened, the fact he was following that asshole's orders was enough to make him blow a gasket.

This was no ordinary meeting -- it would be a gathering of Aether users, no doubt, anomalies of the highest order. What kind of freaks would he be forced to deal with?

Roy Oliphant-Dawkins punched the grizzly bear in the face.

If one had to describe the massive man that was brawling with the beast, the word they'd use would be barbarian. His brown hair was long and unkempt, like a bush, and his green eyes and white teeth were wide with the frenzy of combat. As he pursued his enemy further, his stance like that of a boxer, he walked with a slight hunch -- like an animal keeping low to the ground. Even as he wore a modern white vest and a pair of blue jeans, the aura he gave off made one think of a wild, untamed thing.

One, two.

Two massive fists struck the bear -- one in the face and one in the stomach -- knocking it back into the glass wall of the enclosure. It roared with anger and pain, getting ready to lunge back at the human that was causing it such irritation.

"Nice, nice," Roy muttered, hopping in place, his fists held up in front of him. "You've got what it takes, boy. I like it. Show me what you've got!"

The only people present to observe Roy's obvious passion -- from safely outside the glass, of course -- were a small but growing crowd of his employees. Mercenaries, bodyguards and even a few logistical staff had gathered to watch their boss' latest bout. Before this, it had been a paleobeast. Before that, a rhinoceros.

Apparently, this bear had mauled two of its keepers back when it was in a zoo -- after hearing that, Roy had decided he absolutely had to take it on and 'teach it a lesson'.

The bear dragged it's claws up Roy's arm -- the only response being a shower of sparks as the spikes failed to penetrate his iron muscles. Then, another one two sent it sprawling onto its back.

"What makes you hate humans so much, huh?" Roy growled, panting with righteous indignation as he regained his footing. "People just wanna live their lives, feed their families and dance crazy. I won't let you sneer at them, scumbag. Get to your feet, you bastard!"

Some of Roy's aides had tried to explain to him that animals like these didn't understand human morality, but the big man refused to accept it. To him, there was no difference between a rabid beast and a human villain -- both deserved his fists, and both deserved to be admonished as they were pummelled.

Roy brushed away the stray drops of blood on his body -- none his own -- as the bear picked itself back up.

"You ever read Dynaman, you son of a bitch?" Roy flexed, his muscles squeaking like leather. "Issue #255. Dynaman versus the Blue Byte. It's an epic fight, one of the best. The Blue Byte tries to say there's no point in being a good person like Dynaman, since…"

The bear cut Roy off by lunging at him, this time firmly securing his hand inside it's mouth. There was no way it could damage him, no matter how hard it pressed down, but Roy looked down at the beast astonished all the same.

"Wait…" he muttered to himself. "You… dislike Dynaman comics? More than that, you understood my words. My human tongue. This situation… I see now. I misunderstood what was going on entirely."

With a grunt of effort, Roy pulled his fist free, both arms rearing back as though he were about to crush the bears skull between his clapping hands. More than once had grisly gore painted these glass windows. As one, the crowd winced.

They had no reason to.

Roy Oliphant-Dawkins embraced the bear, burying his face deep in its fur as manly tears flowed down his face -- like rain spilling off the glory of a mountain.

"I understand," he whispered, lost in a revelation unique to himself. "You used to be human, didn't you? That's why you're so angry. I've got ya. I've got ya, friend. There's nothing more manly than forgiveness."

And with that, he released the bear from his hold -- and it collapsed backwards, unconsciousness finally claiming it after the battle it had endured.

"Patch him up," Roy barked to the medical staff, already making their way into the enclosure. "Make sure he's comfy and happy. We've come to an understanding, me and him. His name is Bear Boy now."

His subordinates had long ago given up on questioning Roy's eccentricity -- they faithfully carried Bear Boy out on a sturdy stretcher, leaving their boss to sit on the floor and catch his breath. Apart from Roy, only one other person remained in the enclosure -- a short, sweaty man in a suit and tie.

"You satisfied now?" he wheezed, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Hell of a show you put on there."

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," Roy grunted. Click, click. He cracked the joints of his neck.

"A man's gotta fight bears in the basement instead of actually getting ready for tonight?"

Click, click. Next, he cracked his knuckles. "You're a brave man to talk to me like that, Bolbo."

"If I didn't," Bolbo wiped at his neck. "Nothing would ever get done around here."

Roy considered his aide's words for a moment, his heavy finger tapping against the floor of the enclosure. Tentatively, he opened his mouth.

"There's a cheetiger I had shipped in a little while ago… they're meant to be real fast… if I could just…"

Bolbo's glare intensified. "You can race the bastard after your meeting. At least try to get a suit and tie on, you big idiot."

Roy sighed, picking himself up off the ground with such might that it creaked below him. His bare feet thumped against the ground as he walked towards the exit. Before he properly left, however, he turned back to Bolbo and spoke in a voice like thunder:

"Oh yeah, I'll go get ready. And I'm gonna make sure it's a meeting they'll never forget!" He stomped down on the floor, cracking it, and jabbed his thumb at his own grinning face.

A moment passed.

"Okay. Go do it, then."