A long, shrill whistle pierced the air as the huge train eased to a squeaky stop at the 3rd platform of the North Station. As passengers flooded out of their cars and new ones squeezed their way in, conductors yelled over the bustling madness and tried to maintain order. Along with the myriad of sounds were diverse smells - both delicious and repulsive - wafting amongst the crowd. It wouldn’t have been half as bad if it weren’t for the unusual, sultry weather.

One individual who had just gotten off-board seemed terribly revolted by the loud sounds, strong smells, and disgustingly close-quarters. He grimaced as he pushed his way through the unrelenting mass of people, trying his best to hold his breath and keep from brushing up against anyone too much. The plain brown suit which had been so comfortable about an hour ago was becoming damper and more confining with each step.

After what seemed like an eternity, the young man broke through the tangled host of travelers and found himself on a busy, sunny street teeming with more people...more harsh sounds...more smells too rank to go unnoticed. Squinting, and looking a little lost, he chose a direction at random and began down the crowded sidewalk with the intention of going inside the first decent-looking restaurant possible. Less than a block away, squeezed between a used bookstore and a music shop was a little pub called Hannigans. Since it looked good as any place he’d find in this area, he pushed open the door and stepped in.

At least it smelled like food inside, and the bright sunlight and annoying traffic sounds were pleasantly muffled. Because it wasn’t exactly a mealtime and downtown was in the opposite direction, the room was sparsely populated; a few people were scattered down the bar, and only two other tables were occupied. He found a table against the wall and slid his leather suitcase beneath it; before sitting, he pulled off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. Once seated, he rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows and breathed a sigh of relief for having finally arrived.

Some moments passed before the burly bald bartender lumbered up to his table. Although the young man looked rather out of place with his suit, neatly combed blonde hair, and fair skin, the gruff, sweaty bartender didn’t spare him the usual first question: ‘What kind of beer you want?’

“Uh...I’ll just have a water, thanks.” He muttered in reply. “Oh...and what kind of food have you got available?”

‘Not from around here, I take it...’ Responded the bartender, easily picking up on the man’s strong Scottish accent. ‘...yeah...I think we still have some soup in the back...some meat and potatoes too...’

The young man didn’t respond about being from out of town, but merely nodded. “That’d be great, thanks. The meat, I mean.”

With that, the bartender left him alone to drum his fingers idly on the table and contemplate his next move.

(( How the hell did you do that? ))

Alan jumped off the roof the tavern roof it was time that he had a feed, After all a guy cant be expected to help people if he hasn't had a feed in the last week now could he?.
So he walked in the tavern swinging the door widely as he did so. The bar went quite as he entered and then started up again as the two stickybeaks were satisfied, He walked over to a table, Sitting at the table next to his own was a man who looked a bit strange drumming his fingers on the table.

The bartender walked over to the table almost straight away "The normal?" he asked in his gruff voice, Alan simply nodded and the man walked off to grab the food and beverage that was owed to both tables.

The bartender returned with a serving girl holding Alan's food, The rich smell of great pasta warmed the air as the girl sat next to him putting the food down and pouring some of the wine into the glass, Alan put his hand up waving it slowly past her face showing it was empty before flicking his wrist and bringing a silver coin up between his fingers. The girl squealed and clapped before taking the coin and going back over to the counter put away the money, Meanwhile Alan started eating the pasta which made the smell of rich pasta and herbs grow even stronger in the bar.

((I have no clue dude...>.> I thought I was in a totally separate area of the site........but apparently it's all connected xD))

As his back was facing the door, the young man didn’t glance up when Alan entered the bar. However, the rush of warm, pungent air through the open door followed by approaching footsteps and an odd new smell were more than enough to inform him of a new presence in the little tavern. Connor had never really understood why sounds and smells were so striking to him; he always assumed it was his anxious personality.

When Alan sat, he couldn’t help but glance over and idly watch the transaction take place. He grinned a little to himself at the girl’s reaction to what appeared to be a simple slight-of-hand. His growling stomach was more than grateful when the bartender and serving girl returned with their drinks and meals, but he paused and studied his food before beginning. Eating in public places was always a little tricky - something inside him wanted to stuff as much of the steak as possible into his mouth all at once. To tear to little shreds and taste the animal’s blood. The thought was brief, and very quickly his brain’s apparent lack of manners embarrassed him.

With that, he took a calculated sip of the water and began cutting the entire steak into little bites so he had no chance of making a mess of things.

Alan twirled the pasta on the fork looking at it pasta he thought was one of the best foods in the world, Mind you over his long life he had eaten a lot of food and it just turned out italian food was his favorite. Yeah he liked Chinese, Wasn't to fond of hamburgers and other food like that and he didn't mind french food but liked their champaign better.

He finished a couple of bites of the pasta savoring the taste before taking the glass of wine in his hand and holding it up to the light, Once he was satisfied with the colour he took a sip savoring the taste of the rich red liquid before sitting back in the chair to enjoy his food.

Alan glanced around at the person seated at the table next to him and nearly choked on his wine, He cleared his through to get the mans attention "Let me guess, You have had some accident in which your taste buds died?, I cant think of any other reason that you would really be eating that" he said before taking another sip of wine.

Connor was clearly caught off guard by the random question, and he himself nearly choked in surprise. Once coughing a little and washing the interrupted bite down with a small sip of water, he half-turned to the other and slightly raised an eyebrow. His body language was unyielding and a little distant.

“Uh...yeah...sure. I really have to savor my food, you know...” He trailed off lamely and looked back down at the bits of meat. These days, this little ritual of cutting up his food - especially meats - had surpassed his impulse for polite manners and moved on to compulsion.

A long and awkward pause ensued, during which Connor took another tense bite of his meal. After a little more water, he ventured to turning more directly towards Alan. “Are you from the city?” Coupled with his thick accent, it was just the kind of question that screamed: ‘I’m new here.’

Alan sighed, How can someone be so clueless he thought to himself before his question was answered by the mans question. He looked at the man for a second "I should of known" He mumbled before answering the mans question "Yes, The last couple hundrrr... The last couple years I have been here, But really you could say I am from everywhere" he said mentally face palming himself for the slip of the tong.

((Sorry mental block, Could hardly think of anything.))

“I see...” Connor quietly replied, looking back down at the plate in front of him and absentmindedly pushing a few bites of the steak around. It took a lot of energy to pull this introvert out of his shell sometimes; being new to town and just in from a stressful train trip weren’t helping.

((I’m editing this to make it more congruent with my next post...))

Shianne looked around casually as she pushed through the heavy door of the tavern. This place was one of the few that she frequented, because of it's low patronage. The fewer people she had to keep an eye on, the better. Two men talked at the bar, neither really seeming too involved in the conversation. Other customers were scattered around the barroom, all situated where they could see the door.

Sliding onto a stool a couple metres away from the men at the bar, Shianne set her bag on the floor, slipping her foot through the shoulder strap lest someone try to make off with it. The barmaid smiled as she walked past, laden with dirty dishes. "I'll be with you in a minute, honey, just hang on."

"No rush," Shianne answered back, smiling a little.

Finally, the girl came back, brushing off her apron. "Okay. What can I get for you, Janine?"

Janine. Right. That's what the false ID in her pocket gave her name as, and that was the name Shianne went by whenever possible. While the government might have a record of Shianne Downing, to them, Janine MacIntosh didn't exist.

She smiled again. "Just some of the daily soup, please. And a glass of water."

The barmaid shook her head as she moved back toward that kitchen. "As you wish. You're our single-best customer for soup, so you are." Shianne ignored the rambling, turning her back to the bar to watch the others in the tavern for anyone watching her a little too closely.

“So what do you do around here?” He continued at length, looking back towards Alan. Something's different about this one, Connor thought upon better inspection of the other. It was impossible to immediately tell what, perhaps it was his smell. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place like this before...all those people living just outside the city in those makeshift little houses...practically slums...it’s atrociou--”

Connor’s words were cut short as the heavy front door was thrown open with a loud thud. A harsh shaft of sunlight burst into the dim room along with a muggy breeze that sent a few napkins on the bar fluttering to the floor.

’EVERYONE, REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE. NO ONE IS TO LEAVE THE PREMISES UNTIL WE ARE FINISHED HERE,’ shouted a powerful, amplified voice. Two lines of uniformed men streamed into the establishment, some armed with assault rifles, others carrying odd black devices that slightly resembled tasers.

Connor dropped his fork and glanced nervously around the room, frightened and bewildered. A few of the patrons in the bar looked more annoyed than scared, as if they’d been witness to this sort of thing before and this particular occasion was merely an interruption to a pleasant afternoon. One or two people, however, looked positively terrified...as though they had been anticipating this and they had good reason to worry.

No explanation of the sudden intrusion was given. The tall man who had initially commanded everyone to keep still stepped forward from the door frame and gave a good, hard look around the room. A disgusted sneer tugged at the corner of his lips as he removed a small, plain-looking tool from his belt and nonchalantly flipped a switch on its side. A few of the armed men shifted their weapons uneasily, preparing for their next move.

Within milliseconds, Connor had completely fallen from his chair in mind-numbing pain and was convulsing slightly. His initial worry was that he was having a stroke of some sort - it seemed as though he’d gone simultaneously blind and deaf in the face of a glaring light and an awful, earsplitting, pulsating noise. He couldn’t control his body and he was certain that he’d throw up any second.

In less than a minute, the torture was over. Most people - only the humans - were left unharmed in their seats...but less than a handful were huddled on the floor where they’d fallen.

’Tag them.’

Pairs of men marched to the side of each person who’d collapsed - a rifle and chip-dispenser between each pair. With the rifle aimed at the individual to ensure compliance, a tiny electronic tracking chip was inserted into the back of the neck. The procedure took less than 5 seconds and it left each person on the floor with a bright red mark where the chip had slid beneath the skin. Once this had been completed, the men filed out without any explanation of their actions.

Connor was left on his hands and knees on the floor, shaking from the whole ordeal. His neck was burning and he still felt pretty nauseous. Nothing could have prepared him for that.



((I might come back and edit this a little more later...but I’m sleepy and it’ll do for now. ^^;

Alan - the police are trying to single out all the supernaturals and implant tracking chips in them. I suppose it would affect your character similarly...-shrug-))

(( Um sorry I am of school age and may be slow in posting some days ))
(( I don't think the device would harm him in any true way because of his unusual bloodline ))
(( Oh and Kiina, Alan and Connor were sitting at tables not at the bar ))

Alan wasn't really listening to the man or that female who seemed only ever to be eating soup. What did catch his attention was the door being slammed open and the chief of something or another running in and shouting at anyone, He tensed the knowledge that they might of remade the device into a form that would effect him as it did others. But as the time come that the chief pressed the 'Big red button' as such he felt nothing that he hadn't felt before, The tingle in the air, The feeling as if the air had become thick and heavy as the device went to work.

He stood after the people had been tagged and the officers began to leave, He was immediately told to sit until the process was complete but he looked over to the officer without sitting down "Sir, I wish to give this monster my thoughts about him deceiving me of his true nature" he said all this in his best innocent/angry tone. The officer smiled evilly "All right then, Just no physical contact, Don't want you damaging the prisoners" he said before half turning his back on Alan.

Alan walked over to the man in the suit who's name he still didn't know, He lent down next to him "You piece of shit" he said loudly before whispering to the man "I am and always will be guardian, But today I will be your guardian". As Alan said this one of the prisoners who's brain was at least half working through the fog of pain spoke loud enough for everyone to hear "But, But, No normal everyday person is ment to know about us" he questioned himself still confused before realizing what he had said and wincing as he realized the mistake.

The officer nearest the man kicked out at the man "Shut up" he ordered before the words were processed and he started turning and raising his gun at Alan while yelling out for Alan to explain.
Alan winced as the call went out, He looked up and swore because sure enough nearly everyone had their guns pointed at him. Someone went to tag him before realizing that tagging this man who wasn't effected by their device and wasn't disorientated enough not to be violent was likely not a good idea, The chief seemed to realize this as well and started to give the call for a kill before.

The shadows in the bar came alive they reached out and grabbed the guards and their guns before the chief had time to call for Alan's death sentence. The chief and all the officers were caught and silenced with only one gun going off, The bullet from that gun thudded harmlessly into the building while the shadows contained the officers and chief.

Alan looked at the group "Get over your pain, Get up and start running or I will leave you behind" he ordered before grabbing the man in the suit and running out the door.

(( ^^WOW^^, I think that makes up for my earlier mental block. ))

As the door was thrown open, Shianne started violently, dropping her spoon into the bowl in front of her. A splash of broth flew up onto her cheek, ignored as she whirled wide-eyed toward the source of the noise, just as soldiers began pouring into the tavern. She reached down, snatching her bag from the floor and holding it tight, ready to run if she needed to.

This couldn't be happening - how had they found her? She'd taken every precaution, hadn't she?

Her wariness increased as it soon became apparent that the soldiers weren't here for her. All over the bar, people were falling out of their seats, some convulsing severely, others twitching. What . . . .

"Tag them," the operations chief said, almost spitting the second word. His men spread out, injecting something under the skin of those who had fallen. And then, as abruptly as they'd entered, they were gone.

Shianne relaxed, only a little, and just to jump again as the barmaid and the tavern's owner hustled into the room. "Everybody lend a hand, here," the owner bellowed to the room at large. "Get these people up, get 'em comfortable. Last thing I want is dead folks in my bar!"

Sliding obediently off her stool, Shianne slipped the shoulder strap of her bag over her head so that it hung crosswise across her shoulders. Crouching down beside a young man who was on all fours, she gingerly put a hand on his shoulder. "You all right? Come on, up you get . . . " she said, offering her other hand to help him up.

Connor slowly lifted his head to gaze up at Shianne, confusion shining bright in his strange eyes, terror etched across his face. “I think so...thanks...” He mumbled, tentatively taking her hand and easing to his feet. Once standing, Connor glanced around at the few others who had also fallen and been singled out. Their basic appearance bore no striking resemblance to his...why had they been the ones targeted by the raid?

Gingerly, he ran his fingers along the skin on the back of his neck, noticing the peculiar raised area where the chip had been inserted; it stung at the touch. “So this is how they greet newcomers here...” Connor muttered to no one in particular, giving a dry, unenthusiastic laugh. He felt uneasy and unwelcome, embarrassed and disoriented. Perhaps it was best if he left the restaurant, found a temporary place to stay for a day or two, and laid low for a while. The last thing he wanted was to draw too much attention to himself in a new town.

Connor retrieved his leather bag from beneath the table and left his meal unfinished as he stepped up to the bar. “Uh...I’ll go ahead and pay my tab, if you don’t mind...” He spoke quietly to the barmaid, hand trembling slightly as he dug around in his pocket for money. Connor counted out enough money and then some; his mind was far too muddled to be concerned with exact change and proper tips. With that, he started for the door, wondering if it was even safe to leave. His brown coat was left hanging on the back of his chair, but Connor didn't seem to notice as he stepped out into the stifling heat of the afternoon.

Once the man was on his feet again, Shianne turned away. The others affected by the raid were all recovering; a good sign. Digging in her pocket, she counted out enough money for her food, leaving it on the counter by her half-empty bowl. Using her sleeve, she wiped the splash of broth from her cheek before heading to the door.

The man she'd assisted was leaving as well - already out the door, in fact. Shianne frowned, looking from him to the coat on the back of the chair he'd been occupying. Glancing once at the door, she stepped closer to the chair. Working quickly, she patted both sleeves, squeezing the pockets gently to make sure they contained no hidden devices such as bombs. He could have easily been a government-employed terrorist, attacked to avoid raising suspicion while planting his explosive.

Once satisfied that there was nothing dangerous hidden in the garment's folds, Shianne picked it up, continuing toward the exit. Others might call her paranoia debilitating; she called it a method of survival. Yet the man seemed to pose no threat, and there was minimal chance of her ever meeting him again. She could afford to do a good deed and return the coat.

Pushing out the door, she broke into a job to catch up with him. "Excuse me? Sir?" Slowing to a walk about two metres away, she offered the coat. "I believe this is yours. You left it behind."

Connor’s feet carried him aimlessly out the door; though his head was up and his near-golden eyes gazed forward, his stare was remote and his brow was slightly furrowed. What had happened back there? All the research he’d done about the city of Highland before making the trip had been positive - it was supposed to be a clean, safe place with happy people and abundant opportunities for everyone. Instead, he’d found an isolated police city-state surrounded by poverty.

He put his hand back up to his neck and tried to feel out the basic size of the bump there. Perhaps with the right set-up of mirrors and a fine scalpel, some local anesthesia and maybe an extra set of experienced hands....he could extract the painful object...

Since his mind was still reeling from the events in the bar, it took him a moment to notice that the approaching voice was directed at him. Connor turned, confused and cautious, though upon seeing Shianne with his coat he immediately realized that he’d left it behind in his rush to escape. He recognized her as the one who’d helped him up from the floor.

“Thank you...again...” Connor gave a tired but grateful smile, taking the coat and laying it over his forearm. “That was quite a scene back there, wasn’t it?”

"Er . . . you're welcome," she answered, absently twisting the strap of her bag. "Yes, it was." This is what she got for being polite - now she was going to be dragged into conversation. Still, she couldn't help feeling pity for this guy - he had gotten assaulted by the government in a public place. It was bound to be a little damaging to the ego, not to mention whatever they'd done to him.

"You . . . you are all right, are you?" she asked awkwardly. "What happened?"

It had been hard to see from her position, but the most she could tell was that they'd briefly examined the back of his neck. Maybe looking for a mark or something? That only begged the question of what type of mark. They hadn't taken anyone with them . . . maybe they were looking for a convict with a prison tattoo . . . . Oh, stop it, Shianne.

Connor returned his fingertips to the back of his neck in unconscious response to her question, again feeling the new rectangular lump beneath his skin. “I suppose so...” It was all he could say at the moment. It had been, to say the least, a jarring experience to succumb to such strange, excruciating pain...such pain that he had no choice but to collapse beneath. Connor wasn’t unfamiliar to experiencing a loss of control, but it was all together different to be so caught off guard by it.

After a moment of somewhat awkward silence, Connor realized that she’d asked a second question. “I’m...I’m not sure. I think they put something...in my neck.” He paused, realizing how outlandish he sounded. Or at least, how outlandish he presumed he was sounding. “Didn’t you hear that...noise? I thought I must have been having a fit or something...” He trailed off, looking to Shianne to see if she seemed to understand what he meant.

Something in his neck? Shianne frowned, thinking it over. If that was the case, and the same had been done to others in the tavern, then why them? She hadn't heard anything about raids like this before, nothing at all.

"I didn't hear anything, no," she answered. "All I saw was the leader flip that little switch on his box, and then people were dropping like flies." She paused, pushing up the long sleeves of her lightweight shirt. With no wind to speak of, the heat was oppressive. Someday she was really going to have to get some clothes better suited to the weather.

Back to the matter at hand. She was curious now; this man was a victim, was he not? She could risk spending a few more minutes to investigate what had happened. "If you'll hold still a moment, I can take a look for you," she suggested, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Stepping to one side, she raised herself a little onto her toes to see better.

There was the mark - an angry red rectangle no bigger than the nail on her pinkie finger. Just under the skin, was a dark shape the same size as the mark. Cautiously, Shianne touched it with a fingertip. The thing was solid, like metal or heavy plastic.

Stepping back, she shook her head. "There is something there, but I'm sorry, I don't know what it is."

“Thanks...” Connor held still as possible as she inspected his neck. When her fingertip grazed the mark, he winced and drew away quickly, immediately placing a hand on the back of his neck to stifle the sting.

“I only just arrived in town. I haven’t done anything wrong...” Connor frowned, keeping one hand on his neck and the other on the top of the leather bag that was hanging from his shoulder. “...Are you from this city?...”

Shianne's mind went to the identification card in her pocket. What did it say under birthplace again? Ah - right. "I'm not from here originally, but I have lived in the city for almost six months. Is there someplace you need to -"

Looking past him down the street, a trio of men were visible, watching the two of them. The way they stood, their posture . . . it was almost certain that they were secret police. Shianne immediately looked away, not wanting to get caught staring. It's all right, don't panic. Just need to get away, that's all.

". . . uh, someplace you need to be?" she finished, returning her attention to the man with the thing in his neck. "I can probably give you directions, but not much else."

A new thought struck. This man was new to the city. He didn't know his way around, probably didn't know about the secret police in the area, had just been branded as something by someone . . . . She couldn't just leave him out here, no matter what the laws of self-preservation said.

Stealing another glance at the trio of men, she took the arm of her new "friend," pulling gently as she headed off in the opposite direction. "Actually, why don't we walk and talk. It'll likely be easier if I show you the way." She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. "Not to mention safer."

“Not really. You see, I’m new here and--” Connor stopped short, looking down in bewilderment as she took him by the arm. “Alright...but you should know I--” Again, he was cut off, or rather, he cut himself off.

“...well...uh, alright...but I--” Connor didn’t have much of a choice but to comply as she tugged him off in the other direction. When their eyes met, he immediately picked up on the sense of urgency, and he nodded and began to follow alongside her rather than be pulled along. “I’m Connor.” He stated hurridly, voice less than steady as he walked quickly in fear of being followed. After a block or so, he let his guard down slightly; with a small sigh of relief, he chanced a glance over his shoulder. “Is this a regular occurrence around here?”

Keeping an eye out as they moved, Shianne almost didn't notice when the man introduced himself. Releasing her grip on his arm, she put both hands in her pockets, doing her best to look nonchalant.

"My name's Janine," she lied. "It's . . . not so much as an occurrence as a distant threat. The government has agents working as a secret police service; they won't confront you directly, but if you're of interest, then they'll call it in and have you followed."

Gesturing for Connor to follow, Shianne crossed to the opposite side of the street. A set of expansive steps ran up to the entrance of a bank, two decorative columns holding up the jutting roof. Climbing the stone stairs, she stepped behind the leftmost column, waiting for Connor to catch up.

"I'm sorry for the run-around," she said. "You can't be to careful when dealing with them, and this way, we'll be out of site if they decide we're worth following." Folding her arms, she looked at him seriously. "Why are you here, exactly? Is there any reason at all why someone would want to target you?"

Connor followed quite closely even after she’d released her grip. In such a bizarre, somewhat tense situation, it seemed as though he didn’t have much of a choice. “It’s nice to meet you, Janine...” He spoke hurriedly, getting caught slightly off guard when Shianne beckoned him to follow her across the street.

’Secret police....following people of interest...’ Her words replayed themselves in his scrambled mind. Connor had only just arrived...things were happening so quickly, so unexpectedly. He was a peaceful, law-abiding citizen. A doctor, no less! There must have been some simple mistake, Connor tried to convince himself. It hadn’t yet occurred to him the real reason he had been tagged.

Once behind the column, in the cool shade beneath the large stone roof, Connor let out a sigh. The heat was making his breath heavy, and a few beads of sweat clung to his forehead and damped down some of his blonde hair. He looked puzzled at the accusatory nature of her stance - her folded arms, the serious look on her face.

“I...was just moving here. Or, rather, I’m looking for a new place to live....and I’d heard that this city could offer me a job. You see, I’m a doctor, and-” Connor paused, glancing down at the street below. Familiar looking men - the ones who’d been watching them down the street moments earlier - had stopped a person within less than 20 meters from the base of the bank’s steps and seemed to be questioning her. Connor took a few steps to his left, backing further behind the column as to remain out of view.

“-and I really don’t understand what all of this is about. I haven’t done anything wrong...” It suddenly occurred to him that Shianne seemed just as wary as him, if not more so. He hadn’t noticed whether or not she’d been one of the ones who’d fallen to the floor back in the bar, but the skittish way she’d pulled him down and across the street did seem mildly suspicious.

“What about you? If I’m supposedly targeted, then why are you helping me? What’s going on here?” Connor shifted his grip on his bag and coat, feeling a growing sense of uneasiness.

Listening to the explanation given her, Shianne felt her suspicion ease, if only a little. By his own account, Connor was a confirmed victim of circumstance. Simply a man trying to make a living in the world.

She shifted her weight uneasily as he turned the question around on her. Helping out as she had, she should have known that sooner or later, she would be asked to explain herself. It was just unfortunate that it had been sooner rather than later.

"They're no friends of mine either," she hedged. "They've been after me for a while." She folded her arms a little tighter, shrugging uncomfortably. "This isn't the sort of place you want to be in if you don't know how to stay out of sight." Taking a deep breath - ignoring the instinct to just leave this guy in her dust as she ran off - she added, "I can help you out, if you want."

’They’ve been after me for a while... The possibility that he was in the presence of some kind of convict briefly crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed the thought upon reminding himself that she’d helped him back there in that bar without knowing a thing about him. Besides, she didn’t look malicious in the slightest. Between Shianne and those police who’d forcefully stuck something in the back of his neck, he’d choose her any day.

“Alright...” Connor answered hesitantly. “I really just need a place to stay for a little while while I get on my feet. I think I could find a job easily enough after a few days, and finding my own place after that shouldn’t be too difficult.” He smiled earnestly, still shaken from the events of the afternoon, but feeling fairly positive once more about his decision to relocate here. “I can’t thank you enough, Janine...” Connor trailed off, noticing that the secret police who’d been tailing them down on the street seemed to have disappeared for now.