September 4th, 2030, 6:08 pm

The MacTavish's house in West Bluefield appears just as any other townhouse in this district of Queen's City, though its inhabitants, I have been told, are far from ordinary. Enclosing the family is a sleek, white door with rectangular grooves and a brass knob on the right. Two wall lamps are perched on both sides of the entrance, illuminating the worn, stone porch stoop. The bricks that have strengthened most of the homes in the whole city are cracked and drying out from the current drought that bakes the region.

I follow Celeste up the steps to the door with a haunting stillness that plagues the neighborhood. In the distance, as I recall from "home," the lull of busy cars infect the air around me, but it is less prominent than there. There are a couple of kids on the sidewalk sprinting home as the sun has ducked below the houses. The tangerine glow, imitating that of the Medo's mark, paints itself on the concrete and pavement of the street. There is no yelling or hostility that would occasionally find itself in my old area.

Finally, some peace in this town.

The Captain presses the boxy instrument on the frame of the door, and an immersed bell shatters the near silence. Celeste turns to me and grins, reaching up to my collar. She untucks the fold that has hidden under my plaid green flannel for the whole car ride over here. With a tug on the sleeves, she loosens the scrunch that has formed on my armpits. I can feel the pool in the crook of my arm and chest, but I refuse to inspect the inevitable stain on my shirt.

The door pries open after a few brief moments, and a tween boy stands in the way. His navy blue tee is draped over his small upper body, with the words Bluefield Football curled in a circle. His coconut brown hair falls in front of his pale forehead, over the dark eyes behind them. He smiles when he looks up at the Captain, the tallest of the four of us.

"Hey, guys," he mutters. His pointed gaze pierces through my face upon acknowledgment, and his apparent joy fades. His bare feet regress back into the house. Not again. I haven't had to dwell on the weight of my crimes in over a week.

Before he can disappear, delicate fingers coil around the width of the white door and extend the orifice. A woman overlooks the young boy but her attention is set on the three of us. Her hair resembles that of her son below her, with the same intense, abyssal eyes that found their way to my core. But her's seem... docile. More so than the boy, who threatens me with his unwavering stare.

The Manchesters and I enter through the door and a greeted by a trio, with another small child being added to the mix. Following the family trend in terms of shade, her gentle, wispy hair collapses over her ears but not past her chin. In the sharp light of the open room we find ourselves in, her irises shimmer with an innocent, baby blue. As it remains, the boy is the only one who appears to be terrified of me. For little to no reason.

The front room of the MacTavish household is plain with no real interest besides the entrance to the next room. Much like how it is in my new home, there are stairs that lead to a higher floor, twisting around a wall at a platform. A rich smell of cooked meat and various vegetables waft into the room, giving it some personality. There is a mound of sneakers, boots, and sandals resting by the front door, waiting for one of the two children to pull them on. The hardwood floor below the welcome mat is not as shiny as I believe it must have been once. A single window allows the light from the porch to melt into the house, only a slightly lighter tint than the glow in this room alone.

The kids stand behind the woman and watch on as their mother reaches for the Captain. She takes him by the hand and lands a kiss on his cheek, to which he reciprocates. "I would hug you," she warns, "but I don't want to hurt your shoulder."

Brian grins, easing her away from him. "No, Amy, I'm fine. It's much better."

Amy processes onto toward Celestine ahead of me, flinging her arms around her. "Hello, beautiful." She draws away from my friend and traces her fingers down her exposed forearms to her soft hands. "You look wonderful, as always."

She finally reaches me and gives me a grin as kind as her gaze. "And you must be Slater. You have grown so tall since we last saw you. You're starting to look just like your father." Despite her strange comment in regard to my appearance, she approaches me in an embrace. There is a peculiar curvature in her abdomen area that feels odd against my body.

Amy scoots the little girl toward me with anchored feet. "Slater, I don't believe you have met Lily yet. Say hello, sweetheart."

Young Lily beams a toothy grin with her sparkling eyes. "Hello, Slater!"

I inwardly shiver. I can't begin to comprehend the various things that this girl knows. With a father in the Imperial Guard, especially one with such a high position as the Colonel, nothing can remain a secret for long. From the way she admires me, compared to her nameless brother, she does not see me as the monster that I once was. I hope she stays in this state of peace forever. It's a tough life, kid.

Amy motions to the boy who hasn't averted his everlasting gaze since it met me. "And I know it has been a while, but you remember Daniel, right?"

In what suggests an outburst, Daniel springs out of his stagnant position and stretches out his hand. His eyes no longer connect to the void and appear as timid as his mother's. "It's Danny. You can call me Danny."

"Oh, look who it is!"

I was too enthralled with Danny's trance to notice someone come scampering down the stairs. He lands on two feet from the second step like an eager child. His beachy glow ignites the room and brings a natural smile to my face.

"Hal, what's going on, man?" I throw my arms around his chest and he draws me into him. "I haven't seen you in a week, how've you been?"

"I can't complain. Just been hanging out." He recognizes Celeste, observant of our friendly altercation. "Hey, Celeste."

She throws him a mild wave from beside her dad. "Hey, Hal."

Amy glances between us teenagers. "Slater, I think you have met Hal before, right? He's in your Imperial Guard class. My husband trained him for the ranking, so we figured that it would be nice to have him over for dinner, too."

"Met?" Hal gives a playful scoff. "Mrs. MacTavish, Slater is one of my best friends. Of course, I know this guy." He wraps his arm around my back and hauls me toward him.

Nothing indicated that Hal was going to be here tonight, so I find myself being genuinely surprised by his presence. It is refreshing to catch up with him again. So much has occurred over the past week that I will need to take the time and explain. He has always been one that has understood my plight involving the mark and the Medo, so I find it easy to confide in him. Both him and CJ, who I miss, too.

Our first mandatory rookie seminar is on Friday, which is when I will see everyone again. I sometimes refrain from express intense emotion, so that's why I mask my excitement. But it's real. These nine kids are my new best friends and they are beginning to accept me for who I am now, which I greatly appreciate from the bottom of my heart. Again, with the lack of emotional revelation, it's hard to display.

Well, everyone except one.

"Dinner is just about ready," Amy announces, clapping her hands together. Before pivoting to march toward the kitchen, she rolls her eyes at Brian. "James is downstairs in the cellar, doing God knows what. Practicing with the sword is my best guess. Danny, could you head down and tell your father that the Manchesters are here?"

I really hope that isn't some kind of euphemism.

Danny peels off of the horde parading to the kitchen and shoots me one final look of bottled horror. I cannot comprehend what is wrong with that kid. I am a firm believer that he has been subject to all the awful accusations about me and they still haven't worn off, a month later.

The kitchen, again, like the one in the Manchester household, has a dining room attachment on its side. The table is a weathered oak wood with three chairs on each side, plus two on the ends. The linoleum tile floor encapsulates the character of a traditional, unrenovated Bluefield home, but makes it seem less overwhelming. In the kitchen portion of the room, there is a cutting board tainted with juices from sizzling steaks, and I feel my mouth dampen. There are two other pots over the stove, but their contents are unknown.

I take my place in between the Manchesters on the side closest to the counter. The spots are already decorated with a tablemat and silver cutlery, along with a shiny, empty plate in the center. Hal slides in across from me, next to Lily on his left. Amy MacTavish takes the end seat beside the Captain, leaving another chair next to Hal open, as well as the other end of the table.

Danny scurries into the dining room and dives into his seat across from the Captain. Instead of continuing to study me, he ducks his head below the table level, rubbing his arm. He seems nervous about something, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe that's just how he is, and I would be questioning something he can't control. Then I would look like the asshole.

After several cursory moments, a man appears in the room with a glisten over his face. One that I have distinguished before, to my surprise. I will admit, though, it is off-putting to see him again outside of an Imperial Guard uniform. Unorderly strands of shadowy brown hair curl over his forehead, while others stand on end. It has just now occurred to me that he and Lily share the same ultramarine eyes.

That's the same man who restrained me at the Imperial Guard ceremony. Why has it taken me this long to realize that he's the one who pulled me away and said he had known Brian for twenty years? This is the one who crawled into a basement window and cried his heart out to Brian when they first met two decades past. The one who trained guards with the likes of Sergeant Lee, Frost, Rory, and even Hal. The one who despises Arthur Jameson with every fiber of his being.

And the same one who took a leap of faith and awarded me the OLC, hoping I would prevail. That man.

I rise from my seat in regard to him as he approaches the table. He and I stand nose to nose and he pauses a few feet ahead. That fire I saw beneath him a week ago has been doused. He smiles, and I find it infectious.

"Slater, I'm glad we can finally meet under better circumstances." The Colonel extends his arm into the dense air between us and I take it without a moment of hesitation. "Colonel James MacTavish, but it's James to you."

I dispense his hand from mine. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

He nudges me with a pointed elbow as he passes to the other end of the table. Collecting the plates from each placemat, he spins back to me and snickers. "It looks like you turned out okay despite Brian being your mentor. I'm sorry I had to put you through that."

"It wasn't all bad," I admit.

"Oh, stop being so generous, kid. I would have made a better mentor, right?" He winks, grinning again. He loops around the table with a stack of gleaming plates.

My eyes follow him to the counter with the cutting board. "Doubtful."

A slab of steak splashes onto one of the plates. James peers up at me, his eyes squinted. He diverts from me to observe the man in the seat next to me. "It appears you got some of his sarcasm, too."

"Of course he did. This shouldn't come as a surprise to you," The Captain says, not budging from his seat.

James sneers. "What I'm not surprised about is how conceited you are."

"Ha! Right. Call me what you want, but we all know that the conceited one is you."

Celestine reaches for my hand and draws me down to her. I feel the aura of her lips against my ear. "They always talk like an old, married couple. They're so immature, I swear. A bunch of kids."

I twist my head toward her and lean into her hair as it obscures her nearest ear. "I don't think he's as bad as you made him out to be."

The officers continue with their light-hearted bickering as Celeste scoots her chair closer to me. "Around us, no. He's like my cool uncle when we're with him. But my dad tells me that when they're working at HQ, he's merciless."

"I mean, you met Colonel Jameson, right? He has to be merciless if he wants to stand up to guys like him."

I watch her turn away from me and sit square to the table. "That's true, but it's like he's two completely different people. And I don't trust that, especially now."

A full dinner plate, adorned in a firm ribeye in the dead center, lands between the utensils on our scarlet placemats. The steak is accompanied by smooth mashed potatoes and a handful of cooked asparagus sprinkled on top. Man. I can't describe the joy and satisfaction that is coursing through my veins at the moment. This is the first full meal I have had in quite a long while. That's not an insult to what I ate during my time with the Manchesters, but this finds itself on a whole other level.

My hand dives for my knife and fork, watching the steak sizzle on my plate. Before I can stab my fork into it, the Captain's hand wavers over my spot on the table. "Hey, how about you wait until everyone gets their plate, okay?" After a quick scour of the rest of the occupants, I notice that I am the only one beside him who has been blessed with this incredible gift. I drop my utensils back in their place, heeding his suggestion.

Amy, at the end of the table, reflects her gaze between Hal and I. "So are you two excited to be in the Imperial Guard? Making friends in your class?"

Hal frowns in my direction before turning to her with a stretched smile. "Yeah, we're making friends. The kids in our class are really nice. No real problems with anyone."

As I start to slice the edge of my steak, she speaks again. "That's not what I heard." I lift my attention from the meat to see her stabbing us with knives in her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Hal inquires, stiff.

Her husband across the table gears his eyes upward at us. He slices the steak into thin sheets for Lily beside him. "We overheard that there was an incident the night of the ceremony. It involved your Sergeant. And you three have a meeting with Petry coming up."

I turn to Hal with a strain in my glare. I nearly forgot about that whole altercation, and I'm not glad that it was brought up again. I haven't seen anyone in Class 30 since the ceremony, so there is no way for me to tell if we are still passionate about our cases of that event. We wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for the boy across the table from me, pulling our Sergeant off of the bed and laying haymakers on him. If Hal would have just kept his hands and his emotions to himself, the dinner table would be more lively.

I am not excusing Craig by any means. He can go fuck himself for all I care. Nothing is going to change his mind about how much he hates me, and it's all because of his shithead Major who told him to treat me like a low-life, as he put it.

I refuse to not take part of the blame for what happened that night. I woke them up and they began fighting over me. Hal shouldn't have beat him up, and Craig shouldn't have raised his voice. And I shouldn't have intervened. But I know I started this battle, and I don't see an upcoming finale. A light at the end of the tunnel, if you will. For all I know, this could last for the rest of our Imperial Guard careers.

I shove my fork into the asparagus on my plate. "I thought we were meeting with you guys, not Petry."

"You were," the Captain chimes. "But he's back now."

"Hey, guys!" Celestine interposes. "Can we talk about something else? Please?" The four Imperial Guards in the room hold back words, ducking heads to face our meal below our chins. I glare into Hal before she adds, "thank you."

The two kids beside Hal van Lester on the opposite side of the table are involved with their food while my gaze bores into my new Imperial Guard brother. I am glad that I met him, don't get me wrong. I am disappointed that he wasn't named Sergeant and Craig Larsson was. But he has an immaturity about him that concerns me and makes me wonder. I know him and Craig disliked each other before the Imperial Guard but this is a new type of hatred. I won't let them get to the point where we divide.

I scoop some mashed potatoes onto my spoon and proceed to examine the drowned state of the room. The lull amongst us is shredding me, and no one is willing to snap it. I guess I, once again, will have to be the one to take action. Somehow.

Danny appears to be vulnerable for a question. He doesn't speak much, so something is telling me that he's got a lot to say but he doesn't have the means of doing so. He sifts around his asparagus with his fork with his chin in his hand. The underside of his support arm is an irritated pink hue. I don't have the slightest clue what I should ask him.

Amy peers up from her meal and grins at her son. "Danny, why don't you tell the Manchesters about what's going on on Friday?"

The boy abducts some mashed potatoes from his plate and holds it in front of his nose. He lifts his chin from his hand. "I have my first football game on Friday."

"And?" Amy urges, leaning into the table.

He sighs. "I'm the starting quarterback for the middle school varsity team."

Amy gleams at us, invoking a smile out of the Manchesters. My eyes stay on the boy, reveling in disinterest. The kid is an athlete and a superb one at that. If only he had an ounce of enthusiasm, as he did when he introduced himself to me. None of the animation from his father was carried into his son.

"That's incredible, Danny," the Captain remarks. "Congratulations."

The Colonel gives a precise, angled cut on his steak. He glances at his son with a masked smirk. "We are all very proud."

I bring my fork to my mouth to stuff it with a whole stalk of asparagus, bending its flimsy structure at the center. I keep my left elbow on the table until my gaze gears toward Lily. She stares at me, or, more specifically the midnight burden etched into my arm. I press the haunted letter against my placemat, but her focus has not wavered.

"What is that on your arm?" Lily exclaims.

James responds first. "It's a tattoo. Brian told me he just got it this past week. Isn't it neat?" He throws me a wink, concealed from Lily.

Hal bumps her with his elbow. "Yeah, it's for the Imperial Guard. I'm getting mine soon. I'll show you when I get it."

"What does it mean?" She asks, prodding still.

"Medo."

The name did not escape my lips. It was not a breach of confidence on account of the Manchesters. Hal's tongue is trapped in his mouth. James halts the upward motion of a fork while Amy eases her grip on her knife.

"He's a part of the Medo, Lily. The ones you see in your nightmares. He knows the ones who have been killing all those people!"

"Daniel, that's enough!" Amy scolds beside him.

He jolts out of his chair, dropping his spoon on the linoleum. "He's a killer! He looks nice now but if you let him get too close he'll kill you, too!" He stabs the air between us with his pointer finger. "Look at me, Slater. I know what you're hiding. I can feel your power becoming greater and greater. But I won't let you get to me. I won't let any of your friends get to me, either." He presses off of the table and marches toward the front room, by the stairs. "He is evil, and I mean it. He knows more than any of you could ever know. And if that doesn't scare you, I don't know what will." Danny stomps over the cream carpet and up the stairs, leaving a blazing trail behind him.

The sad thing is, he's right. A little twerp exposed me to the whole world, and I feel naked. The Empire is judging my bare body as I have nothing to cover it with anymore. I stare at my plate, riddled with scraps of food in separate curves, as six pairs of eyes bore into me like termites, eating away whatever dignity I have left.

I will say this upfront: I am not a killer. Not anymore. Hell, I never technically was. But even without that guilt weighing me down throughout my journey, I still feel as if the disgrace torments me to my core. It was my body, but not my mind. How can I admit to doing anything wrong if I can't remember? I will continue to live with the notion that I am being framed for something I didn't do. It is most plausible, considering Roarke was at my side through its entirety.

That all being said, I will not be seen as a murderer any longer. Danny can say what he wants about who I once was, but that isn't me any longer. I am Slater Tross, an Imperial Guard indebted to the Medo. I will never kill again.

You can keep telling yourself that, but I cannot promise that it won't happen.

"I am so sorry," Amy declares to the Manchesters and I. "Things have been pretty strange over the past few weeks."

Brian attaches his hand to hers. "It's all right. We understand the circumstances. It hasn't been easy for any of us."

Slater, you and I had a deal. If it comes down to you having to kill someone, then that's what it must be.

"No, shut up!" I shout, squeezing the silver handle of my fork. "I'm not killing anyone!"

The Captain releases her and twists to me. Bolted, bronze irises look upon my face as my jaw starts to flutter. His right hand discovers my opposite shoulder. "Son, it's okay. Don't take what Daniel said to heart."

You might want to be quiet next time. You're drawing a crowd.

"Shut up! Get out of my head!" I kick myself out of the dining chair, snapping the bond between Brain and I. My wrist bones protrude through my skin with the chokehold on my spoon. The chair spins away from me as I take the path the young conspirator took to the stairs. The air instantly cools down once I step out of the tension of the kitchen.

"Slater, wait!" Celeste calls out from the dinner table.

Her words drown in the fire scorching my brain. I open the front door and slam it shut behind me, spoon in hand.

I have to speak with someone.