August 1st, 2030, 8:01 pm

I stretch out the shower curtain and reach down for my bath towel on the square, gray rug. I bind the towel around my waist. Drops of water collect on the top edge of the towel, as I approach the sink and mirror. I need to check to see if I got the shampoo out of my hair. I haven't even looked at my face in months.

I grab one of the smaller, hand towels along the side of the sink and unfold it. I press the small towel against my face to soak up all the droplets. When I remove the towel from my face, I look at myself for the first time since I've been a criminal. My hair is far clumpier and a tuft just about falls in my eye. My cheeks and forehead are decorated with all kinds of minor wounds, like scratches, including those inflicted last night. It's hard to believe that there is minimal facial hair dusting my jaw. I should get around to shaving it, though, at some point.

I guess five months of being on the run from the Imperial Guard will do that to you.

It's definitely a relief to take a shower after all this time. All the sweat and grime was beginning to seep into both my clothes and imbed into my skin. My hair collected grease and was practically a mop on my head. And the acne? Lord, the acne. I feel fresher now that I've cleansed myself entirely.

I'm alone for the night again, according to Celestine. The Captain had to go to work after him and I got in a fight in the kitchen. It turns out that he's also staying in the city overnight. I wonder if it's an Imperial Guard meeting. Honestly, what else would it be?

Anyway, while the Captain is in Oltima City until the morning, Celestine told me about an hour ago that she was leaving, too. I forgot to ask where she was going, but by how short she was with me when she left, I guess that she's going to a party or something. I hope she remembers what her dad told her yesterday: "Don't do something you'll regret." I'm sure Celestine is smarter than that, though.

I'm starting to think about this ranking that the Captain was talking about yesterday that's happening in a week and a half. I had friends at school whose older siblings completed the Imperial Guard ranking, and they told me that their brothers and sisters struggled immensely. That's the main reason lots of kids don't attend the two week long testing nowadays. I wonder how many kids will be there this year.

As I switch the light off in the bathroom and walk into the hallway on the third floor, a wild thought crosses my mind. It's practically inevitable that I'll see kids from my school at the ranking, the same ones that I was going to graduate with. I wonder what they think of me now. Do they miss me, or do they despise me? I'm considering the latter of the two. My friends on the baseball team most likely hate my guts, not exactly because I'm a criminal, but because it happened right before the spring season started. Well, probably because I'm a criminal, too.

Holding tightly onto the towel around my waist, I dash down the stairs into the foyer. I can see the violet sky from out the window beside the front door, with very few clouds above, unlike how it was while I was running to the lighthouse. The trees concealing the city skyline on the other side of the dirt driveway are a silhouette against the impending darkness and emerging stars. There's no light on the foyer, or anywhere in the house, for that matter. I need to get to the kitchen to grab some of the clothes that the Manchesters "donated" to me.

I feel around the wall upon entering the kitchen for a light switch and flick it upward. The mess of clothing lays untouched in the center of the floor. I need to find a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Oh, and I guess boxers, too. But I don't want to wear some other dude's boxers. I can't wear mine, since they probably smell horrendous and are dirty as hell. I don't even think Celestine included boxers in this pile of clothing.

I begin sorting through the massive heap for those three items. There are lots of shirts, but there's a gray Stanville soccer one that doesn't look half bad. I assume Celestine goes to Stanville, too. Her school is one of the biggest sports rivals of my high school, Bluefield. In my sophomore year, my baseball team beat Stanville for the championship. So, yeah, there's some bitterness in wearing this t-shirt, but I'll do it, no big deal.

I continue to search for shorts, and possibly, boxers. If I don't find any in the pile, I'll just have to settle with my own. I spot a long, black pair of shorts, and pull them away from the rest. They look like basketball shorts, judging by their length. I was never a fan of basketball, really. That's just another way of me saying that I really suck at it. Beside where the shorts were found are a pair of boxers, just like what I was looking for. These must've gotten brought along with the rest of the clothes on accident. Let's hope Celestine's brother never wore these before.

Doing a quick scan of the room, I make sure no one is watching me put clothes on. I'm in no mood to go back upstairs and change. I know I'm here alone, but it never hurts to be sure. I drop my towel, grab the boxers, and slide them up my legs to hug my hips. I hesitate to pull the Stanville t-shirt over my head after I cover the boxers with the shorts.

To me, I feel like this is the beginning of an uphill climb. I'm not talking about wearing some other dude's clothes. I see this as a fresh start for me. I'm on the path to becoming a part of the Imperial Guard, and if the OLC lives up to its name, I really have a second opportunity to make my life what I want it to be. From this point on, I need to give it all my best effort. 

I glance up from the pile of clothes, and my heart nearly stops. Right outside the sliding door, behind the kitchen table, I see a figure of a man, a phantom, standing there, looking in at me. Did he see me get changed? Wait, there is an unknown ghost staring at me, and I care about if he saw me without clothes on? This guy could be here to kill me; I need to run, now.

I pivot to the dark hallway and spring into motion. A sturdy entity blocks my path and I smack right into it, falling backward. Are there two people watching me now? I crawl back into the light of the kitchen as I await the entrance of the body. My mind is racing. I'm trapped with two murderers closing in on me. I can't escape them, not like I did last night.

The figure halts right at the edge of the darkness, just enough so I can barely see their body. The person smirks, slowly inching forward. "I'll let you stand up. I'll give you that much."

I take advantage of his humanity and scramble to my feet. I lean back against a kitchen chair and stare at him as he enters. "Who the hell are you? What do you want?" What is he going to do next? Is he planning to kill me? He wouldn't be the first one.

The light bounces off of the intruder's head as he walks into the room. "A word," He says, approaching me at a gradual pace. His boots click on the tile floor, throwing me off as I scan him for any incoming violence. He stops about two feet away from me. My entire body is shaking, awaiting what the stranger will do next. 

He crosses his arms. "Slater-"

I immediately tense up. "How the hell do you know my name? And who even are you?"

"Honestly, who doesn't know your name these days? A seventeen year old from Bluefield is on the run from the Imperial Guard for being involved in a botched crime, and the whole Empire is in an uproar. Four months later, that same kid is given another chance to live. The hysteria he created struck fear into every civilian, and boiled the blood inside of every guard. "He" being you, of course. The impact your name has left isn't going anywhere anytime soon."

I grasp the upper outline of the kitchen chair. "You still haven't answered my question."

The man holds out his hands slightly to his side, almost acceptingly. "I guess I owe you that much of an explanation. It's obvious that you're wondering who I am and why I'm visiting you at this time of night. My name is Rodney Roarke," He pauses, then adds, "and I practically ruined your life."

I loosen my grip on the chair. "You what? What do you mean, you ruined my life?"

"Let's start from the beginning," Roarke steps backwards and paces left and right, looking up to the ceiling. "March 14th, you leave your room in the dead of night and run off with a boy with bad intentions. You and I had a mutual friend in Tyler Barber, you know. Good kid." He rests his left elbow on the counter next to the table. "I watched you for four months, snaking through the Empire to escape the grasp of the Imperial Guard. I watched them pound their fists against their desks when they heard you weren't dead or that you got away. They became frustrated. Luckily for them, their prey flew right into their spider web."

"You were watching me this whole time?" But that doesn't explain much. Tyler was kinda weird, yeah, but he's friends with this freak? So what's the point of him watching me if he didn't interfere at all?

"Indeed, I was," Roarke responds with a grin crawling across his face. "I've never seen a kid with your kind of determination, stamina, and courage before. You impressed me immensely, I must add. But the truth is, you've been on my radar long before March. I needed to be one hundred percent sure that you were the one I wanted. No, the one I needed."

I take a half step away from the intruder. "What did you need me for?" My voice starts to creak as the distance between him and I increases. 

"You're a special case, Slater. Even the Imperial Guard, corrupt as they are, acknowledged your potential. We truly admire your perseverance and physical abilities to the point where we don't view you as a criminal. That may just be because I made you like that. Colonel MacTavish wanted you just as much as I did, and he got to you first," He scratches his chin and inches toward me, "or did he?"

I still have no clue what Roarke wants from me, or why he just woke up one day and decided that he needed me. He mentioned that the Imperial Guard is corrupt, which is debatable to me. Only yesterday was I condemning it for leaving my dad behind, but I can't judge without seeing the whole picture. Maybe Roarke has seen it.

"You are my gateway into the Imperial Guard now, Slater. I never intended for you to be used in that way, but I couldn't let this precious opportunity go to waste. Why not have an insider at my dispense?" He pauses and scans my face. "You have abilities that you can't even fathom. The Imperial Guard doesn't know who they truly have on their hands."

"Woah, woah," I hold back, still shuffling backward. "I haven't agreed to any kind of alliance with you. I don't even know who the hell you are."

He chuckles to himself. "Of course you haven't, yet. Let me pick your brain a bit, and maybe that will make you change your mind." Black dust envelopes the stranger, and his body dissipates into the air in front of me. Did he just fucking disappear? Am I dreaming?

"Do you trust the leaders in the Imperial Guard?" I swivel to where I hear Roarke's distinct voice. He is now leaning against the wall between the hallway to the foyer and the living room. His eyes rise from his feet to my face. "General Hamilton, Colonel MacTavish, Jameson, Fitz, and the rest of them? In my eyes, they are all corrupt in their own special way. I doubt you have met them before, however, so I can understand why you are so blind."

"Is there a point to all this, or are you just trying to tell me how much the Imperial Guard sucks? If so, I already know that they do." I roll my eyes and turn to the counter to approach the refrigerator.

Out of thin air, Roarke appears, sitting on the counter with his legs dangling over the side. He did it again! How? "I apologize. I got us off track. We were discussing how I changed your life for the better, and as you could see, the Imperial Guard and I have had," he pauses, pondering, "past strifes."

"Cut to the chase," I stammer. "What's so important?"

He grins, and hops off the counter. "Recall the night you were incarcerated. I observed your every move as you traversed the dangerous path to the Castle. You were able to dodge various guards by a circumstance that you could not understand. This rings a bell, yes?" The mysterious stranger folds his arms and walks past me. "Your ghost-like stealth allowed you to enter the Emperor's home with ease. Would it be crazy to fathom that was all my doing?"

How the hell does he know about that? I haven't put much thought into what happened then, since I was worried about getting my ass out of there. How was it his doing that I was able to evade the patrollers? I was too out in the open for them to not notice me. Were they friends of his, pretending to be guards, and turning a blind eye to a thief?

"The same occurrence last night, as well as early this morning. I watched you approach those men in the woods, spying on their congregation. What did you learn about those men? Their... unique motives?"

Those psychos. Even this crazy guy knows about them, and by the way he talks about them, he knows more than I do. They were flat-out insane. They killed that kid because he quit on them and didn't even give him a chance to leave. Those guys had to be part of some kind of cult, I swear.

"I hardly remember. Some kid didn't want to kill his family as part of some kind of initiation into their group, so one of the other guys shot him. Then they began calling him pathetic and disgraceful. They were just," I shake my head in disgust, "horrible people."

Roarke gazes at me, still. "Ivan?"

The hairs on my arms rise. That was the name of the recruit they killed. How the hell does he know? 

He approaches me, fiddling with the sleeve of his leather jacket on his left arm. "You have the mark; on your arm. You and those "horrible people" have something in common, huh?"

The stranger pulls the sleeve up to his elbow, with the underside facing toward the ceiling. My heart drops into my stomach, and my forehead heats up. There, on his arm, is a black letter M, appearing to have been carved into his skin. Veins passing around the tattoo are a midnight purple. His mark is far more intricate and detailed than mine, with dark wisps adding to the letter itself.

I peer down at mine, with its thin lines. "I don't understand."

"One day, you will, Slater. Soon, it'll almost be as if you don't even have it." He pats me on the shoulder. "Welcome to the Medo, kid."

I swat his arm off of me. He's already signing me up to join his club of wack-jobs. I'm still uneasy about all this. "I'm not joining you. It's not your decision whether or not I head to the Imperial Guard or the Medo. Just leave me alone." 

I attempt to push past him to go upstairs, but he holds his ground against me. "I'm sorry, but the choice has already been made. But if it really is such an issue for you, I can make a deal."

I roll my eyes. "Does it include killing my family? Forget about it, Roarke. I'm done with all this bullshit. I'm going with the Guard."

Roarke frowns, shoving me into the kitchen table. "All right, then, Slater. Continue living with the sheep. I'll be back when the day is important." He turns his back to me, and proceeds up the hallway to the foyer. The black dust encircles him and he fades into the air. 

So I'm with those insane cult people. All because of a dumb tattoo. As if my journey to the ranking couldn't get any stranger.