"This was Elio's doing. Why did Elio...?" Sunday muttered to himself, long after the broadcast ended. Even with his headache, he kept fiddling around his phone, only sending one message before silencing it. Even when he heard a familar tune humming in his head-

-because this could not be the only thing that he bothered to send her, right? About the Fool's schemes and potential movements, as through her brother is to enemies against Harmony (or has it been Order all along? Or both?), the theater's disappearance could only amount to someone stealing a Stellaron, for nefarious purposes including drawing out the person responsible of masterminding the Stellaron to create this beautiful Dreamscape (it wasn't the Dreamaster, the Order, but then who? Why had he never said so before?) ending it with potential ways to stay safe as well wishing it so.

For it was as practical as it was impersonal. Necessary for her impending situation but callous against her concern when she did not even know her brother's fate, and still did not know. Of what he's truly doing out there, whether he was in actual good company, safe and sound or even truly alright. Being alive was the tip of the iceberg that she wanted to know. Did he not think she wanted to know whether he was safe too? And she messaged to receive no signal, so despite her headache, she hummed, trying to reach out but-

-his headache worsened, and he shut it out with another message about the consequences of their special connection, cold as it is. That was the only thing he would do, and afterwards, he was going to keep his involvement with Robin to the minimum. If anyone unsavoury were to find he kept in contact with Robin, he did not want to tarnish her reputation anymore than it already had to the point of being unsalvageable.

In the planet that started it all, she wished that he would continue responding but the communication was a start of something. Still, she wanted to talk more. After all this. Her big brother still cared for her, and he may have forgotten that she cared about him too. Still, she would try again when the aftereffects of their sudden communication cooled down. And she would like to remind him, no matter how far away they were, no matter what different paths they walked, that they were still family. And family just do not abandon each other for any circumstances.

'I should have never contacted Robin, or used my powers like this,' Sunday now thought bitterly, even with all the worry welled up in him, 'I was even warned about this.'

Other than the raven allegories that depicted a more personal journey Sunday would later witness fully to the future, the script also contained several advice and warnings alike because other than getting injured in the fall and imprisoned for his cosmic crimes, it was not like he left unscathed from the whole thing.

'Wonder this, what does it feel to ascend as an Aeon? What is it to take Paths once known and create anew? Whether in success or failure, does one hold onto either mortal or godhood? Can one have both and neither? Power has always come at great responsibility and if one were to have such a sudden brush, what turning point would one face?'

Sunday had read those questions, remembered how he expressedly told the Astral Express how he sought no desire to resurrect an Aeon nor become one himself and yet his karma, by the power and potential grace of two Aeons, had brought about an Embryo of Philopshy and an ideal for a utopia he so desired. Because he had nothing left to lose.

But it dawned on him that he had almost become a god... and Elio's questions, with his concerns, were valid. During the very first infiltration mission, he had slowly used his powers, worried what he had gained and lost with the relief that it went so smoothly.

But what he did to contact Robin? Too soon, and too painful. Just what had he been thinking? 

"What's wrong with him?" a swordsman asked, and considering the Stellaron Hunters, it might be Blade. When he entered in the apartment was something he wasn't even sure. He had been too busy nursing a headache and absolute worry for what his sister is going through. Seriously, why did this have to happen to her?

"Who knows?" Silver Wolf shrugged, "He had been like this ever since the Charmony Festival broadcast."

"Heh, did he just see something that was too much for him to handle?" Kafka, who also entered the apartments who knows when, said with a tinge of amusement, "Listen, tell us what's going on Birdie."

Sunday felt a tug to follow as Kafka said, to spill everything as it was the honest truth when what he really wanted was to get his bearings after the disorientating headache while shifting through the things that could be said and unsaid. He got the feeling that Kafka was doing something to him, a terrifying power she possessed that could control people like puppets.

'Oh Triple Faced Soul...'

Unfortunately, it was something he was all too familiar with as he firmly rejected the enticing whisper to keep his own will. Even if it felt like a struggle giving him an even worse headache. It wasn't easy but experience made what might be impossible for some to be completely doable for him.

"As a leader, one of the strong, you can help the weak but that's insufficient. A leader's role has to govern, as the strong govern the weak. The strong govern over others to ensure that no wrongdoings happened and everyone can live in harmony. Yet, there are some disastified with such, will pull no ends of tricks for you to succumb as they can take over the position from you and apply their own rule so far away from the harmony. So you have to become strong, if you don't want that happening."

"But how do I become strong? I try my best but I don't know whether I'm strong enough to fulfill such a role."

"For someone who wants to accomplish many dreams and has done your best until many can recognize the potential in you, you should be more self-assured about your strength. Still, there will always people stronger than you but I can help you overcome those hurdles and learn what it's like to be a leader. And in that way, you will find yourself having more options in making dreams come true. Don't you want that?"

The boy never hesitated, if it meant accomplishing all the dreams he set out. If it meant everyone's well-being in the embrace of harmony. Even when he was unsure about his own strength deep down, with the weaknesses he had. And the boy learned, growing up.

"Oh Triple Faced Soul..."

The boy, growing into a man, had always said that as the starting mark soon after the training had begun. To judge, jury and execute. On others by his own hand, or himself by others. And it was by THEIR grace, or maybe his own efforts that he started finding the strength to overcome all the trickery, coercion and powers against him. Especially those who sought to make him a puppet for their sickening desires but his own desire against that has and always would prevail.

Back then, he had hoped that the weak can grow strong like this too. With more experiences in the future, he had wondered whether the weak could ever grow strong and still relied on the strong like how he relies on the Aeons that care little about worldly matters except for their own Paths in his own trials and tribulations.

Nevertheless, he still prayed. Because even when people call him strong to the point that he lied himself enough the same thing...

Had he ever changed from the weak crybaby that he was? Because what other god could he turn to, for solace?

"... Why did you do that?" Sunday now asked, before actually raising up his head of his own volition to look straight at Kafka with a surprised but amused expression.

"Just trying to know our new recruit better, is all and I felt like I learnt something new about you just now. I might start understanding why Elio wanted to recruit you," Kafka smoothly answered.

"Do you do this to every new recruit?" Sunday narrowed his eyes towards Kafka, before looking at both Blade and Silver Wolf. Blade looked entirely indifferent for the matter while Silver Wolf had a crossed expression on her face.

"Unfortunately, she does and it's annoying. She always wonders whether there's anyone who can even resist her Spirit Whisper in the first place," Silver Wolf grumbled.

"And you seem to be among the few people who are even able to resist," Kafka smirked with amusement, "What a strong mind you have there, Birdie. Is it because of the Harmony, the Order? Or both?"

The Odes of Harmony had been learned alongside his sister, preparing them for the Family as they were praised for their innate blessings as the best interpreters of the Great One.

Then there were the Odes of Order, taught in secret. Altogether different but similar to the Odes of Harmony so that the history could be learnt and the truth revealed. That he was never a child of Harmony but a twin of Order. And the philosophies that first made him feel wary until he saw THEIR way.

A boy learnt both, and realised he had both blessings and he wondered why. If he was following one Path, how was he not excluded from the other? If he was a twin of Order, then why has the Harmony not been taken from him? Why is it possible to stride both?

An answer would later be reached, that the Harmony and Order were no different and it was when they converged together in the boy. Or that they had been converged long ago and evolved ever since Harmony absorbed Order. Both complementary and yet distinct that he found new meaning.

But did that just make him enlightened, or blasphemous? Could he walk both Paths, when both had appealed...

When the strong had to help the weak, as he saw the fruits of it in being adopted to the strong Family as weak kids losing their mother.

When the strong governed the weak, as he saw that discipline and laws were enforced to ensure unity, casting out the discord by the irreverant.

... and thus he could not abandon either, yet what then if this ends up with him having none?

"Birdie?" Sunday asked instead, not indulging to Kafka's curiosity in favour of his own since this was the second time she used such a nickname on him. If that avoided him answering her questions, then what does that matter?

"That's what you care about?" Kafka asked, "It's just a nickname that rolled off the tongue. Don't worry about it. You need to learn how to change the subject better."

"Then, how is this for a subject change?" Sunday asked.

He knew what happened in Penacony cannot be answered fully by the individuals before him but if there was one thing he was sure of their involvement, their title alone suffice as evidence for him to make this particular accusation.

"The Stellaron Hunters, Mr. Sam, in particular, is responsible for Penacony Theatre's disappearance," Sunday stated without preemptive.

"And?"

At least she was not denying it.

"Was what happened in the Charmony Festival a part of Elio's script? Is what's happening to Robin written down somewhere in any of your scripts that I should have known about?" Sunday demanded.

"Oh, so that's why you were saying something about Elio's doing," Silver Wolf said, already back on her console to play her game while Blade, bored of the conversation, had retreated into yet another room in the apartment. Neither had even bothered to answer Sunday's accusations, and he looked to Kafka as the only one willing to hold a conversation with him to gain something.

"What if it was written in our scripts? Could there have been anything that you could have done if you knew even then?" Kafka asked.

"I would have at least liked to know," Sunday pressed, and Kafka shrugged indifferently.

"Then, you are barking up at the wrong tree there, Birdie," Kafka said, "Sam's the one with the Penacony script and the rest of us do not feature in it, or at least made brief cameos like Silver Wolf there. So we might even be more clueless than you."

Sunday stared at her long and hard, wondering whether she had even spoken truth or simply lied to him but frankly, there would be no reasons for lies. Wistfully, he wondered whether he should put her under trial like he had once done for Aventurine from what seemed like a long time ago but he stayed his hand.

Just as he could resist Kafka's Spirit Whisper, who's to say she couldn't resist his tuning and trials? And with the state he was in now, it would be no good to overexert himself with such power. The only thing left in his disposal were his wits and words but he felt like he was running out of avenues to take control of something long out of his hands.

Sunday sighed, knowing that this was the reality of things and the best he could do was take over what little control he had over the situation because damn right he did not just lose to the Astral Express for the desired path for Penacony to let it go into disarray and chaos. He knew that there would have been loose ends regarding the Planet of Festivities but who could predict it would be that bad?

"Haha, I did not expect you to be so surprised and demanding," Kafka spoke, bringing Sunday out of his thoughts, "Is not knowing everything really bothering you that much? Just because we serve under Destiny's Slave doesn't mean we are omnipotent. Where would be the fun in that?"

"Besides," Kafka continued smoothly before Sunday could even have a say, "The reason you are really kicking a fuss is because there's something you would rather not have done and thought that if you knew your destiny better... if you knew what was going on with Penacony, then you could have prevented it. Even when I doubt that to be the case."

There were many people who tried to read Sunday, strangers and enemies alike to understand him as a person and find out weakness he must not exploit as the Oak Family Leader back then but this was the first he felt unnervingly seen through too accurately for his own taste only second to the Dreamaster. Sunday did his best not to startle, but gave a rueful smile when he felt found out and knowing how right she was.

"I guess you can call it a natural reaction of a know-it-all denied even the 'need to know' basis," Sunday finally admitted.

"That's just how it is, playing by fate's hands but even then, you could just make the most out of it instead of lamenting what you don't have. After all, the show must go on~" Kafka said.

"Speaking of show Kafka, aren't you here for more pressing matters? Even bringing Blade here means the next stage for our recruit here, doesn't it?" Silver Wolf suddenly chimed in, even when her eyes were glued on the screen.

"I guess we can't waste anymore time while the night is still young, huh?" Kafka mused as Sunday was back to observer for a conversation between two women. Surprisingly, he didn't feel as disatisfied about being interrupted and lacking answers than he thought he would be. The headache finally fading away and letting out steam brought him back to his senses about what he did and what he could do.

He had lost his cool there and still felt angry about what was happening in Penacony, what Robin was entangled in but galaxies away and as persona non grata especially in Penacony, there was little he could do for such a situation, choosing instead to believe in Robin and the others to get themselves out of the mess even as he wished he could do something. He reminded himself again, that the moment he escaped and took the script, the show must go on.

"Is this really all there is to my script, Miss Kafka?"

"Yes, is there any problem with it?"

"It's just... does Destiny's Slave always write his scripts in allegories, snippets and vague wording?"

"Did you expect the scripts to be written normally, especially ones that has fate written on it? Elio writes our scripts in a way he knows that only the person themselves and the other Stellaron Hunters could understand or else speak to us personally about them, in a more direct fashion. That way even if anyone else stole or found it, it would end up as nothing but gibberish. For example, do you think anyone else would have understood your invitation?"

"No, so the invitation and this script is exclusively for me. But then again, if it's a script that I should understand, why do I feel there are some parts... lacking?"

"Hmm, there are a few things I can think of. What might feel lacking now might feel whole later down the line. What you don't know now would make sense as time passes. The future is not going anywhere and we all walk towards our destiny eventually."

"Regardless, I think the script is still incomplete in some parts. It says about an initiation, a trigger and another bout with the Astral Express but where does my future come in?"

"You will know it when the future itself comes. Even when destiny is written for you, it is still yours and when the time comes, you will find your answer."

"..."

"Regardless of what you will feel with any setbacks and doubts, you can fight and complain and ask but we all reach a certain end and the show will go on. Remember to keep that in mind the longer you stay with us. I have a feeling this advice to be applicable to you down the line."

Sunday now chuckled at a recent memory, in slight disbelief how accurate Kafka's words are becoming from past to present or more specifically the then-present to then-future. Maybe working under Elio for a long time had that effect, or it was Elio relaying such words to Sunday through Kafka.

The show must go on... and it had every reason to. To destiny's end, and given every reason to follow it instead of reject it in the notion of 'free will'.

"Yes, the new recruit did well in infiltration and had quick thinking to pull it off smoothly," Silver Wolf said to Kafka, once again stopping Sunday from idle thoughts and focusing on the conversation about him.

"And his powers?" Kafka asked, and Sunday had to raise a brow at this particular question.

"Only did what was necessary for a simple infiltration mission so I doubt he showed everything," Silver Wolf said casually, to which Kafka hummed and stared at Sunday thoughtfully.

"Well, at least I can praise you for efficiency," Kafka complimented Sunday.

"Thank you," Sunday responded automatically.

"Quite honest as well. In any case, there really is no time to waste and I am sure Bladie is already prepared on his end. I am sure your script specifies what you need to do next, and after the Charmony Festival, I am sure you found every reason to comply."

"I do..." Sunday said, understanding his script even more as the future ticked by. Penacony might have reached its epilogue but as time moved on, new stories would commence, taking up old threads that have yet to see its end. With the Stellaron Hunter and IPC involvement, with the Family and IPC still fighting over Penacony that he cared about regardless...

"So, what are you going to do?" Kafka asked amused, and Sunday answered in a way that rendered all his years of upright goodness and disdain to chaos for naught. And yet, it was one that would uphold his base ideals and tamper with the chaos he so disdained, at least in a place he simply cared more for.

"Go commit more crime."

'A flightless raven had been griped with fear, with clipped wings and shackled cage but yet broken out lost. They longed for the cage and could not go back to, only looking at the sky to see others in flight and longed. And thus, the raven learns that they had been free to want.'

***

Thanks to Silver Wolf's coordinates, Sunday found himself at one of the IPC's headquarters. He thought he might feel overwhelmed or daunted by the task he set himself up for, but only nothingness awaited the winged man at the behemoth of a building where he decided to up the ante.

Instead of a civilian disguise, Sunday went for a more criminal look without revealing his true identity. A collared black jacket cover up his wings as well as his distinct clothing and a feathered raven mask was used to cover up his face.

His halo accesory had been repurposed as a choker, since it wasn't like he could truly remove it from his body but at least keep it hidden so that he would not appear as a Halovian... at least for now. His long hair had been tied to a loose low ponytail as he was unable to do any other hairstyle that won't mess or loosened up back to his free flowing hair on the long run.

"Did you really have to dress like this?" Another voice sounded out, and Sunday looked at Blade who was his partner for this particular mission. He wore a black suit, and left his hair down but instead of an intricate mask like Sunday's, the swordsman opted for a simple face mask and sunglasses.

"The mask hides my face," Sunday stated.

"But makes you stand out," Blade curtly countered, and Sunday shrugged.

"Regardless, it is inevitable that I will stand out so I am tasked to at least go out in style. Don't worry, such actions wouldn't even be traced back to the Stellaron Hunters," Sunday sighed, because honestly, he wouldn't mind going with a simple face mask and sunglasses to hide his own face but breaking into the IPC's headquarters and tasked to get the required blackmail had been stated to require confrontation at his part and leaving an impression unfortunately seems to be a must.

Apparently, Elio had grand plans in setting the stage for Sunday with a multifaceted character playing roles, plural, with his skill set for the desire to make an impression that will move the cogs of fate. Regardless of what others thought ever since the flashy duel, it was not in Sunday's nature to stand out and yet, with only such an option once again, Sunday could only feel interested in the effect this would have with his dream and goals ahead.

He really was less disatisfied with this overall outcome than he ever thought he could be, which should have been unsurprising considering how little options he had in Penacony's aftermath and even then, he had never expected such a new lease in life.

He was still learning how to make the most of it, but after everything and his own experiences, at least it was good he was interested. Maybe it was the fact that he had little left to lose that helped him become open minded but such self-reflection can always come later.

"At least that's not a part of my script," Blade sighed and tapped on the comm that Silver Wolf prepared, "You know what to do, right?"

Sunday nodded, tapping on his own comm before the duo went their separated ways for this particular heist, to find blackmail and information from the IPC. Aventurine's little challenge was among the reason that such payback made sense, because the IPC had not yet given up on claiming Penacony and Sunday wouldn't want it to be handed over them. Even when he was no longer part of the Family, he rather it remained in their hands, to the Harmony without any discourse. Finding anything to use against the IPC would prove beneficial for him.

How this tied with the Stellaron Hunters was the fact that they are not yet done with Penacony with how Sam had taken the Stellaron. In the midst of chaos, at least for the IPC, it was better for something grander and more flamboyant to take most of their attention. In addition, the Stellaron Hunters were interested to know what the IPC might know, for the very next story that Elio was penning. Sunday was the only one not yet in the know, but thats simply showed how careful Elio was. 

'It will be like a movie starring a bold thief out for the big bad's secrets. Riding from the motorbike to the building, the thief will make a grand statement alerting the people and officers. Chaos would ensue, for another thief, quiet and stealthy, to infiltrate for the goods. The bold kept all eyes on them while the stealthy kept eyes away.'

In other words, Sunday was bait as he conviniently found a motorbike around the entrance and hot wired it according to Silver Wolf's instructions, as one of the people foreseeing this operation. Once the engine started revving, he sincerely hoped that riding a motorbike would not end badly, because he never even got a license for Aeon's sake when he had never any need to learn with auto-vehicles these days.

Unfortunately, since he can hotwire and yet not access the AI required due to time constraints and not as well versed as tech that even Silver Wolf's instructions would make hacking into the AI a feat that no one had the time for, Sunday could only quote these famous last words:

"How hard can it be?"

It was exactly as hard as driving up to a ramp positioned right in front of the building, basically flying at least four to five stories high of a building and then crashing right into the window. Thank Aeons for a hardy mask and a hooded jacket that none of the glass shards made way to skin. Unfortunately he cannot say for the same for workers and security officers that he saw while gravity was slowly overtaking the bike to land on the floor where everyone wisely ran away and gave a wide berth to the falling motorcycle.

'How do I land this thing? Motorcycles don't fly! Why am I thinking about landing it like a spaceship? I don't even know how to do that.'

An idiotic thought passed through Sunday's mind, in idle escape from potential impending doom but instinct and faith in an unescapable destiny that he was pretty sure meant he was going to be alive through all this helped him right the bike to land... right on the table that scattered a bunch of paper around.

"No! My documents!" Sunday heard someone shout, as he looked around and twisted, leaving  black marks on said documents, once he spotted an entrance outwards from what looked like an office room.

"Stop! Stop!" Security officers shouted, amidst the screams, tears and mournful voices about documents. Sunday never knew why people bothered calling criminals to a halt when something like that would only have the opposite effect. He still remembered his time as a Bronze Melodia that there were some wayward criminals seeking shelter against Hounds instead of repentance and had been found by said Hounds for arrest. The cat-and-mouse shouting and running doesn't change no matter where he was. Funny that this time he was one to do the running, but with a motorbike.

Sunday felt no fear, reassured by simply following instructions with a smile at a thrill that he had never felt, oh so forbidding and yet addicting, when he removed one hand from the handlebar to hold up a conductor's baton for the officers running behind him. 

"Ready the piece," Sunday simply stated.

With a wave of his hand, black ravens appeared around Sunday, causing even more chaos into the fold when they spread out.

"Oww, don't go pecking for my eyes!"

"How the hell are they making me fly???"

"No, you can't ruin my documents too!"

Sunday ignored all those screams, letting the manifested ravens do as they please and sighed in relief that the headache he once had did not come back and sped up the motorbike, with both hands safely on the handlebar to crash open the door and once more scattering people in the corridors.

He looked around the floor, with a sign helpfully saying that he's on the fifth floor. Sunday continued riding the motorbike, going to where he knew the emergency staircase was and had faith in his non-existent motorbike skills to pull this off.

Birds continued to create a ruckus, and Sunday hummed as he waved the baton allowing temporary discombolutation for anyone who neared Sunday. He wondered how in Xipe were THEY allowing this but thank Aeons they rarely care about wordly matters because if Aeons like Xipe really did care, THEY would be appaled at the chaos that Sunday enacted and remove his powers just for doing something so antithesis of such a Path, whether it was for the greater good or not. And yet, here he was summoning birds out of song.

'"Liar," you declared, "the Great One is blind to worldly sorrow —"Merely this and nothing more,' Sunday remembered this line from his invitation, and still he wondered how true that was. Or there was something else that was keeping his powers intact.

Sunday still did not advocate for chaos, but to pull this off, one of them had to be bait and Sunday was chosen so because his status and current situation would make the biggest impact such as...

"What maniac would even barge into headquarters like this?!"

"Wait, that choker... doesn't it seem familiar?"

"No way, even with the mask, do you really think he's that recently wanted..."

"He's not even trying to hide his familar clothes underneath that coat."

"There's no mistaking it, that has to be the lunatic former Oak Family Head Sunday!"

"We need to capture him! We could get promoted! They might even forgive us about those damn documents and give us a reward!"

"For no more documents!"

Sunday had heard such, and first how rude to call him a lunatic. Second, IPC workers have it hard too with their fair share of documents. Finally, it really was going according to script.

'The bold thief had already been at crosshairs with the big bad company, you know? Because he's the key to a particular interest they are trying to acquire and any more advantages, the better. So the bold thief would be paid more attention while the stealthy thief can make their way without much fuss. But the bold thief had their own agenda, regardless and made their cry heard loud and proud.'

Being bait was chaotic. Being a criminal was just the worst and Sunday, once an Oak Family Leader, would never find himself at this side of life but here and now, right to the emergency staircase with more people on his tail, a laugh escaped him even when he quickly stifled it, finding more humor in this situation than he would like to admit.

Maybe this was what it meant to let loose. Maybe deep down, while Sunday did leave his childlike side, his childlike side never left him.

"Stop! Or we will shoot you!"

"Come quietly, and we won't make this difficult!"

"We will have you surrounded!"

He could still hear the screams and shouts. He really was making do with the situation before him, no longer stiff, upright and orderly as expected of a Family leader, the protege of the Dreamaster. For the first time that he would allow himself, he looked into his childlike persona for what's supposed to be done in such a situation and it came more easily than expected:

"Come try if you can! You will never take me alive!"

Sunday was starting to understand why flamboyant criminals like to say such a phrase, almost beguilled by the thrilling addiction but never letting it stray his focus for what was to come.

'The bold thief will find himself in a sticky situation. Will he eventually get caught, or get what he wants? Tune in to find out.'

What an open-ending script but it was only the means that Sunday was free to come up with, not the ends that will get there one way or another.

"How in Qilpoth's Hammer is he riding up the stair rails like it's nothing?!"

"Who cares?! Just send over all men near the emergency stairwell for all floors so we can actually catch this lunatic and call it a night!"

"Yes sir!"

Sunday responded to such, following a well thought up plan with minimal risks mind you, that once he miraculously reached the tenth floor by the power of fate and faith residing in this lowly blasphemer by crashing once again into the door against hoarding men awaiting him and jumping ship, or bike for the matter. Of course he did not forget to leave a taped note with credits to ensure that when the bike returns to its poor owner, the damages would be compensated. It was the least he could do for the uninvolved party because said bike was just there.

"Let's play together once more," Sunday whispered, as a familiar feeling welled up on him.

He eventually ran on foot, as guns were once more aimed for him but as they were running, they found themselves tripping over something... soft and fluffy. Sunday had summoned Mr. Bun Bun, Mr. Bear and Ms. Halo to help trip over men on his behalf leaving them in an entangled mess. And this is why children need to keep their toys after playing or else accidents like these can happen~

"I'm glad you are having fun but you still need to give Bladie some more time to steal the files for all of us," Silver Wolf spoke to Sunday through comm, undoubtedly hacking through the security camera to watch Sunday's show unfold and by the crunch he was sure he heard, maybe with a bucket of popcorn unless he was too presumptious to think such.

Tune in to find out...

'And his powers?' Sunday remembered Kafka asking, while he remembered what Elio had warned. Even so, for just distraction and the need to know it all, he weighed the risks but started raising his baton all the same.

For so long, he never risked. Because he didn't want to lose anything.

He didn't have anything to lose now. It was time to figure out his limits.

"Is it already time for the lullaby?"

And Sunday sang, as childhood memories resurfaced in his mind of simpler times, when nothing had been lost and reality didn't seem bad. It was weird how time warped so much. As he sang, coming from either Harmony or Order, both or neither, he wondered whether he was really paying any price.

Slowly, the dolls always his companions even when he left his childhood, started dancing slowly to the lullaby to the numerous chasing people before him who grew sluggish under Sunday's lullaby and made them comfortable as possible... Notes came and faded, as he managed to put people to sleep, until a familiar headache rang his head.

"May you be blessed with sweet dreams."

He stopped, almost abruptly, and he felt the toys now came to him and clutched to him as if asking if he were alright. Sunday frowned at the thought, remarking it as ridiculous because Mr. Bun Bun, Mr. Bear and Ms. Halo were not sentinent beings like that after all.

Other than a headache, a probable warning for his own body, nothing else was amiss. He looked at the IPC members, knowing that they would not dream long when this was where his limits were. He instinctually understood that this was a power to use sparingly, still remembering a time that he put people to sleep with Ena's dream. This was but just a small shadow of it, and yet...

"Are there any empty rooms?" Sunday asked Silver Wolf, and she relayed the coordinates. He took the nearest sleeping guard, while looking onto others. He closed his eyes and for the first time, despite the lingering headache, tried tuning on a random few.

It was nothing difficult, something their mind would resonate with. They would eventually wake up believing that they saw him running at a certain direction to a room he was now dragging the guard. For this particular guard, he looked around the room as Mr. Bear and Ms. Halo found rope to tie him up on a table leg. Meanwhile, he and Mr. Bun Bun rummaged through the uniform before the toy rabbit found a transmitter that he purposely turned on. Other than the toys, ravens as beautiful as they were ominous for Sunday still flew around, with his power enough to maintain a handful. He tied the transmitter to one of them and let it fly around the building.

Then, he concentrated on tuning the guard. A feat he had already done several times that when he wake up, he would remember a more detailed version of events once he was captured. In a dream that the guard would firmly believe reality in a way that is, Sunday implanted a message he wanted to convey for the rest of the IPC, for trying to take Penacony from the Family. The Astral Express might say that Penacony the Watchmaker desired does not belong to Order but he highly doubted it belonged to Preservation either, considering its state as a frontier prison under the organization's management. All that will not be undone.

"Hmm, what else can I do to buy time I wonder?" Sunday murmured to himself.

"Oh, don't worry about that. Blade already gotten the files. All you need to do now was get out of here," Silver Wolf finally informed much to Sunday's relief since he wasn't sure how much he was going to hold out, personally.

"And the fun was about to get started too," Silver Wolf sighed, and again he heard a crunch which was leaving little to doubt that she was actually eating popcorn.

"I think I had enough fun for the day," Sunday said, as he looked around the room to find a paperweight and a window, "Is there anyone outside the room now or anywhere near the corridors to hear what happens next?"

"No one. Don't tell me you-"

Sunday broke the glass and for the sake of his conscience because if it weren't for circumstances that he would not be doing crime, he left some more credits for whatever compensation he could offer at hand.

"Bold move," Silver Wolf whistled, "You know you don't need to leave your credits like that. If they think it's coming from you, they will just confiscate it and find out where it came from. Or are you the type to rub salt to the wounds?"

"I know money does not solve problems but I wanted to return at least something," Sunday finally said.

In the next few hours, the IPC headquarters would go on a rampage, when guards will come to a room to find the tied up captive that Sunday left, confirming to everyone that it was indeed the 'lunatic former Oak Family Head', that he pretended to be unconscious from whatever spell Sunday had to done with the chance to place the transmitter and were now tracking him. On the way, it would be told that Sunday woke the captive up and would relay a message dedicated for Aventurine's ears only.

While the IPC were on a goose chase, Sunday found himself in the alleyway breathing in a sigh of relief at another infiltration done, finding himself getting used to it but reminding himself not to get too confortable. He had to remember that the Stellaron Hunters were notorious criminals, that Sunday had lines he won't cross that this particular organization would not mind crossing. He had to remember that it hadn't been long since he escaped from Penacony, that he had just fallen from his loss on the duel against the Astral Express and that the headaches coming from his powers were something new, that it might even get worse to an extent even Sunday won't know.

And yet, despite such pessimism, his lips couldn't help quirk upwards. 

"Seems like you are having fun. Are you glad that I have chosen you?"

The voice startled Sunday out of the glow from the heist, with a statement so familiar that he looked up and around for a black raven before back to the ground to startle some more to see a black cat instead.

A talking cat felt no weirder than a talking bird, and yet the similarities of both 'masters' taking up some animal form was not lost on him.

"But do you think I still chose you?" Sunday asked, as the cat approached closer with jaunty steps towards the Halovian.

"You went with us. You see the appeal of the infinite possibilities," the cat countered.

"But my patience wears thin, Destiny's Slave. What's stopping me from running here and now and making it on my own?" Sunday asked, testing the cat.

The cat, Destiny's Slave or known for his alias, Elio, laughed, "Are you disatisfied with me keeping you in the dark about what could have happened to your sister and Penacony? You left Penacony with the Stellaron Hunters, with an inkling about what they have done so how can you be so surprised and disatified with the outcome?"

"... I had at least hoped that my sister wouldn't have met with such a scandal. It would be good to know," Sunday sighed, still admitedly bitter on that point even when nothing could have been done about it.

Elio rubbed against Sunday's legs, even when he simply stood still and said, "And what would knowing do? You know as well as I do that destiny cannot be escaped. You have experienced that yourself first hand, so what good would knowing do?"

He had, with Death of Crow invitation and realized how inescapable destiny really might be. From the destined conflict to the outcome that he thought he had avoided and felt like what the Order had desired, what he had reached for himself, was finally worth it... in all fairness.

And then, it had shattered as predicted.

"You were never going to run away from us. Once you have accepted your script, you already accepted your own fate and far be it for you to run away from it, when so far the only time you veered off the script was making contact with your sister with powers that wouldn't do you good if you overexert yourself. Your bluff won't work on me," Elio continued.

'A brother and sister are doomed for eternal separation.'

'What turning point would one face?'

"Yes, of course you won't fall for that simple kind of provocation," Sunday mused as he scratched the cat's ear who purred in pleasure, "So why are you here? Is there anything you wish to say to me?"

There was a lot Sunday wanted to ask himself, starting with why him, why the script and why to many other things but he doubted that the elusive Elio would be able to answer so he could only submit himself to playing Elio's tune, following a destiny that has already been pre-ordained and yet somewhat free with all the possibilities beyond him.

"I have only one thing I wish to say. I've just been observing and I'm glad how you settled with this arrangement. That said, are you prepared for your next script?"

Sunday thus only offered his hand to Elio, more resigned to fate than ever but surprisingly more free than he ever thought he would be. Maybe that's why there were some criminals who never reformed because crime had never been more lively to Sunday.

He still would not advocate to chaos though, simply a means to an end. If it just happened to be refreshing, he had to remind himself that he was a criminal anyway. Yeah, that's what he will keep telling himself. So that he can move forward and play his part well.