Come on kids, let's go down the rabbit hole with DRITA

It doesn’t take but a block of silence before she’s turning down an alley, stopping at an in-ground window on the dirty concrete. She stomps on the metal grate and a shadowy figure appears behind the murky glass. Whoever is is opens the window and reaches up to slide the metal cover away.

Without a word, Trita steps down into the littered cove and slips inside the window it houses.

The small room’s main light is off, any source of light being all the man electrical pieces on computers and serves that glow blue and green.

“Seriously, you’re going to kill your eyes.”

Like this is her own house, she flips a lamp near the main desk on.

A tall rabbit hybrid man stands near the window still, waiting for Dolan so he can close everything back up. His ears and hair are a soft peach color, clothes dark in contrast to his characteristics, eyes slanted and a deep brown.

“Hm, maybe. I have noticed they hurt more lately.”

The two grin despite the teasing, hugging quickly then pushing away.

“So, you need an ID? It’s been a while. What’s the occasion?”

Trita looks at Dolan when he joins them, pointing right at him. The man’s eyes widen before they narrow skeptically.

“He doesn’t have one so he needs one. An actual one, not a fake persona.”

“I don’t work with humans, Tri. You know that.”

“I know. That’s why you’re working with me who is working with a human. You can feign ignorance to that last part of you want, you know I’m good to cover for you.”

The other hybrid hesitates, glaring down at her with more of a pout than legitimate anger.

“It’s going to cost more.”

“I know.”

Her calm demeanor does nothing for him other than make him sigh and turn away, facing Dolan now with the same animated pout, now folding his arms in front of him for good measure. His childishness isn’t intimidating anyone, he more wants people to know he’s upset like a child without dessert.

“Name’s Makun. Ever heard of the four-day blackout? That was me.”

“With the friendly assistance of yours truly.”

The palm of her hand collided with the back of his head, forcing him to bow a little towards Dolan. A mother reminding her child to behave.



Sent from Topic'it App

Dolan takes in the room, takes in the man and his ears and his mannerisms and had the immediate desire to knock him down to size a little.

Ever heard of the Thirst Angel epidemic? The Damascus Eradication? The Seven Minute War? Those were all me.

But it’s just the testosterone talking. This man knows nothing of Dolan’s world, and he’d only end up making himself look foolish. There’s really no good way to explain who he is, where he’s from, and he’s pretty sure Trita doesn’t want it broadcasted that he's here because hes accidentally knocked her up.

So he decides better to say too little than too much.

Dolan reaches out to shake Makun’s hand instead, taking in the technology and the strange lights.

“I️ assume you have a bit of practice at forging these documents?”

He’ll hold back information about himself all day, and when it comes down to it, Dolan has much rather cut to the chase and talk shop.

“Just because Trita trusts you and we’re... working together... doesn’t mean I️ inherently do also. Four day ‘blackout’ or not.”

He folds his arms back across his chest defensively, stance wide enough to match his shoulders, keeping hard eye contact and furrowed brows. He knows he’s not technically trying to crack an interrogation subject so he can get to the good stuff, but old habits die hard.

“... Is he okay?”

Makun looks away from Dolan to Trita, brow knit at his behavior, not quite understanding the intimidation tactic.

“He’s fine. Happy to meet you, can’t you tell?”

Trita is already on the other side of the room, sitting back on a large lounge chair near the desk, lets propped and crossed on the corner of the table the perfect distance from the chair for her long legs like it was placed there just for her.

It was, clearly.

“Okay, So Dolan....”

The peach rabbit huffs, throwing himself into the desk chair to spin back to his monitor, flicking her shoes to tell her to move. She doesn’t.

“Got a last name to put on this thing or what?”

“You can make one up if you want.”

Trita tacks on quickly, watching Dolan closely, trying to give him an out when she can. It doesn’t really matter since this is an entirely new world that knows nothing of him, but she lets the offer stand.

“Says the girl who has her actual last name on her ID like the world’s worst spy.”

She kicks his arm with enough force to make him flinch and momentarily stop typing away.

“Didn’t really have a choice. I’ve had my ID from birth. The number of it is barcodes on me, so there’s no point in trying to hide it when they could just scan the back of my neck for the truth.”

“There are ways to take care of that. I know tattoo removal won’t help but you could cut that portion of skin off?”

Her eyes flick to him, jaw set and tense at the idea, giving him the answer he needs. He quickly pushes past the subject.

“So, Dolan No-Name, I need something to fill in the blank.”

Sent from Topic'it App

A moment of uncharacteristic indecisiveness passes over Dolan. He’s been so many different versions of himself, in so many different places, and he’s gotten used to putting on new and the shedding old names like reptile skin. Can he pick one to stick with indefinitely? The commitment gives him some pause.

He’s had multiple assassin aliases, one for each empire he’s worked in. And he has ones beyond that, ties back to his parents, to the people who raised him. Which version of himself does he want to choose to be now?

His mind flicks back through the years, through the phases and he’s stuck in his mind’s eye staring at a much younger him, a newborn strapped haphazardly to his chest, devastated and scared of messing up.

Messed up he had, a lot. But in a lot of ways, he’s back in the same spot now. A chance to do it all over again, get it right this time.

“Braegar.”

He says finally, letting his stance lose some of its tension.

“That’s an a-r at the end.”

He listens to the clack of Makun’s fingers across all the strange buttons, and keeps his eyes from wandering back to Trita.

“So what’s the big deal with these... ID cards? Why are they so important?”

Makun pauses mid-stroke of his fingers along the keys.

“Is he serious?”

Trita deflects and defends Dolan before he even gets a chance to try.

“He’s not from here, I told you that in my message.”

“Ok, but EVERY city I know of works like Pierson.”

“You don’t know every city in the world so you’re not really that much of a know-it-all.”

“If there is a standard across the known world then it’s safe to assume the unknown follows something similar.”

“You can’t apply these rules to the unknown. That’s why they’re called unknowns.”

The two debate back and forth, momentarily forgetting Dolan is here as they’re absorbed in shooting skeptical and determined glares back and forth.

It becomes too much and Makun throws his hands up in exasperation, hunching his shoulders over to get back to work, ears tight and pinned in frustration to his head.

“You can’t do anything in the city without an ID. And I mean anything. There’s no getting on the metro, no walking past security points, secret or not, and no buying anything either, food, clothes, or otherwise. Doesn’t matter if you’re human or hybrid.”

Trita flicks the side of a computer tower just to annoy Makun further which, it does, but he tries not to give a reaction.

“While we’re at it, make him a fake backup ID just in case.”

“Great. What last name should I put on that one?”

She smirks.

He frowns.

They both know the answer.

“Nor. Put Nor.”

“He’s not going to be happy about that.”

“Why? I’m giving him a long lost family member. Besides, he’s a big bad wolf, he can handle himself.”

Despite the argument and hesitation, Makun works on that order too.

Sent from Topic'it App

“Trust me, where I’m from, nothing works like this place.”

Dolan is still trying to understand what Makun is doing with that lit up panel in front of him and the collection of buttons laid out at his fingers. But he’s unwilling to look any more strange and clueless than he already does. It’s more to his advantage to just start playing along.

“Axel?”

Dolan asks, the name familiar, somewhere in the furthest back parts of his memory. He’s from this world too, Nameless had said so. Where is he?

“Whatever you have to do. I️ should also know what needs to be done on my part. I’m not here to stand out.”

Clearly she’d mentioned his clothes were causing issues with that, and he wonders if there anything else about him that he can’t see. He knows that eventually he’ll need to be comfortable enough in this world to stop relying on Trita and live in it for himself.

Besides, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to go before he needs to go out and find himself a job to do. Dolan doesn’t do bored well, and now that he knows Trita spends her free time at a bar, the clock seems to be ticking even faster.

“I’m also assuming the two of you have some sort of underground network or a group of people you generally run with doing what you do?”

“Run it? These two rabbits own it.”

Makun smirks over his shoulder, beaming with pride. Trita, on the other hand, scowls at him.

“It’s not just us. Axel works with us remotely and then there’s Vanilla, plus it all branches out from there with a bunch of others.”

He isn’t brought down by her logic and thought process at all, in fact he nods in agreement, not even trying to lie about their network.

“That’s true. But we’re the ones that really started it all. We’re the bosses.”

She sighs at his childish happiness in the achievement but the grin never leaves his face, still there when he turns back around to type, fingers flying even faster.

“To break it down, Makun and I are kind of like the brains of the whole thing. We find the information we need. Both of us are informants in our own rights. I double as a spy and thief when I’m not at the bar, though. Makun is just a hacker that hides behind his computer all day.”

Her hand flicks to point at the device, acting as casual as ever so Makun doesn’t question the gesture while she tries to teach Dolan new vocabulary subtly.

“Axel is our thief on the field but he specializes in stealing resources more than information. Vanilla is our weapons dealer and it all goes on down the line from there.”

There’s a pause as neither knows what to add... But Trita has a pretty good idea.

“... Are you looking for a job?”

Her eyebrow arches and it takes every drop of will power she has not to smirk, especially when Makun looks less than pleased.

“He’s a human! We’re a hybrid organization.”

“Maybe we need a little diversity.”

But it’s clear he’s still opposed to this with every fiber of his being, not about to let her smooth over this so quickly.

“Tri, you may be our main but you need to talk with us three about major decisions.”

“Already partially taken care of. Axel knows him and can vouch for him. He’ll be meeting Vani tomorrow so we’ll discuss it with her, too.”

Sent from Topic'it App

Dolan shakes his head, remembering his manners although the prospects puts some light in his eyes for a few seconds.

“I wouldn’t want to disrupt anything that you all are doing. And trust me, any job I would be doing would be somewhat disruptive.”

He tries to keep up his feigned disinterest, reasoning with himself that any jumping he does at the prospect of spilling a little blood will put him that much closer to psychopath in Trita’s book.

He’s never pretended to have a super good handle on what women are looking for in a man, and he knows Trita is not most women, but he can’t knagine that a psychopath for her baby daddy is comforting.

Furthermore, there’s good reason to believe that Trita hasn’t shared with any of her associates what his preferred occupation is. From her description of her role in the operations, he can only assume that what he does is in the messier end of the spectrum in relation to how they like things to be.

He’s cofnronted again with that nagging confusion about where the hell hes going to fit in in this world, and the vision of him wearing an apron with a baby in his hip putting dinner in the table in time for Trita to get home plays through his head. It doesn’t settle well.

“I’ll just hang around while I️ try to get accustomed to being here and hope I️ don’t bother you too much.”

"Hm? Well, I guess it's your choice."

Trita feigns accepting disappointment very well, easily masking a brewing plan with an intentional tilt of her head, pull down on her lips, and knit of her brow. All Makun can do is glance at her from the side so Dolan can't see, eyeing her.

He's not used to her showing such emotion so this is either a very different situation, Dolan a very different person, or she's thinking. Years being partners and you'd think he'd know which one it is but he honestly has no clue for the life of him. She's always been the better liar but she also seems different than the last time he saw her and he can't place why.

"Sounds boring. Know you're human and all, but I would've taken the job over touring around this shithole of a city."

Makun pouts as a machine off to the right lights to life, the sound of different parts moving inside of her. Before he can ask, she's holding blank ID cards towards him that he slips into the machine.

"We're going to need a picture to put on them."

Great. How is she supposed to explain that without making it obvious?

"We don't need anything fancy, just a portrait."

He knows what portraits are, right? People have been saying that since painting became a major medium. They have paintings...? God, she hopes so. She's suddenly realizing how little she knows of his world.

When the idea seems to make him hesitate, or he's at least pausing as he's trying to piece together what they're saying, Makun turns over his shoulder, misinterpreting the hesitation.

"Don't worry, it's not going to be perfect. I'll make sure to alter it with a few well place wear and tear marks and overexpose it like sun-bleaching. It'll still be your picture but people won't be able to tell immediately. Magic of Photoshop."

She knows for a face none of that made sense but she chooses not to address that now.

Dolan tries not to be too obvious in the fact that he's slightly concerned about what's obviously getting real to happen. He understands that technology here is advanced, but at the same time, he's not convinced that whatever Makun is going to do next isn't going to steal his soul. Or something.

The guy is also spitting about a bunch of weird words Dolan has never heard of before, but you get this type in every world. So Dolan holds his own and nods as Makun speaks.

"Uh, no, I️ don't care what it looks like, just...do you need me to be any certain way, or..."

Dolan blinks while waiting for any instructions he hopes might be worded in a way he can latch onto.

He's completely aware of the fact that Trita is slipping in subtle explanations, trying to give him a leg to stand on here and he feels strange that she's doing that. It's obviously more than she has to do- she could be leaving him to fly blind and it wouldn't be wrong of her.

But she seems pretty invested in trying to alleviate some of his apprehension, or at least confusion, and that makes him look at her a little longer.

He has memories that tell him that he can trust her, that he's trusted her before with his life and then some. Does that mean that he can trust her like that here, too? Or is she playing at some kind of long game here?

He can't imagine what that would be or what the benefit would be to her, but all the same, in a strange place with people that logic tells him are strangers, trust is not a commodity freely thrown around.

Still. It does make him look at her a little more when her eyes aren't on him.

"Alright, Tri. Take his picture. Everything's set up like it always is."

"You got it."

She hops up a little more eagerly than she's used to being but it's too late so she passes it off as nothing more than a random behavior, using that momentum to push her legs towards the other side of the room where a whiteboard is pressed against the way, strange umbrella lights and a camera on a tripod. Thankfully she doesn't even need to motion for him to follow.

If there were anybody she had to bring back with her, for whatever reason, she's glad it's him, glad it's someone adaptable.

He stands on the mark she mentions and her minds think back over that statement.

She's glad it's him? Yeah, adaptability is great but would she want anyone from Nameless's creation to have followed her back?

She can't think of a single one.

She's glad it's him.

The annoying thought is easily pushed away when she silently taps the camera's lens to wordlessly tell him where to look, and the lights black with a buzz once he's focused.

"Got it. Let me just alter the image and then we can start printing."

Back over at the computer, an image of Dolan's face and upper half can be seen, easily opened in a common program to the masses. Finally.

Dolan blinks a few times once she's turned around and Makun is still focused on his....computer, was it?

For the first time, everything new about this world seems overwhelming, right up in his face like the flash on that thing Trita had been operating. But he blinks that off and makes himself move on to the next thing, focus on the next thing. Pretend like he's already comfortable here until it just becomes the truth.

"So, uh, once this card is all set, will I️ be good to go? That's all I'll really need to be legit?"

As he asks the question, something in the back of his eyes burns a bit, and he thinks maybe it's just the after effects of the machine they'd just used. His eyes feel sensitive to the light, and he sniffs in once to try and jolt himself back to normal.

That's still a little hard to do, since in his peripheral vision he can still see an image of himself reflected in that computer Makun is working at. It's slightly unsettling, but back to his life motto. Fake it til you make it.

Dolan returns to the other side of the room, reclining in one of the empty chairs like he had indeed become comfortable there with them in the last few minutes. His mind couldn't be further from it, continuing to take in his surroundings, guess at the uses of some of these strange devices, wondering which ones would suit best for knocking someone off.

"Halfway. I already started making some other official government papers for you that I'm finishing now. Trita will have to plant those into the city hall tonight. Once she does that then you'll be official."

"Easy."

One would expect the comment to be sarcastic, for her to roll her eyes at how simple Makun made that sound, but it isn't and she doesn't, she's completely serious. Sneaking into that large government building to implant information on a new citizen legitimately does not register as a challenge to her.

"Anyways, why are you going to see Vani tomorrow? The new shipment doesn't get in until next week so it's not like you have to go inspect anything."

The question is for the sake of politeness. He knows why they're going.

"To pick up a gun for Dolan, let him try a few out on the range and see what he likes."

His politeness fades away with a groan in time with a hard smack against a key. The printer starters shaking, drawing up paper and creating the legal documents on Dolan to place in city records.

"You aren't this stupid. We can't trust him."

"You can. I do."

Does she? She trusts a memory of him in a fabricated world. Is that enough to base her reality on, the safety of her hard years of work and associated hanging on the dream of a speakeasy that didn't exist?

It's not all she has to go off of entirely. He hasn't given her a reason to question him outside of that world... Yet. The "yet" is a huge gamble but something in her tells her she can take it, something that she brushes off on the fact he is her baby daddy so of course she would instinctively want to trust him, to keep him around. She doesn't want to raise a child alone.

She hates how much pregnancy and one mistake can send her mind spiraling down paths she's not used to like some desperate housewife. But, here she is and the words are already out so she sticks to them.

"Whatever. Do what you want but I plan on keeping an eye on him. Not going to risk our livelihoods on a human stranger."

Dolan presses his lips into an unamused smile, like he’s not in the room and can’t hear them talking about him. He wonders how much more Makun would hesitate to trust him if he knew the contents of the bag Dolan has laying in the floor next to him, how many ways both intricate and efficient that he could end them both before they had time to react.

That’s not what he wants, of course, but over the years the instinct has simply developed in him to immediately assess his environment that way. Any room in which you’ve already assembled four different termination plans for each person around you, taking into account every possible outcome and potential fall of the domino, is a more or less safe room.

But he lets the conversation go on with his pretended oblivious tight lipped grin, leaning back in the chair and putting his feet up much in the same way Trita had done earlier. He’ll come to be comfortable and will be seen to be comfortable much more quickly, come to maybe be trusted, if he can just mirror some of her behaviors, body language.

And why not? Something about her puts a settled feeling in his chest like for the first time in a while, he can afford to not be looking in every direction at once. Like if she’s the one standing behind his back, he doesn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder.

Its a strange feeling for him, not even one he’s felt fighting alongside men all trained to put their lives in each other’s hands. The point of the matter is Dolan has never been good at giving up control, and it’s a tendency that has been to his benefit so far.

But Trita is in control here. And something about it makes his shoulders feel lighter. It brings memories into his mind that send shivers down his neck, flashes of her on top of him holding his wrists down, every vital point in his body exposed to her for the taking.

He would never let someone do that to him, never leave himself so unprotected, so he must trust her more than anyone he’s ever known. But he can’t quite come to accept that these memories aren’t just dreams, something implanted in his head by the fox playing god.

“I️ mean, it doesn’t nevessarily have to be a gun.”

Dolan shrugs, deciding that the conversation has gone on long enough without him. He sits forward, pulling his legs from the desk near him and resting his elbow on his knees, chin in his hand, his voice a bit toying and sarcastic.

If these memories of her have him whipped enough to not be smart, to not distrust her for the stranger she obviously is, then maybe the best he can do is pretend.

“Technically, I️ don’t really need anything more than what I’ve got on my person currently, but I️ figured if I’m here, I️ might as well enjoy your culture a bit. Familiarize myself with your customs, you know. Sleep where you all sleep, eat what you eat, cut people down whatever way is in style here. I️ really do want to make the most of it.”

Both look at him. Right at him. Brown and red eyes staring into his blue ones.

A beat passes without a response. At least, without a response to him.

Makun turns to Trita, lips pressed in a distrusting pout, eyes narrowed as if to say "I told you so." But her expression is much different. Her eyebrow arches but her lips twitch up into a small smirk, her face reading an entirely different emotion than his. There's a knowing confidence that Makun attempts to match with wary caution.

It looks like the two share an entire conversation in the silence that follows before he caves, pushing his chair back to walk over to the giant printer, angrily snatching up the papers and two cards from the tray.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

He hands them all to Trita to look over. She works on his actual ID card first, satisfied, and tosses it over for Dolan to keep.

"I can't wait for you to tell me I was right."

They're discussing the conversation they were just having but also a continuation from a previous one they had long before any of that business with Nameless and other worlds had begun.

"Alright, alright, just go ahead and get out. You have work to do with the government tonight anyways."

Makun waves them both away, throwing himself in his chair with a loud intentional huff. Trita flicks his computer again for good measure.

"Here."

Before she turns to leave, she fishes out a thick bound pile of cash and sets it down on his desk.

"If that doesn't cover it, figure out the numbers and come to the bar in a few nights to get the rest."

Just looking at the amount of money would seem like it's enough to cover it and then some five times over, but Makun eyes it in a way that it's impossible to tell if he thinks it does or doesn't.

She doesn't wait for him to respond, just motions for Dolan to follow her as she opens the window, pushes the metal grate away, then climbs back up into the alley.

Dolan pulls himself back up into the street right after Trita, who stands waiting for him with her arms folded, scanning the area around them.

He shoves the ID cards into his bag, taking care not to jostle any of its most important contents. When he looks up, she's giving him a strange look that he can't read, and god what he wouldn't give to go back to that weird dream they'd just woken up from and come back with some really good notes on how to interpret her.

But she turns and starts making her way back from where they came, and Dolan follows behind, wordlessly at first. But that doesn't last for long.

"What the cold hell was all that stuff back there? Should I️ be getting used to seeing that sort of thing or what? And is there anything else I️ should know to keep me from looking like an idiot from now until we get back to your house?"

"A hacker is a person who uses computers and technology to 'break into' other people's technology and either steal their information and files or to knock down defenses. Makun is a hacker."

Trita holds her chin while she thinks things over, trying to decide if there's anything he should know now or what can wait until they're back.

"Well...I guess... Hybrids have curfew, as you're already aware, and we are out past it. So, if you see anyone, human or hybrid, just act like you've hired me out for the night. Just like in that dream, hybrids here are known for different things and that's what rabbits, male and female, are good for. It's disgusting but it makes for a good cover-up when you need it."

The thought is genuinely disturbing but she's had years to come to terms with it so she doesn't even hesitate to react to the words that spill from her mouth.

"Obey streetlights when you can because it will make you look less suspicious."

She stops at a crosswalk corner, pointing up to a sign with a crude image of a hand in red.

"Red means stop, yellow means slow down, and green means go. Obviously, disregard if you're on the run, but I would even recommend being anywhere where streetlights are if you're right to escape. Tall all the alleys. Streets run parallel and perpendicular. If we're on twenty now..."

The sign beside the red stop signal glows a dim holographic green.

"The next street is twenty-first and the one back is nineteenth."

This all seems so basic and she doesn't want to make him feel like an idiot but she doesn't know how much is too much and how much is not enough. The hand turns to an even cruder image of a green man walking so she leads him forward.

“Okay, so I’m assuming people here keep most of their sensitive information on those computers? I️ mean, I️ guess I️ don’t even know what constitutes as sensitive information here. Where I’m from, everything is much more face to face.”

Face to face talking, face to face oppression, face to face face breaking. If so much runs on technology here, is his job even a thing anymore? Is he obsolete here?

He studies the street signs that Trita is pointing to, spaces out momentarily to form a diagram in his head, an aerial view of what this worlds street systems must look like. It seems logical, organized. He won’t have a problem with that.

“So the most important question now I guess is who in this city would I️ be running from?”

That probably would have been good information to give him from the start but human lives and hybrid lives are so different that it didn't cross her mind.

"You? No one if you keep your head down, follow the flow, stop being seen with me."

The answer doesn't settle well with him. It honestly doesn't with her either but it's the truth.

"Hybrids have to watch out for the government, for private hate groups, and from traitors in their own mix being paid off by either of the other two. The government via police can barge into a hybrid's house whenever they want and drag a hybrid away to Shin. Shin is a testing lab off on a small island just outside the city. Hybrids that go there never come back. Private groups can kill a hybrid on the street and, while technically illegal, get away with it. It's all very oppressive. It's been like this since long before I was born, but it hasn't changed for the better in my twenty-seven years alive."

Trita sighs, leading him back down the street, the apartment building visible off in the distance now.

"So, stick around with me and my group too much, then you could easily find a target on your back. For multiple reasons."

They're back at the door walking inside, boarding the elevator once again.

"You don't have to look over your shoulder any more than you already do for me. I️ can hold my own okay."

This is what he says to her, but he doesn't tell her what he's actually thinking in response. He's never run from anyone that he hadn't turned back around and did away with.

It gives him some pause, though, to really let it sink in. That the woman that he has so many memories of, shares so many memories with- fake or not, has never really seen him. Has no clue who he actually is.

He doubts that he'd have memories of so many passionate nights, that they'd be in this situation bringing a child into this uncertain world if she'd seen him for real. Who would want that, with someone like him?

It's not a sad thought. It's not a happy thought. It's just a neutral thought, like most of what he tries to keep rolling around in his head. Regardless of how much blood is on his hands and how much of it she does or doesn't know about, here they are.

He doesn't respond to her exposition about what it's like for hybrids here. It's regrettable that out of everything new and strange and confusing about this city, that is not one of them. His world taunts and jeers and experiments on and kills its own hybrids, just not for having animal features.

Perhaps in some ways, his people had it better, though. At least he had- in some ways. The brand stretching across the top of his right shoulder burns a little just at the thought of it, despite the many many years stretching between now and its origins.

He'd been gifted, been descended from royalty, and although it did, as Trita had said, put a target on his back, it had made him a special and valuable target at least. Serving like some harnessed packhorse for the military had been a piece of cake compared to the fate others had suffered.

They're in the elevator now, and as it goes up, Dolan feels like maybe he's adjusting, to this new innovation, at least. It does lurch a bit at the top when it slows down, when it dings at them, and he won't lie and say it doesn't make him queasy for just a moment.

Down the hall, Trita's back working at every lock on her door again before it pushes free and they both duck inside.

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I'm not about to cut you loose to walk around a city like Pierson on your own."

As soon as he's in the door behind her, she gets to work on the many locks.

"Not to say I don't think you can't handle yourself. I know you can, somehow. But it doesn't mean I want to leave you high and dry, not after you followed me here. You know this is all the least I can do."

Trita flips the lights on and walks past him, stopping in the kitchen, pulling bowls down then walking over to the fridge, pulling out a covered pot of leftovers. She's pouring two meals out for the evening. Probably should have asked if he wanted food in the first place, but it's too late now, his portion has been made.

"It's just potato soup. I made it yesterday so it's still good, even despite world hopping."

She slides one of the bowls towards him then takes hers the table, pushing some of the papers away, but not moving them from the surface. As she sits, she looks over some papers. Bills, assignments, Dolan's new paperwork, and everything, reading over information across various topics, so many that most people would get a headache from the differences, but she's flipping through like they're all part of the same story and plot.

There's another chair that she motions to without looking up at him, offering him a place to sit while he eats.

"You can read over any of the papers pinned to the wall, I don't mind. I don't keep any of the super confidential stuff out in the open, so it's fine."

"I️ can only assume that's for the city's protection and not for mine."

Dolan means it humorously, although he doesn't smile and his tone  comes out even as ever. He slips into the chair Trita is gesturing at, thankful that she's offered the food. He's been starving, but he'd never have breathed a word of that to her.

He watches her pour over different sizes and types of papers before eating. He realizes that maybe some of the memories he has of her from when they'd ran a speakeasy together, maybe some of them weren't so fake after all. She seems a lot like the same person who'd mostly run their family then.

Their family. That feels strange to think, and the remembered feeling of belonging to a family with all of them brings a sort of hollow nostalgia. He tries to tell himself that he's never wanted that before, never been cut out for a family, so he should be able to just let those things go.

But the truth of the matter is, deep down, it's what he yearns for the most. So the idea of Trita being pushed into this with him, against her will, really, kind of stings. Feels unfair to her and wrong for him.

He's finished with the soup in barely any time at all, and he scans the kitchen, sees a sink with a few dishes in it already, so he gets up and adds his in.

The set up is going to take some getting used to. He looks across her kitchen, trying to decipher which new, strange thing does what.

Over the sink is a spigot of sorts, with what he can only assume are two pumps for the water on either side. Well, he'll never figure this place out if he doesn't try.

He pushes one slightly and the water starts to flow. So far so good. He glances backwards to make sure that he hasn't made enough racket yet to distract her and sure enough, she's still lost in her information heap.

On the counter, he finds a halfway full bottle of something garishly colored that claims to be soap, and near it a sponge. With the water successfully running, he squeezes some of the soap out and starts cleaning the dishes as quietly as possible.

Once he's finished, he sets them up to dry on a metal rack that seems close to what a clothes drying rack would be like, so he assumes that's close to right.

He slips back into the chair across from her.

"So your confidential papers are all hidden away? What're in those, then?"

"If I told you, they wouldn't be confidential, would they?"

The tone is playful but she never takes her eyes from what she's reading, stopping mostly on bills, clicking away at a calculator and writing notes down.

"It's nothing interesting, just mostly stuff for Diamond."

She pauses briefly, an awkward silence following, until she continues flipping through papers.

"Diamond is the name of our organization. I'm sorry I didn't even think to tell you that until now. Anyways, it's a lot of information on members. There's also information on bigger assignments I'm a part of with bigger targets."

It's all boring information to her but she can't tell what information he's looking for. She doesn't mind answering things but this isn't really stuff most people find interesting... Most people also don't enjoy hearing about how her mind works and all the information she keeps and the purposes she keeps them for, even the people that are supposed to be her equals in Diamond.

"So, yeah. I'll be adding a copy of your file to it that way no one can get to it, but that's really it. Sorry, not interesting, no big secret treasure. My work is boring."

It's a bit of a lie but she's giving him an out.

"Bigger targets, huh?"

He lets his chin rest in his palm as he watches her. She doesn't look up at him, doesn't seem to really even notice that he's watching her.

Something about her like this is interesting. She's working at a lightning fast pace, taking in all this information, obviously categorizing it and keeping it all locked away where it's supposed to go somehow, like a better version of all this technology she keeps talking about.

But as he watches, he feels that strange burn return to the back of his eyes, and he has to rub them both hard with his knuckle to get it to go away.

"So, sorry if I'm being dense, but what exactly is your bigger picture here? You're cornering the market on information, clearly, but what are you doing with all of it. And to what end?"

Truth be told, the whole thing seems fairly elegant and streamlined, and he can't imagine that killing someone in her line of work isn't going to rock the boat a little, especially judging by Makun's reaction to Dolan's comments earlier.

He needs to figure out now whether his future is going to be full of staying home playing housewife, or whether he has an actual need to acclimate himself to this world.

"Well..."

Trita taps her pen.

"Honestly, that's a good question. Mostly, we work to free captured hybrids before they make it to Shin, create a network for hybrids on the run, slowly build a means to take out the private organizations I mentioned. It's a lot of underground railroad organization. Freeing hybrids, keeping them safe, training them to defend themselves, taking care of the smaller targets."

After a moment of tapping, her eyes flick up to him, a smirk pulling at her lips just like it had back in the room with Makun, a certain spark lighting the red tones.

"Rethinking the job offer? Some of the recovery missions can get pretty dicey... Some of the tasks need a little more manhandling than we currently have. What I said is still on the table."

And it's true. They're down their usual force and have been for... Years now due to certain situations, so, despite her smirk, it's obvious she's very serious about what she's saying.