It's the middle of the eternal midnight in The Neon Desert. The sands are dark violet as always, and the cacti are still a similar hue. In the middle of practically *nowhere*, a man has set up a stall. The man? His name is unknown, but if you ask, he just prefers to be called "Topper". Fittingly, the top hat he wears is as black as the night, though that's the only fanciful thing he has on. He wears a cloak, made out of patchwork rags and other sewn fabrics and cloth, and underneath, probably some boring outfit he doesn't really care about, but of note is that his pants are black. The stall he runs is similarly worn down: the wood is most likely some kind of driftwood, though from what water, nobody could say. On the sign on top, in some garish colors, a lime green and a yellow for accent, were the words, "Life Advice (Free)". You'd be forgiven for thinking there was some kind of deep moralism in this scenario - in truth, it is just a man without a way to go. Deep in the desert, someone walked up to the stall. A young lad, hair as forested as the distant tree line, with blackened tips. He sat down at the make-shift stool, putting an elbow on the stall's table, using it to prop up his head. The fedora he was wearing complimented the black martial artist's wear, but that wasn't his concern. Topper got up from the ground and greeted the lad. "Coming out all the way here for advice? You must either be bored or desperate." "Can't it be both?", retorted the lad. "I feel like I'm stuck, I don't know." The man nodded. "You thirsty any?" "A little. I don't do tonics, if that's what you mean." The lad took some coins and dropped them on the table. "This enough for some water?" Topper pushed them back to him. "No need. Everything's on the house. I just like talking to people." "Fair enough." The coins were withdrawn. "Do you tell secrets?" "Not a one. My memory has been fleeting lately. If you have angered the knights themselves, I wouldn't tell a soul if I wanted to." The man bent down to get a canteen of water and passed it over to the lad. "Good, good." He took a swig of it. "That is pretty fresh. The name's... you may call me Era, if you'd like." "Nice to meet your acquaintance, Era. What's on your mind?" "Well, I've been on a... deletion spree, you can say." "You can say you're a murderer. I tell nobody anything." "Yeah, but when you put it like that... Makes it sound horrible." "Is there any way you could spin it to make it sound *not* horrible?" "I was forced into this life. I want out. You wanna know how many people I've taken out?" "Wouldn't matter to me one way or the other." Era took another swig. "I don't like to think about it either, truth be told. I don't want to do this anymore. The last person they set me up with, I told them to *run*, run as far as they could and never go back to The Desert, because whatever life exists outside of here can't be much worse than the lack of it. Can I even [[Undo]] it? If I warn enough people to run and escape the treachery, the treason against life... Would that fix it?" The man put his hands on the table. "Truthfully, Era? I don't think there's any undoing of what you've done. There's only doing better. Maybe you should take your own advice, and run away too, you know?" "No, I don't think I will. Someone needs to atone, and that has to be me. Who else could it be?" "Your superiors? You said you were forced into this, correct?" "Yeah, but... it's still my hands, my blade, that are stained with the blood." "Maybe think about it like this, Era..." The man dipped down really quick to get a bottle of some kind of liquor - a "Mintberry Punch" - and downed part of the bottle in under a second. He slammed it down on the table. "You read any fiction books? In those, usually the 'main bad guy' is the one who gets all the flack for all the misdeeds of his henchmen - and doubly so if they weren't acting of their own volition. Having just chosen peace over war, do you feel like you're... out of a trance?" Era thought to himself. "You could say that. Like I had broken something." "Obviously, you must have been conditioned, or something like that, at an early age. For you, killing was all you knew. Am I right?" "Dead on, probably." "Here, hold on, I have something for you." Topper reached into his pocket underneath his cloak. He pulled a card. "You might benefit from this." Era looked it over... ``` Aether Labs, Inc. "We don't put water in glowstone - we put you in our foresight!" Find us in Synth City, west from the fountain! ``` On it was a picture of a blue-haired man in a lab coat, with a claw for an arm. Topper spoke up about it. "They help you forget things you don't want to remember. Make it seem all cool like." Era scoffed. "I thought you didn't remember anything?" "That's the only anything I remember, Era." "I appreciate it all the same. If what you say is true, then... have a good life, sir." "You too, Era." The boy ran off into the distance, not out of need, but for once, out of want. To escape this kind of life? It seemed impossible, but if they couldn't track him down through what he knew, what else could they do?