January, 2014

He couldn’t see a thing.

He kept running regardless; his legs pounding against the ground, with the heavy weight of the bag over his shoulder. His hand rested inside it, closing and opening around the handle of the hefty baton. He could feel the hairs on the back of his hand responding as he did so. They told him it packed more power this time. Zeke was a smart one.

A buzzing. A clicking. He ducked, and felt a knocking against his helmet as a spine glanced off it. There was a flash and a sound of some of the others being catapulted to the ground, writing in cables of burning lilac.

He blanked them out, and ducked again, forcing himself forwards with all his might. He felt others joining him, and they pushed, dragging their own target, the giant armoured insect, to the ground. It struggled, and swung wide. A cry of pain. Nile rolling away. Voices in his ear. Get back. No, you’re close enough.

The insect reached forwards, its mouth hissing directly in his face, and he swung both arms, the holdall clattering across its face. That worked. It went down. His hand reached inside, and pulled out the baton, the power humming as he brought it down.

It went easily, splitting the already cracked armour. The insect screeched. More shouting. More lights. A furious wail from up above as the flower fairy above tried to descend, but was dragged back by the others.

He looked down, his weapon held in both hands. The end quivered. The insect looked up, reeling back an arm, and firing at point blank.

It missed. The spike sailed wide. It cursed, swinging around, but it couldn’t see a thing. Its eyes, once a bright crimson, were both caved in. Shattered by the baton’s blow.

Do it.

He stayed still, raising the baton up.

Do it.

Nothing.

Everything was blank.

Everything was just noise around him.

He

He could see its eyes.

It’s hand stretching out.

“Spiking-“

“DOWN”

He crashed to the ground, and gasped, feeling the air and the pain on his arm where it had broken the skin. And he rolled with his saviour, and sat up, watching as Kade reached out with a foot and planted it on the insect’s shoulder blades, raising his own baton high and

BBTTZTTZKZ

White in the black. A scream. No...no, two screams. Then one again, with the insect’s dying away.

“STINGMON!”

There was a tornado of petals, and a shout as three more hunters went to the ground. And the fairy was upon them, throwing them all aside and descending. Leaning over. Holding out ragged petal fingers around the insect’s head.

It was already dead.

The fairy turned, its wings fluttering and its black eyes full of fury. But one by one, they closed in. The fairy rose, kicking outwards at the first of their blows, holding its hands close to its chest.

“I’ll...I’ll never forgive you for this...”

And it disappeared; a speck of light twisting through the night sky.

For a moment he sat there, his palms held against the pavement. His fingers felt cold, even through the thick fabric. He reached out towards the baton beside him, but his arm wasn’t listening. Was it the pain? He could barely grasp anything.

He forced himself up, standing on unsteady feet. There was the scent of something burning through his helmet. He didn’t look down. He’d seen enough of it to know where it was coming from.

“That some nice setup, newbie.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked into Kade’s visor, the reflection of the streetlamp blocking any view beyond. But the man laughed with a rare mirth.

“Sorry to kill-steal. You nearly had him there. I should have left him to you. Pity about the other one though.”

“Shall we track it?”

“There’s still a trail in the sky.”

“Ah, what the heck...the night’s still young...”

And just like that, he was gone. Along with most of them, with only a few staying back to tend to themselves.

And one who walked up beside him, nudging him with the handle of his own baton.

“You can’t hesitate. They’ll kill you if you do.”

Vex turned his head, and looked down at the pile of quicksilver below him.

“Ignore what they look like, or sound like. None of them can be allowed in this world. They’ve taken enough from us all.”

Robotically, he reached out, and held the baton close. It still felt heavy in his grasp. He looked up, the lights still flashing in his vision as he saw his father run off after the others.

Owen lowered his head, and blacked out his surroundings once again. And he too began to run.

Owen kicked a stone down the road, hood up and hands deep in his pockets as he walked quickly. He never paid much attention to his surroundings in times like this, keeping his head down and his eyes forwards. But thanks to all the rough times of late, it was feeling especially tiring right now.

He stopped next to a lamppost, catching his breath as he tried to calm a stitch in his side. The people walked slowly past him in either direction, not paying him much heed as he stood in the open, arm against the pole. He looked around, and realised that he’d stopped almost next to the Caffé Kitty. It seemed remarkably empty as well. In fact, the custom for most places on the high street had waned as of late.

Though there was clearly activity going on all the time. The sharp increase in vandalism and collateral damage had made sure of that, along with the several new piles of old data he’d seen over the past few days. There was a fresh one lying just opposite the café, slowly making its way down the shop fronts as the wind blew at it.

“Psst.”

Owen frowned, looking around for who had made the sound.

“Up ‘ere. By the coffee-hut.”

Owen scanned up the wall, and had to stop himself from visibly reacting as he saw a couple of eyes poking outwards on a long globular trail of water. They blinked, and shot back around the back of the café. Owen consulted his conscience, then quickly hurried after them, shaking his head.

When he turned the corner, Knuckmon was laying back on a pile of crates, picking from under her teeth and flicking droplets at the wall. Owen folded his arms. “What are you playing at?”

The dragon shrugged. “S’not my fault. I’m just doing as I’m told. They told me to keep an eye out fr’you, they did.”

“I don’t think they meant it literally, moron. What if someone had seen you?”

Knuckmon raised a wet eyebrow. Then, in moments, her entire body was sucked back against the wall. Owen poked his head around the crate, but there was nothing there. Only a jangling of metal behind him. He turned around again, and jumped back, since Knuckmon had poked her head out from the draconic mural and plopped herself silently down behind him. She smirked, sticking her tongue out.

“I’ma master of espionage and surprise.”

Owen brushed the moisture off his arms. “I have places to be.”

“Nah ya don’t.”

“Alright, no, I don’t, but I want to be away from here. What do you want with me?”

Knuckmon pouted, and coiled up on the ground, placing her head in her palm. “I just wanned to catch up, like. You never come to visit anymore. The others do. You’re always missin’. Aren’t you gonna be nice to me?”

“That’ll be a stretch.”

Owen let out a breath. “Thanks for the input, Simeamon.”

The monkey gave a quick salute as she hung from the drainpipe above, before leaping down and landing on a nearby pallet. “This guy’s never nice to anybody. He doesn’t have the right settings in the brain.”

Knuckmon grinned. “I noticed. Too much tightness in the crop-top. Squeezes the brain, it does.”

Owen raised both palms. “Er, hello, what have I done to deserve this level of abuse suddenly?”

Simeamon counted on her fingers, reached six, and ran out, so decided to go with the short version. “You mean aside from being stubborn, being lazy and just general dickery?”

“I do it well though, you have to admit.”

The door opened, and Raquel popped her head out, her bangs bobbing either side of her. “Maybe you need to work on that.”

“Oh christ...” Owen ran his fingers over his head, before turning on the three. “What is this, my birthday?”

Raquel held a tea-towel in front of her, looking slightly sheepish. “Would it help matters if I told you that Mark was here?”

“Not really, no.”

“...and that I might have told him that you were here as well?”

The door opened wider, and Owen saw Mark standing in the doorway, arms folded and with a deeply serious look on his face. Owen paled, and glared at Knuckmon.

“You are a goddamn snitch.”

The dragon grinned and nudged Raquel. “Do I get cakes for that?”

“You get one. Later. You’re on a diet.”

“Aw, Rackley, yer so unfaaaaair!”

The dragon pulled back into the wall with a huff, releasing a spray of droplets from the sculpture’s nostrils. Owen turned away, but he heard Mark’s voice behind him.

“Don’t I get a hello?”

The older boy shut his eyes. He considered just walking away, not sure he could take this level of lecture today. But something stopped him. Something he didn’t like, but felt obligated to do. He turned back, looking up at Mark.

“It’s been a while.”

“It has been a fucking while.”

Owen raised his eyebrows. “Dang, you’re not one to swear lightly.”

“Well, things have happened. I thought you might want to catch up.” Mark pointed over his shoulder. “Coffee?”

“Don’t drink it.”

“Whatever then. Earl Grey, fizzy orange, gingerbread whip hot chocolate, I don’t care. I’m paying. I’ll even throw in a scone. How’s that?”

Owen’s shoulders sagged. “Let me guess; you’re about to say ‘we need to have a talk’.”

“Correct.”

In the end, Owen neglected to get anything, instead ending up staring at Mark as he casually stirred his tea, his expression refined and subtle and absolutely infuriating. Owen snorted, and descended lower in his chair, almost daring Mark to pick up on his posture. Mark looked up. Then down again, not giving him the benefit of a reaction. Eventually Owen realised that he was causing himself deliberate discomfort, and sat up straighter.

“How are things in general?”

Mark nodded his head from side to side. “Happening. A lot of bad days of late.” He put the stirring stick down, and held the mug in both hands, warming himself through the ceramic. “Did you hear about Inez?”

“I saw the whole incident online. That...sucked.”

“Yup, it did.”

“How is she?”

“Not good. She hasn’t left the house since.”

Owen leant forwards. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Just a bad situation.” Mark took a small mouthful. “We have a worse one though. Alasdair’s finally talked to us. Something’s threatening to come from the digital world. Some sort of saviour. Well, they’re calling it a saviour.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Who are?”

“A group of Digimon, calling themselves the Sanctuary Crusade. They have issues with us. They think the saviour will help lead them into battle against us. That we can be purged.”

Owen winced. “Rude.”

“I’m going to make the assumption you didn’t know that either.”

Owen ran his teeth over his upper lip. “Look, much as I like...much as I tolerate you, I don’t think you’re the kind of person to just catch people up on information for the hell of it. So why don’t we dispense with the pleasantries and actually get to the bullshit, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal.”

Mark didn’t respond at first, busy sipping at his tea. He put the mug down, and nudged it to one side.

“You need to get your head in the game. Right now.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “I’m doing what I-“

“No, to hell with that, I mean right now.”

Mark planted a fist down, causing his mug to spill drops on the table. Owen sat back, looking Mark in the eyes as he continued.

“We are out there risking our lives. Constantly. Things are getting worse every day, we have Digimon wanting to kill us, we have Vex’s gang wanting to kill our partners, we have so much stacked against us you wouldn’t believe. And now we have something threatening to come to our world and end it all. You’re one of us, Owen. Whether you or I like it or not. And we need you to start acting like it.”

Owen narrowed his eyes. “Okay, so I don’t like to do this, but...have you noticed the hunters have been pretty much off your backs of late?”

Mark blinked. “I...did I...what?”

“I’ve been dealing with Vex’s shit, thank you. Every damn night. Keeping him and all his fuckers away from you.”

“Really?” Mark let out a spiteful laugh. “It’s news to me. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“You didn’t need to be involved.”

“What the hell kind of answer is that? We can’t afford for you to do that, Owen. We need you to be able to work with us-“

“Why?”

“What?”

Owen held his palms open. “We’re all adults, or near as damn it. Why do you need me to be waltzing around with you all the time? Let me get on with my business and you can concentrate on yours. I’ll be there if something big goes down; don’t worry-“

“But I am worried, Owen.”

Mark’s words came out like ice as he leant forwards, his face twisted in irritation.

“I’m worried something worse is going to happen. Believe it or not, I genuinely wanted to warn you. I do care about you-“

“Fuck off.” Owen folded his arms. “You don’t. You didn’t even want me as a part of this group in the first place. It’s easier for you.”

Mark’s nostrils flared. “Fine. Have it your way. Whatever makes you feel superior. I couldn’t give a flying toss about you.” Mark pointed behind him. “But the others do. You are one of us. And I care about them, and the more you selfishly try and only play by your rules, the worse it gets for us. You may think you can work in isolation but you can’t.”

Owen sighed. “It’s all very noble. I get it. But I’m no good to any of you. You’re gonna have to explain that to them.”

“What, you can’t even be there to comfort somebody who was nearly drowned a couple of days ago?”

Owen flinched. Mark leant in further.

“You knew about Inez. Did you even bother to visit her? To talk to her? To do anything decent whatsoever?”

Owen shrank back even more, biting his lip so hard it was turning white. He held his breath, and looked back into Mark’s eyes.

“Did you?”

Mark’s eyes darted between Owen’s for a few seconds. Then he sat back, downed a swig of tea, and began to pull his coat over his shoulders.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere. I thought it wouldn’t. Don’t say I didn’t try.”

He stood up, buttoning up his sleeves as he kept talking. “Do what you think. It’s your choice. I can only give my suggestions. But I’ll tell you now, if you do anything that, whether you mean it or not, causes any more pain to anyone else on the team...”

Mark swung round, planting his palms on the table and staring daggers into Owen’s eyes with such intensity that Owen pushed himself back.

“...I will fucking hurt you.”

Mark stood straight, his expression returning to normal as he waved nonchalantly. “See you around, I’m sure.”

Owen watched the younger man disappear down the stairs. He waited a few seconds, before releasing his breath. He leant an elbow on the table, and grimaced, feeling something wet. Looking down, he realised that Mark’s mug was still half-full, and the movements had caused even more of the liquid to overflow, creating a large puddle over the surface. Owen snorted.

“Gross. What a waste.”

It was another twenty minutes before Owen finally emerged, slightly tentatively at first so as not to accidentally run into Mark again. Not that he expected the other man to try and stalk him, but...well...Owen knew he was wrong about things before.

When it became clear that he was actually in the clear, the young man thrust his hands in his pockets and walked down through the alleyway, whistling to himself. There was a glimmer from up above, and a harsh voice played downwards.

“That was smooth.”

“Always am, Simeamon.”

The monkey swung down, holstering her laser gun as she began to walk next to Owen. “You sure showed him.”

“It’s too early for sarcasm, Simeamon.”

“It’s past noon, genius.” The monkey placed her hands behind her head, looking upwards through the rough buildings. “I know exactly what that was.”

“Really?”

“You have the wherewithal to shut somebody down whenever you want, yet you just sat there and took a bunch of abuse from somebody who, and this is a quote from you, ‘needs to simultaneously shove a plunger and a magnet up his arse to surgically remove the multitude of scaffold which have accumulated there over the years.’”

“I never said that.”

“You most certainly did.” Simeamon pulled a small pocket-sized pad out of her spacesuit. “I take notes.”

Owen sighed, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “Enough with all the ribbing me already. What are you trying to say?”

Simeamon stared up at him; half incredulous, and half just utterly tired with the general attitude. “What I’m saying is you wouldn’t have even hung around if you didn’t deep down think that you deserved it.”

Owen smirked. “What, you think I enjoy being lectured to?”

“Enjoy has nothing to do with it. You know very well that you’re being a dick to them, and you’re willing to take a few minutes being shouted at as some sort of redemption.”

Owen slowed, letting out a long, low breath. Simeamon stopped in front of him, looking over her shoulder.

“Am I wrong?”

Owen scowled. “Then what’s with all your having-a-go at me as of late? I thought you were supposed to be on my side?”

“I am on your side.”

“Come off it.”

“Sure I am. But your side is also their side. You’re the one who seems to forget that most of the time.”

She marched on, but Owen rushed forwards, blocking her way as he pulled out his D-SEND. “What about this then? Huh? You promised you were gonna help me get through this. So help me.”

A mite of rage flickered over Simeamon’s face, and she batted Owen’s hands away. “I am not your goddamn puppet.”

“You promised!”

“That was...”

The monkey held her elbow, looking down as her helmet misted up.

“I’ve been trying, goddamnit. You’re important to me. But you just...don’t even bother to try and fix it anymore. You snark and bitch and walk away and I’m expected to be okay with that. With the shit you put yourself through.”

Owen bristled. “You know how fucked my life is right now. I need someone I can depend on.”

“You think your life is fucked?” Simeamon balled her fists. “You’re not the one whose life is at risk day after day, asshat.”

She glared at her partner, who turned away, pulling out his phone out of instinct as he tutted. “I just...need a bit more time. To sort things out. I can’t do that with you people breathing down my neck.”

“If we don’t, then you won’t do it at all!” Simeamon raised a palm. “Look at you! You’re ignoring it now!”

“Enough,” said Owen, pulling his phone up in front of his face as he started scrolling through messages, desperate to get out of the conversation. “I’m old enough to sort out my own life-“

He stopped, his breath catching in his throat. He tried to turn away, but Simeamon had caught his movements, leaping forwards and trying to look over his shoulder.

“What’s that? What have you found now? Something else you’re just gonna blow off? Come on then. Let’s have a look. After all I am just your guardian angel or whatever. I can fix all your problems with a magical snap of my fingers.”

Owen twisted, but the monkey was faster, pulling the phone from his hand and poking at the screen before he could yank it out of her reach.

“It’s none of your business!”

Simeamon pulled up the message as her partner veered towards her, holding out a palm. But she stopped, straightening up as her face darkened. Owen pulled himself to a halt as she turned around. She held the phone out towards him, ice in her voice.

“It’s for you.”

Owen hesitated. Then he took the device back, pocketing it. “You have to believe me, I wasn’t expecting that. He never asks to see me.”

Simeamon pressed her teeth together with such force that her entire head shook.

“Well?”

“...well what?”

“Are you going?”

“Do you want me not to?”

“It’s not my fucking call, is it.”

Owen waved his hands. “You aren’t helping. I told you this whole situation was fucked. You knew that from the day I met you. The least you could do is help me out here. Please.”

Simeamon folded her arms, turning towards him. “And what do you expect me to do? Walk up to him and fix it for you? That man wants me dead, and everyone like me.”

“Simeamon...”

The monkey held up a palm, turning away from Owen. “I ain’t saying another word. It’s your business. Not mine. That’s me being a good partner.”

“Simeamon, please...”

Owen held out a palm, but Simeamon had already leapt up onto the rooftops, bounding out his view. He let out a long breath, closing his eyes and for a moment pretending that he was elsewhere. Then he looked back down at the message.

“Heya. How are you doing? Thought we could maybe catch up, things are rough at the moment. Do you wanna stop by the house tonight? I’ll cook. Love, dad.”

Owen stared at the message for some time, almost expecting another one to come through. But it didn’t. The ball remained completely in his court.

He sighed, and with hands in pockets, he wandered on through the alleyway, with the late afternoon light slowly descending above him.

“Owen?”

Kevin pushed the door to as he stood in the hallway of his flat, pushing his cheeks out. “Goddamnit, where the hell have you gone this time?”

He heard the TV switch on in the bedroom, and marched inside, pressing up his glasses to look more intimidating. “Owen, so help me, will you-“

It wasn’t him. Kevin was greeted by the sight of Simeamon lying back on the bed, a bag of cheese puffs beside her as she was flicking through channels. She glanced up at Kevin, and waved the a hand. “S’up dude.”

Kevin looked at the monkey with the cheese dust adorning the inside of her helmet, and folded his arms. “You’re as bad as he is.”

“Fuck off, I am emotionally compromised right now, you are not allowed to criticise me.”

Kevin considered pointing out that it wasn’t quite how that was supposed to work, but Simeamon butted in again before he could. “Owen’s gone out.”

“Back to his house?”

“Yeah.”

“Aaah, fuck...”

Kevin sighed, looking at the various packets stuffed inside the bin. “More of this junk? I’ve told him I’ll cook stuff while he’s round here.”

“I pointed that out to him.”

“I mean it; it’s not healthy. And all this loafing around and hiding away from everyone isn’t healthy either.”

Simeamon scrunched up the empty crisp bag in front of her, and tossed it expertly into the bin. “I pointed that out to him as well. I told him he was being a dick to you. He yelled at me. Hence, he’s gone out, and I am lying here, emotionally compromised. There’s your story. Happy?”

She huffed, and went back to staring blankly at the TV screen. At least for about three seconds, before Kevin switched the box off and stood in front of her.

“Hey!”

Simeamon threw the flicker at him, but he caught it and set it aside, before kneeling up on the bed. The monkey waved her pistol.

“If you don’t get out of my face you will be on the receiving end of a laser-based colonoscopy in a minute.”

“Sorry about that.” Kevin nodded at her. “You look pretty beat up.”

Simeamon narrowed her eyes, before covering her upper arms, trying to hide the various dark scorch marks and cuts on her suit. “It’s a tough job. What’s it to you?”

“A lot, actually. You’re my boyfriend’s best buddy.”

Simeamon blew a raspberry. “Yeah, right. Sure feels like that a lot.”

“Has it been difficult lately?” He adjusted his glasses. “I know you two are heading out at night.”

For a moment Simeamon tensed up, looking any which way but at the guy in front of her. Then she sighed, placing her hands behind her head.

“He’s pissing me off. I keep telling him he needs to back off or call the others, but he just won’t. He’s doing too goddamn much on his own. Ever since that shit with Dramatismon.”

“Fighting Digimon?”

“Fighting the hunters.” Simeamon winced. “They’re still doing that same crap, and we keep going out there and getting in their way. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Well, I kinda do. He thinks that he can just keep doing the same thing and they’ll back off, but they never do.”

Her fingers twitched, and she held onto the bedsheets, staring at the young man. “They wanna kill me, Kevin. They wanna kill me and yet I have to go out there every night and face them. And I’m...I’m scared.”

Kevin sighed. He edged slightly closer to her, reaching out for her hand, but she pulled it away. The young man moved his jaw. “You know he loves you, right?”

“I think so.” Simeamon blinked. “But I know he also loves his dad. And his dad wants everyone like me dead. And Owen doesn’t wanna know.”

Kevin sat in silence, opening his mouth, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Simeamon sat up, and twisted herself off the bed. “S’alright. I’ve said too much. I don’t wanna ruin your relationship with him as well.”

“Simeamon, wait.”

The monkey paused, looking up at Kevin with harrowed eyes. The boy leant forwards. “I don’t know what the answer is. But I’m here for you as well. Do you want me to have a word with him?”

“Good luck with that.”

“Simeamon, please...” The boy sighed. “I care about him. And you. And this is a...shit situation, but if I can make a difference I will.”

The monkey looked away, and padded over to the door. She held the frame, pausing for a moment.

“I love him, Kevin. I wanna help him. But I can’t be his slave, no matter how hard he’s finding it. I...hope he can see that.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks for the talk.”

Kevin watched as she left, before leaning back against the duvet himself.

“Geez Louise, Kevin, you do know how to pick them.”

Owen stood at the door, keys in hand. He fumbled for a little while, trying to find the right one. He always got confused between the front and back door.

He found it, and stared, dead-eyed at the lock. To be completely honest, he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d gotten this far to begin with. He considered turning around and walking away. Just like normal. Just like he...like he always did.

He turned the key in the lock, and gently pressed his hand against the door, hearing it make the familiar squeak. Still not fixed. He peeked behind him, the suburb empty and illuminated in the orange streetlight. His dad’s car lay just off from the driveway, tyres flat and one lamp not there. It hadn’t been driven in ages. No MOT. No insurance. Not enough money to do so.

Owen closed his eyes, and pushed the door fully open, smelling the interior of the house. Slightly oppressive, as usual. But there was something else there. A waft of bacon and chicken and mushroom, edging slowly through the hallway. Owen practically stopped in his tracks, the scent hitting his senses like a freight train. Perhaps a bit too sickly-sweet. But familiar. Nostalgic. Just like his dad had always used to do.

The young man opened his mouth, calling through from the hallway.

“H...hi dad.”

The clinking from the kitchen faded slightly. There was a pause. Then his father’s voice came through, sounding just as shaky as his own.

“I’m in the kitchen. Please come through.”

Owen felt every step taking a toll on him as he made his way through to the living room, and round the corner into the kitchen. The smell was more intense here; hefty, earthy, herby flavours, ones which would always drag him down from his room back in the day. Trevor was rushing from board to hob, knife in one hand and a generally disorganised look about him. He saw Owen, and turned the casserole dish on the hob down, turning and smiling weakly at his son.

“I wasn’t sure if you were...well...going to make it.”

Owen shuffled, holding himself awkwardly as his shoes nudged against the carpet. Trevor’s smile waned a little, before he travelled back to the chopping board.

“Please forgive me. I wanted to put some effort in, but...I’m a bit disorganised. Again.” He laughed. “I never got the hang of this. Your mother was always better at it.”

The young man tensed up even more, finding himself looking away. Trevor followed his gaze, landing on a picture above the carved fireplace. An old digital photo, a world away now, half faded from the sunlight. The man bowed his head. “I’m sorry...I figured...I didn’t know if you were still okay with me talking about her freely.”

“No, it’s...alright, really. I promise.”

Owen swallowed, and shook his head, looking back at his father, still in the middle of a multitude of tasks at once. He stepped forwards, holding his hands together.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“No, god no, please.” Trevor looked frazzled, running his hands over his head. “I got myself into this mess and I can get myself out of it. I wanted this to be nice for you.”

“Thanks, but...really...are you sure?” Owen gave an awkward half-smile, gesturing to the mountains of dishes already being stacked by the sink. “You always did kinda need an extra pair of hands.”

Trevor’s face fell. “Am I really that bad a cook?”

“You’re an awesome cook. You just leave things a bit of a bombzone, is all...” Owen huffed, and pressed his thumb against his chest. “I kinda inherited that from you. It’s why I don’t usually.”

Trevor sighed. Then he placed a hand in his pocket, looking around.

“Well, if you insist...maybe you can get some rice on the go?”

“Whatever you need.”

“Shoes off in the kitchen, please. I have some standards.”

Owen smiled. “Sure thing, dad.”

February, 2013

The teen hummed as he ran his hand over the dresser, brushing against each of the ornamental plates, cups and Faberge eggs in turn. The dust rose in little wisps, some of it catching the back of his throat. Owen coughed, and waved his hand, sticking out his tongue. His hand caught a nearby frame, knocking it back with a clatter and jolting him out of his daze.

He picked it up, and held it in his hands for a little bit, running his hand over the glass. It was an old picture. He could only have been five or six at the time his parents had taken him to Cornwall. He barely remembered it now, but it must have left some impact, as the little tyke in dungarees stared back at him from the left of the picture, held in his mother’s arms.

He replaced the frame, and sat back down in the armchair, leaning back against the rear cushion. They were taking a long time. He’d forgotten how late they’d said they were going to be. Something about a ballet or a play or something. A few hours maybe. He hadn’t been listening. A half-eaten plate of pasta lay in front of him, and the TV was flickering in his line of sight, having been muted for the best part of an hour.

It really was getting very late.

They hadn’t exactly gone out on the best of terms. He might have started it. An offhand comment, which had set his mother off, yet again. His dad there, trying to defuse the situation. Owen knew he should have backed off but he just kept whaling in. In the end they’d just left him to his own devices with barely a backward glance.

It wasn’t his fault.

He didn’t think so, anyway.

He was finding things very difficult indeed of late. Very awkward. School didn’t help. The lads turning on him. The offhand comments. The banter. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d clocked who he was, but it had been like opening a floodgate. Everything was clear now. Too clear. An assault on his senses and his feelings.

He knew he should have told them he was gay already, but it just didn’t feel like the right time. It hadn’t done for months. Perhaps his dad would be okay, but mum...well...he knew how her family felt. They made their opinions clear every time he visited them.

But what would she say? Would she be alright?

Very, very late indeed.

Owen’s eyelids flickered, staring at the TV screen as the sitcoms just blended together, just one after the other. His mind played over every scenario. Every discussion. Every outcome. Every...every...

RAP-RAP-RAP

Owen jolted upright, clutching the side of the armchair. The TV was still playing; the news scrolling past with a little screen in the corner, a sign-interpreter retelling what was being said. Owen held a palm against one eye, groaning from the headache. The door banged again, and his eyes rolled in their sockets, eventually settling on the clock. Twenty-five to two. In the morning.

“Shit!”

Owen scrambled to his feet, knocking the plate from the table and onto the floor. His mind was a rush, instantly switching into panic and I-fucked-up mode as he went for the door, the lights swinging above him. He opened the door, already apologising profusely for leaving his parents out in the cold.

His mind hadn’t yet settled. Not enough to realise that his parents had left with their house keys.

And that the play had already ended three hours ago.

Owen stopped talking, looking between the two police officers as they stood just on his doorstep, with the luminescent car flickering gently behind them.

“Hello son. Are you Owen Ashbourne?”

“...yeah...why...what...what are you doing here...”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. Please can we come inside to talk?”

“What’s going on...?”

He glanced sideways, squinting against the bright lights of the vehicle. There was somebody in the back.

Only one though.

Owen blinked, his vision blurring and his head pounding. He wasn’t sure where he was. At home? He must have been at home, with the two police officers in front of him, explaining calmly and clearly. He was responding. Was he? The words weren’t gelling in his brain.

And then he must have been moving, as the world around him shifted in colours and lights, and he found himself in a car. Then walking again. He couldn’t focus. He was sat down. Where is my mother. Where is she. What happened. Again and again. They must have been answering. They were talking, but it was like they were talking through water. Nothing hit his ears. Nothing stuck.

How can she be gone.

“She was one of three tonight. We can’t leave you by yourselves.”

Where is she.

“I don’t know. Something reached out from n-nowhere, and pulled her away from right beside m-me. She was gone. I couldn’t s...stop it. It happened so quickly.”

If you were there why didn’t you do anything.

If you knew why didn’t you do anything.

“I’m sorry...we were just coming back...I’m s...so sorry...I’m sorry Owen...”

Blink.

It wasn’t them. The police. Or whoever was on the desk. The voice came from beside him. Another blurred shape, hunched over, shaking, trembling, voice broken.

Dad.

Dad what

What happened

Where is she

“I’m so sorry...”

I

I don’t know

“Is there anything you can tell us to describe it”

“Like a...like a snake or something...I didn’t see...it was too fast...”

“She could still be out there!”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“It took her.”

“She vanished.”

“Pulled into nothing.”

I have to

The artificial lights burned down from above, and Owen held a palm up, feeling the heat against his head. His eyes turned towards the clock. Quarter past four. Twenty past five. Every blink made it change. The voices stayed the same. Still incessant. Still curious. Still illegible.

I left the TV on...

The fake canned laughtrack played again and again in his head, after some tasteless joke that one of the characters had made.

It’s still going...

He was stood up. Walking. Falling. Walking again. His father’s voice in his ears as he found himself laying down. Light to darkness. An unfamiliar ceiling. An unfamiliar pillow.

I...I still left the TV on.

Mum I’m sorry.

Please turn it off.

Please stop it.

I want to wake up now.

Mum.

Mum.

Where are you.

I left it.

I dropped the thing.

The thing.

The plate.

Where’s dad.

Where are you.

Come back.

There’s something I

I need to

To talk to you

To you about

Mum

The wind howled over the roofs outside, shaking tree branches and making loose panels clatter. It was loud enough to mask the footsteps leaping from tile to tile, as the hidden figure shimmered in and out of view, finally picking a place and crouching down. With a quick breath, she dropped, holding herself down in amongst the bush. She held their breath until she thought it would burst, fearing any moment that her cover would be blown.

When it wasn’t, she sat, clinging onto the edge as she listened through the glass with a keen ear, with the faint light dissipating through the thin curtains.

“Can I get you a top-up?”

Owen shook his head, placing a hand over his half-glass. “No thanks, I’m good.”

Trevor considered pouring himself some, but he mulled it over, before placing the two-thirds-full wine bottle behind him. “Probably a good call. I know it was cheap but I thought it would be at least drinkable.”

“I appreciate it anyway.” Owen smiled subtly, and finished his last bit of sauce, before placing the cutlery to one side. “Thanks for doing this. That was lovely.”

Trevor nodded at his plate. “Are you sure? You didn’t have much.”

“I don’t eat a huge amount anyway. Or drink. It’s nothing against the meal, really. The flavours were great. Just like mum’s always was.”

Trevor rubbed the edge of his cheek, going slightly pink. “That’s nice to hear. I was worried. She always had more a taste for seasoning than I did.”

Owen laughed, and his father laughed in return. Their voices mingled. Then faded out, quietening enough to hear the winds outside once again. Trevor cleared his throat.

“What are you eating, then? You do look after yourself, don’t you?”

“I don’t cook myself. But I get stuff in.”

Trevor leaned forwards. “Where are you staying at the moment?”

“With a friend.”

Owen watched his father listening intently, clearly expecting...or hoping...to hear more. Eventually Trevor sat back, running a finger round the rim of his glass.

“It feels very empty when you’re not here. I miss you.”

“Dad...”

“I don’t know how we got to this point. I just feel like I don’t know anything about you anymore. I was hoping we could catch up and be family, and it just feels like you’re there and I’m here and there’s...nothing.”

Trevor put an elbow on the table, his eyes glistening. “What did I do wrong?”

Owen sat so rigidly in his chair he felt like he was going to break it. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say...”

“Anything! Please say something!”

Owen flinched, and Trevor pulled back, placing his palm on the table.

“I miss her as well. Every day. I don’t want it to end up the same way.”

“Well why-“

Owen placed a hand over his mouth, but Trevor was listening. He nodded, so earnest and desperate that Owen forced himself to continue.

“Why do you do this to yourself, then? Why do you risk your own life for...what? Revenge?”

Trevor pulled his lips in. “I...I always thought you would understand.”

Owen held his arms at his waist, looking to one side. “I couldn’t deal with it, alright? Deal with you. This hate. I joined you back then just to hold onto you and keep you close. But I couldn’t go through with it. It’s not right.”

“Owen...I never did this to hurt you.”

“But it does hurt me, Dad. It...it always did, and...I can’t...”

Trevor swallowed. “Can’t you see they’re out for our lives? How many more people have to die because of them? Somebody has to fight.”

“Why?” Owen threw his arms out. “Why do you have to fight?”

“They’re monsters! Do you know how often I’ve nearly died?”

“Who was it who saved you, then?”

Trevor started, and Owen pushed himself back, biting his lip, staying quiet. He blurted out again before his father could think it through too much. “Are they monsters? All of them?”

“If it wasn’t for them your mother would be here with us.”

“There you go again.” Owen slammed a fist down. “How am I supposed to move on from mum when you’ve dedicated your whole life to killing in her name? It’s not what she would have wanted!”

Trevor’s eyes flashed. “You think she wouldn’t have wanted to protect everyone?”

Owen faltered, sitting back in his seat as he tried to think of a counter.

“I...I don’t know what she’d have wanted.”

He stood up, and went for the door, but his father grabbed his wrist.

“Please, Owen, we need you back. I...need you. I can’t keep doing this on my own.”

Owen looked darkly ahead. “I can’t help you, dad.”

“Are you scared? All of us are. But we have to-“

“It’s not right.”

“They’re killing people. How much longer can you sit and watch?”

“It’s...just not right...it never was...”

He pulled his shoulder away, looking into Trevor’s hurt eyes. The older man wiped his mouth. “I don’t get it. Is there something you care about more than me? Someone?”

Owen turned towards the door, his father snapping behind him. “Answer me, Owen!”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. Or anyone. I do what I think is right.”

Owen gripped the handle so tightly his knuckles went white, before looking back into his father’s eyes with his own dark look.

“Thank you for the meal. It really was great.”

Trevor called out, before hearing a rustling outside the back window, turning around as something moved past the glass.

When he looked back, the door was already shut.

Owen stared down as he marched through the lanes, feeling sick to his stomach. The wind bit into his flesh as he marched towards Kevin’s, craving some sanctuary from the conflicts going round and round his head.

To try and distract himself, he looked at his phone, flicking through news posts, but they just seemed to blur in front of him. He held the bridge of his nose, feeling a knot of pain in his head.

His eyes flicked over to a new timeline, and he stopped in his tracks. Another emergence. Another Digimon spotted; a large one by the looks of it, taken from a blurry camera. The hunters were already there, pursuing and making the rally cry online.

Owen hissed, and pulled up a map, the streets swirling in his vision. It was slightly further out, although not too far from Kevin’s. In the corner of the screen he saw the chat box blink, and hovered over it. Just a notification from Lonnie. No-one had seen it. He was the first.

His thumb hovered over the screen, the keypad coming up as if in anticipation. Owen gritted his teeth, and closed the app, picking up his pace.

“Simeamon, I need you.”

He kept walking, muttering under his breath, but slowed down as he realised that nobody was coming. He looked over his shoulder, speaking slightly louder.

“Simeamon?”

“I’m here.”

Owen turned back round, and saw the monkey standing in front of him, holding the satchel over one shoulder. Her eyes were half-closed, looking down at Owen’s feet. Owen walked forwards, standing in front of her.

“We’ve got another job.”

“Have we.”

The monkey sloped her shoulder, dropping the bag on the ground and kicking it over towards Owen. He bent down, rummaging through the disguise; still holding out remarkably well after all the abuse. Kevin was always good at his craft. He didn’t have time to change properly, so Owen just pulled out the jacket, throwing it over his shoulders.

Simeamon didn’t respond. She just kept staring down, her laser pistol rolling back and forth in her hand.

“The hunters are there, huh.”

“Of course.”

Owen straightened up, holding the helmet in his hands as the rest of the satchel fell down beside him. He turned, only to hear Simeamon speak again.

“You look more like him every day.”

Owen froze, his fingers tensing around the helmet. He looked down at the monkey, who was suddenly glaring up at him. No mirth. No humour. No playful teasing. Just pure contempt, unlike any he’d seen from her before. Owen let out a breath.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“You know god damn well why!”

Simeamon stepped back, eyes widening at the sudden snap. “I was listening, you know. I didn’t catch it all. But enough.” She clenched her fists. “How long’s it gonna be, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Before you go back to them. Before you run out of excuses.” Simeamon placed a palm on her chest, and Owen noticed that her hand was shaking. “Before I’m the next one you’re chasing.”

“Simeamon, I’d never do that. I’m not like him.”

“Why don’t you stop him, then?”

“I’m trying to stop him every goddamn day-“

“No, I mean STOP HIM.” Simeamon pointed up at her partner. “He’s your dad. You have a choice to actually do something and you can’t be bothered; you’re just running around trying to throw plasters over the gaping fucking wound and not bothering to do anything to STOP it. It’s what you always do. It’s what you’ve always done!”

“I can’t just abandon him, Simeamon! He’s...” Owen’s shoulder hunched, his breath coming out in short gasps. “He’s the only family I have left!”

“What about me? Aren’t I family to you?”

“Of course you are-“

“That man wants to kill me, Owen. There’s no middle ground here. You can’t fix this; you have to stop it. I’ve tried; god fucking help me, I’ve tried so hard, but I’m waking up every day terrified that you’re gonna be the one to turn on me next!”

“How could you say that?” Owen leant forwards, eyes flashing and fists shaking as he screamed in Simeamon’s face, “ You’re my best friend!”

Simeamon took another step back, her hands going to her chest. Owen saw her eyes, staring back at his, the pupils dilating. He straightened up, placing a hand to his mouth and biting down on it.

“I’m...I’m sorry...I...”

“...don’t bother.”

Simeamon straightened up, her hand brushing over her ray gun as her tail whipped left and right. “So, where are we going? Am I following you?”

“Simeamon, I-“

“I said don’t fucking bother.”

She walked off, sniffing the air as she made her way towards the nearest rooftop. Owen looked at her, then at the helmet under his arm, his eyes reflected in the visor. He raised it and put it over his head, the world going ever so slightly darker. He was used to the feeling now. Plenty of practise.

Simeamon turned to look at him, and her eyes were bright, reflecting the streetlights like a cat’s. He couldn’t make out her expression. Two visors, keeping them a world apart. Owen pulled the satchel further up his back, and began to walk.

“Let’s go.”

“Are you gonna be a no-show again today.”

Trevor Ashbourne held the phone against his ear as he lay against the back of the sofa, his jacket sprawled out next to him. The same wine bottle from that evening stood in front of him, now down to the last few dregs. Trevor held the bridge of his nose. His head hurt. And his stomach. He didn’t need this.

“I told you we needed to lay low.”

“It was them again, Vex. That same group. They’re pushing the boundaries. Recruiting others. We need to get rid of them.”

“I won’t stop you from doing anything, Kade, but-“

“But nothing, arsehole. You’re supposed to be our head. You have the experience we need. The drive. I know we lost Via, but that’s all the more reason to get back at these pricks and-“

“I won’t lead anybody else to their deaths, Kade!”

His voice rang across the line, silencing the other man. Trevor held his phone in a shaking hand.

“This isn’t a game. These creatures kill. Without warning, and without reason. And if we’re not strong enough, they will tear your life apart.”

“...you think I don’t know that myself? We need conviction to survive, Vex. If you won’t be the one to provide it, then I will. I’ll tear these monsters apart myself if I have to.”

Trevor held still, his eyes blinking against the dim light. He didn’t have an answer.

“There’s a big one just appeared on the northwest side. I can handle it. If you can’t, then don’t come.”

The line went dead, and Trevor’s arm fell. He let out a long breath, before pushing himself up from the sofa. He wandered towards the hallway, where his son’s jacket hung on the rail, dry and scuffed. He reached out towards it, before hesitating. It would disappear on occasion then come back. Owen was like that. Coming and going. Even now, just...coming and going...

It’s not right.

Trevor’s arm fell, and he leant back against the wall, suddenly feeling every one of his fifty-four years. He raised a palm, holding it to his face as he felt tears welling beneath his eyes.

“Please...don’t leave me...not you...not you too...”

He reached out, and gently brushed the leather of his son’s jacket.

And a thin cloud of dust fell away, falling over his hand.

He blinked, staring at the dust running over his calluses. Almost like a liquid. A faint silvery sheen played over the surface, reflecting the dim hallway light.

He recognised that straight away.

Trevor stepped back, holding his head as he stared up into the bulb.

“Not you...anyone but you...”

TO BE CONTINUED...