[Chapter Four]

Rush hour; nothing no one's not familiar with. The fact that heavy rain had begun once more did not help the congestion. Here's hoping that—oh, nevermind. Didn't even get to finish his thought: looks like a car slipped into a light pole up ahead.

He left the ministry at twenty to seven and was approaching Junior's past ten. Far sooner than he predicted with that traffic in consideration, but nevertheless late. It suddenly donned on Roman: what's Ion up to? In fact, what has he and the twins been doing all day? Well, nothing good if Militia's in the equation, he supposed.

Roman mentally scoffed at his own overused joke.

A sizable line has accumulated in front of The Club: from suits to laborers and even some Huntsmen by the looks of it; maybe seniors from Beacon. They all looked rather dull and grey if Roman had to be honest. The car then took a right into the alleyway next door of the nightclub, entering the garage of Junior's other establishment just behind his main one.

"Thanks for today, Turk."

"Ah… was nothing, Mr. Torchwick." He looked at Roman through the rear-view mirror. "Pretty good off time for me. 'Specially with how things been going down the bog these few weeks."

"Right, right…" the redhead answered offhandedly, pulling out a hundred lien or so and waved it at Turk. Though slightly hesitant, the young man knew better and simply took it. He looked to be in the process of uttering his gratitude until Roman got out of the car. "Good night, Turk."

Right. So, meeting Hei. Roman began making his way to the nightclub with Ion's folder tucked under his arm. Now, this was something he always disliked: Junior's network of hallways. Where to? Take left at the next junction? Keep going through the crossroad? The second exit at the roundabout and into the intercounty highway? Who was the crackhead Junior hired for this?!

One would argue—and many in fact have—that connecting the block like this made it practical and kept the operation hidden; a fair point, but his constant moaning of the layout annoyed Hei, and Roman quite liked annoying Hei.

He was close, evident by the faint, yet already maddening cacophony of dubstep—or electronic dance or whatever the hell it's called. Pushing through a pair of doors, he was now in the club's backroom, and it was as busy as the back hallways he passed with kitchen staff going from one station to another, sending out food and orders, bringing out new stock for the bar; business as usual.

Roman pulled aside an employee that was heading up and ordered her to get Junior. Surely enough, the burly man pushed past the kitchen doors and stomped his way towards Roman.

"So?" he grunted; sounding more irritated than angered. "Where the hell've you been? Got anything?"

The redhead kept at the whiskey bottle he was inspecting. "Well, I got busy and yes, yes I did; hell of a lot more than I expected, too." Roman glanced at his friend. "Where's the kid anyway?"

Junior sighed and walked past Roman, beckoning him to follow. "Up in the penthouse. Knocked themselves out about an hour or two ago."

They strayed away from the kitchen area, keeping quiet amongst themselves, and ended up in Junior's office. One of his offices, at least. The velvety decor implied that this one's the nightclub.

"So…" Junior walked around the desk and sat down on his chair. "Whaddya find?"

"The whole yard and then some," responded Roman. Sitting down, he threw the brown folder in front of Junior. "Birth certificate, immunization records, and so on."

"Real shit?" The burly man put on a pair of reading glasses and began going through the files. "Huh… I'll be damned. Your G-man buddies sure work fast." He chuckled. "So our plan? How're we getting the kid home?", what's next? Getting the kid home?"

"I'm afraid nowhere near the future, old friend." Roman paused to look at Junior's confusion. "Apparently nothing precedes his papers. No parents, no relatives; nothing. He basically popped—" he snapped his fingers to emphasize— "into existence according to the records."

"How the hell does that happen?"

"I had the exact same reaction."

"Then these gotta be fake, right?"

"Well, it's altered, that's for sure. Can't say more than that until I hear from my friend."

Junior sighed, pushing away the folder. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, Roman quickly swiping the one passed to him.

With the glass against his lips: "The hell did you get yourself into, Roman?"

"Hell if I know at this point," responded Roman, looking away from his drink. "What I do know though is that I'm getting this kid home. No matter what."

Junior looked at him as if Roman was an idiot. He laughed. "A stubborn piece of shit; as always."

A smirk crept up his lips. "You know it."

Clink; both glasses became empty in one swift motion. Junior took another look through Ion's files while having himself another serving. Correction, two.

Roman was sure his friend would ask for a run-through, but Hei only sat there, completely focused on the papers in front of him. An earlier thought suddenly revisited Roman: The hell's those three been up to all day? Miltia, obviously the agent of chaos; Ion, probably got dragged into her shenanigans; and Melanie—God bless her soul—keeping them in tabs until she, too, provoked into joining the anarchy.

A pang of guilt went through Roman. He was hoping Ion hasn't been traumatized. The redhead opened his mouth but his voicing of thought got interrupted by door knocks, both men then panned their heads over.

"What is it?" shouted Junior.

"Boss, Woods and her men are here. You told me to get you when they come?"

"Right, I'll be out in a second!"

"Wait. Woods? The hell you gotta do with her?" asked Roman.

"You didn't know?" he asked back, putting on a coat.

"Know what?"

Junior blinked. "Turf problem. One of her guys apparently got caught selling drugs nearby. Got the shit kicked out of 'em. Though apparently, it happened in her territory." Sighing, Junior shook his head, muttering: "I swear, shit keeps going deeper and deeper into the gutter ever since Mother got locked up."

"Need me around?"

A snort. "The last thing I need right now is a quarrel between exes."

Roman boomed out a very forced laugh. "Right, right. Funny."

Junior returned a genuine laugh much to Roman's annoyance. As the two began walking, Junior asked: "You going home or what?"

"I don't know." The man groaned while rubbing his neck. "Your hotel doesn't happen to have an empty room, right? Preferably on the higher floors?"

Junior snorted. "One of the suites' probably empty. Just go check the receptionist." He opened the door, and as they went through, a group of Junior's goons was already waiting. "Get some rest and we'll talk tomorrow."

The redhead gave a mock salute, quietly stating: "Break the bitch's kneecaps if you need to."

"Ain't no need to badmouth your ex like that," mumbled Junior.

"Real rich coming from you, Hei." Roman jabbed back, and the two went opposite of another.

(-SoT-)

Desks. Computers. Operators. A large screen that hugged the curvature of the front wall.

This was a missions room.

Well, where is it? No way to tell.

What was the mission? An absurd one for everyone participating in it, but one decided to voice her thought.

Taking off her headset, a woman looked to the person standing on her left. "Doc, can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," responded the elder man, not glancing away from the tablet he held.

She took a look around at her other peers before whispering: "What the hell are we doing?"

"A standard-issue operation, lieutenant. I believe that much is obvious."

"Nothing's normal in this. It's as far from 'standard issue' as it could be..." She looked back at the massive screen displaying an array of information ahead. "Peculiar first encounter; official papers without any other preceding records; practically unexplainable existence? At this rate the target might get spooked and ditch the package."

The doctor sighed, putting away his device. "Lieutenant, how long have you been working with us?"

Visibly confused at the question, she hadn't given an immediate response. "Two years, sir. Three this year."

"Right… Well, I've been here for three decades; ten with the current High Overseer." He gazed forward, having this far-away look in his eyes. "He has… questionable methods, yes—I believe even the O4 was quite adamant about this decision—but the man has proven these to be correct again and again. I myself have no doubts about the High Overseer's integrity, but I understand where yours come from. I say: for now hang on to my words, then let future actions convince you.

"As of the moment we have more pressing matters: keeping an eye on Little Blue." He took the lieutenant's silence as her understanding. Turning around, the doctor seemed to be calling for someone. "Now where is that file on Orange that I asked?"

(-SoT-)

Roman was having the best night's sleep he's had in a good while. He must've slept for at least seven hours which, all though less than optimal for many, was a blessing in his line of work.

But, and since this tropey sentence needed to be used at some point anyway, one must've realized the use of past tense in the previous paragraph. So what was it that had awoken Roman from his blissful slumber?

"Mister Torchwick? Are you awake, sir?"

Well, he certainly was now. Roman lifted his face from the heavenly pillows and looked towards the door. "What is it?"

"Mister Xiong told me to get you, sir. Said something about 'your stray'? I didn't understand my—"

Something sprung inside Roman, and quite literally, too. He dashed towards the door before the attendant even got to finish. The man looked terrified when the door swung open by a disheveled redhead.

"Where are they?"

Marching up to the penthouse, Roman had a feeling that something was wrong. A loud bawling could be heard as soon as the double doors opened. Roman, prompted by instinct, rushed inside in search of the source and found an immediate answer

There was Ion, crying: full tears and snot. In front of him were the twins trying to calm him down with whatever that had troubled him. Though—judging by her looks—Melanie was doing it out of necessity so she can go back to sleep again. Kneeled down next to Ion was Junior, and he was the first one who noticed Roman's arrival.

"What happened?" asked Roman as he began approaching the group.

The younglings, too, finally noticed the newcomer and turned to face him.

"Lo-Lo…" Both of his ears drooped pitifully to the side; the pair of indigos associated with childish curiosity was flooding tears; lips curved into a quivering frown—he looked like a kicked puppy. "Loman! Loman!" the boy kept calling him as he waddled over and hugged Roman's leg, burying his face into the trousers.

On reflex, he picked up the boy and held close; letting Ion continue weeping into his shoulder. "What happened?"

Junior jerked his head to the twins. "The girls woke up to him screaming. He was looking for you apparently."

"Really?" Roman looked down at the boy in his arms. "Hey, buddy. What's wrong?"

The man didn't get an answer as the child continued weeping. With a loud sniff he looked up at Roman, and through sobs muttered: "No—no… no leave Ion. No leave Ion." He retreated back to Roman's shoulder, but the whispers of those three words could be heard; a mantra.

This turn of events somewhat shocked Roman. The boy was at most scared yesterday, and there was no clear reason for this emotional breakdown of his. At least to Roman's knowledge there wasn't.

"Right! Breakfast!" Melanie suddenly exclaimed. "Come, Mil!"

"Mel! Hang on!"

Dragging her sister, the two marched—Miltia more stagger—past Roman and quickly out of sight. The adults shook their heads and sighed.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"Seven years is a long time to get used to something, J," joked Roman. "You mind us joining in?"

"Ain't no need asking." Junior waved. "Let's go."

Miltia managed to break away from her sister not long after the departure. The twins now walking side-by-side next to Roman; one was even kind enough to commentate on things for Ion.

"I fell down those stairs a couple of times. Not nice." She pointed to a wall to their right. "There used to be a dent there because I smacked it with my face. It's brick now but I'm pretty sure it was drywall." Nearing the elevator: "A reeeally pretty vase used to be here once, but Melanie pushed me into it a long time ago."

"I did not!" her sister complained.

"You were the one pushing the cart!"

This was peak entertainment.

A table was already prepared for them in the hotel's restaurant, secluded from the guests. It was only here that a thought reached Roman: what the hell does a two year old eat? Junior must've gotten the kids something to eat last night and was about to ask.

"The usual for me and the twins. And just get him what he had last night."

"Sorry. What exactly did he have last night?" asked Roman in a beat.

Porridge? Wait. Only babies usually eat those, don't they? One of those biscuits? Hang on, those are also a baby thing.

Junior smiled. "Just wait and see."

"Ain't anything weird, isn't it?"

"Well… technically, yes."

Green eyes narrowed at Junior. Roman felt pressing the issue, but remembering that his friend was a through-and-through asshole, the redhead decided to just wait.

"I'll have an omelet."

A few minutes later, as the twins ate their sandwiches, a plate of juicy steak complete with mashed potatoes was in front of him.

"Okay, now hang on!" Roman exclaimed at the sight. "That's just ridiculous!"

"Meat!" Ion just minded his own business: salivating at the medium-rare slab of meat being cut before him.

"I know jack about kids, but the ones his age sure as hell don't eat that!"

"Language!" scolded Miltia slamming her hand on the table.

"Sorry dear." Roman turned back to Junior; still in disbelief, he hissed: "Really?"

Junior snorted, closing his ledger. "I was just as shocked as you are last night. But I can guarantee that plate'll be clean in around five minutes."

And lo and behold, about two minutes past Junior's mark; Roman still couldn't believe the massacre that just unfolded before him. The others on the table looked completely unfazed of the boy who just—heh—wolfed the meat down.

Roman mentally booed himself for that.

Ion didn't seem to be done yet even with the lack of meat. Turning to Miltia, he pointed to a plate of sourdough and said: "Milshia, give Ion some please."

She tilted her head, glancing at her own breakfast. "I'm full with just this. Aren't you?"

"Is 'kay. More goody."

What?

Shrugging, the girl took a slice. "More, please," said Ion failing at the "R".

Right, she took two. "More…"

Three?

Four? "Aww yiss…" Four it is then.

Roman watched as the boy continued to eat; he used a slice to scoop leftover gravy and move to the next once finishing. By his amateur estimates Ion would be done in a couple of minutes. The redhead continued to fix his eyes on the boy, even being offered a slice when Ion noticed but he declined.

With the children still eating—Ion continuing to eat—and Junior occupied with "work," a tranquil peace fell on the room for a while; even Miltia telling Ion stories to Ion did nothing to disturb that.

"Yes. This way, Miss. Mister Hei and Mister Torchwick are having breakfast."

Oh? Who's this now? Everyone on the table turned to the doorway—everyone except the Cleaner of Plates there.

"Mister Hei, Miss Politan is here."

A familiar face with pink, brown, and white hair peeked into the room. The owner smirked at the adults. With a stride, she stepped into the room and walked towards the table, parasol behind her.

"Hi, Neo!" greeted Miltia and Melanie, the latter more out of character than usual.

Ion finally took notice of the new arrival; curios indigos meeting intrigued heterochromics halfway across the room. And as Neo got closer and closer, an anomaly decided to reveal itself in the form of a person-like, dark grey smoke hovering not far off the floor—menacingly approaching the group.

A/N: Only took me *checks note a month, huh?

Disregard what I said last chapter, this does NOT make me write more. Being cooped up, surprisingly, did not help my creativity. And I also have run out of booze so that also did nothing to help.

I swear, you guys deserve better and I don't know if I can deliver or not.

Stay inside, and 'till next time, stay classy.