It was dark outside. But that wasn't new; the underground cavern was huge, its stony ceiling arching overhead to unseen heights. The glow of the fluorescent lights illuminated the small town like a jar of lightning bugs, glimmering and glinting like so many little creatures flitting about. No matter the amount of light that they were able to cast, however, from the fluorescent lights to the torches and candles, it was still underground. It was known that there were stalactites up above, but they were too far above to even see. Somewhere from the far side, a small underground river flowed, its gurgling a constant, soft echo throughout the chamber, bringing life to this eternally dark world. Moss grew in abundance alongside the river stones, as did many other plants, albeit ones bred specifically for thriving on the electric light rather than the sun, hidden high above even the ceiling of the cavern.

Children ran along the river under the watchful eyes of their parents; they were laughing loudly, full of energy and life. Older folks watched with warm, nostalgic smiles, able to remember when playing in the dark amongst the trees and glowing light posts was a treat, a special event. There were very few who could still remember what it was like to live in the sun above; after the Fall, mankind had gone and hidden in these giant caverns they either made or found, and within just a few generations had created an entire civilization for themselves amongst the dripping rocks and darkness. No one even knew what had happened to the surface of their world in the end; the connecting tunnels were solidly made and long, making it easier to travel underground than trying to access the surface. Those who could remember it were too afraid to look; those who were born in their twilight world knew of nothing else, and few felt curiosity enough to seek out the answers to those questions.

Of course, not everyone lacked this sense of adventure and curiosity. Some were passionate about finding a way back up to the surface, to dig back through the old tunnels their forefathers had gone rushing into to get away from the Fall. They wanted to know more about the alien race that had attacked so swiftly and so violently, barely giving mankind a chance to run. It was the "fall" of mankind; the total defeat of Earth. They wanted to know about what was left, whether or not the aliens had gone, and what had become of those creatures that they couldn't take with them. Were they the same wild animals that their forbearers knew, like their pet dogs and cats? Or were they now replaced by something new? So many questions were completely unanswerable under the surface, in this little utopia of darkness, safe from the world above.

Allan Forsyth was not one of these people.

The tall, lanky man could care less about the world above his head, concerned only with the world he existed in. It was as dark and grim as the deep shadows that weren't touched by the golden glow of the lights, mimicking a game of roulette; exciting and dangerous. Allan thought himself a decent player in that game, albeit not anywhere near the best. He managed fairly well, though, and kept himself at a comfortable standard of living, which was more than many could say. But even this rough, realistic individual found himself resting up against one of the many trees along the river, watching the children playing without a single thought about the darker side of their twilight world, eyes filled with the same nostalgia the older people wore.

Finally, it was past bedtime; the parents came to corral their still-giddy children, carrying some and dragging others along, back towards the bright, central part of the underground city. Allan, shaken out of this uncommon daydream, pushed himself away from the tree, stepping out of the shadows to the surprise of one older couple as they passed. He was dressed from head to toe in black, the quality of the long, well-worn black leather trench coat quite evident. His clothes were otherwise common, if dark; jean-like pants that fit loosely around his long legs, a black shirt creating a band around his neck like a thin turtleneck before coming down, its sleeves – if any – hidden under the jacket, which was buttoned in two places near his waist, holding it closed around him. It was important in this section of New Angeles, as hidden under the jacket was a belt with straps holding twin revolvers securely in place, along with a long knife that ran down from his waist off his left side, behind the gun. But for anyone in his line of work, these were about as close as you could get to a briefcase.

Allan turned and went upriver from New Angeles, which, in navigational terms, actually meant west; east was the bulk of New Angeles, where most everyone lived. West was where the real dark side of New Angeles came alive. Here was where the bars, night clubs, and other "uncivilized" businesses existed, and also where Allan would find work. Many of the clubs and bars were favorite hangouts of businessmen after work, as well as regular blue-collar workers and maintenance staff. It wasn't a place for children, for certain, but it was regularly patrolled, so saying someone was "foolish" to go down there was over-exaggerating. If you knew where to look, however, it was fairly easy to find trouble if you wanted to.

Trouble was the last thing on Allan's mind as he finally left the riverside path and headed back towards the buildings, running one hand through messy, uneven locks of dark red, letting out a soft groan of disinterest at some groups of people he passed. Through glasses with darkened lenses that looked unique in this twilight world, he hunted for a specific sign, finally spotting it. It was a faded old sign, with half of the letters burnt out and several actually broken, but he knew what it said anyway: Abbey Lounge, a sort of haven for those just looking to drink. That's all Allan wanted; he was still working off of the results of a prior job, and had no intentions of getting another job until he needed it. He opened the old, creaky door, stepping inside to greet the smoky, dimly lit bar with a deep inhale.

Ah… the bittersweet taste of alcohol; mother's milk.

Allan walked over to the far side of the bar, earning a few odd looks; skin color was determined by genes alone without the sun to enhance anyone's complexion, so his medium tone was fairly unique in a world where skin was normally either dark or pale. He ignored them all, however, settling himself in the corner. With a short, almost curt tone, he ordered a pint of ale from the bartender, who walked off to fill out his order. Allan didn't remove his glasses, content with his ability to see through them even in this pale light. Increasingly over the last few years, his eyes had gotten more and more sensitive to light, forcing him to invent something his great-grandfather once told him about: sunglasses. As silly as it was to call them that anymore, they were good for protecting his increasingly sensitive eyes. He hadn't even looked at himself for several months without them on, but he was concerned he'd have to darken the lenses in the not-too-distant future. At that point, he would finally consent to go to a doctor to check his eyes out and see what the hell was going on.

The bartender returned shortly, before Allan could get too wrapped up in his worry over his eyes, setting the cask in front of him. Allan set a few coins down on the counter, the bartender sliding them into his other hand before walking off, allowing Allan to start on his drink, focusing his attention on that rather than anything – or anyone – around him.

Carter Hall could not sleep. His eyes were closed, so tightly that pinpricks of light burst out of the dark and assaulted his vision, but his mind would not rest. From his room, several floors above New Angeles’ academy, he could hear kids yelling to one another as they were rounded up to serve their detentions. He had wrapped his head in his jacket, but somehow he could still hear the mesh of voices flowing through the thick floors. Hardly able to stand it, Carter shot up, but a sharp pain racing through his head didn’t let him stand. He sat back, looking around his familiar office:

A dark wood desk, piled with papers and books and a candle halfway burned. Bookshelves lined the walls behind it from floor to ceiling, some of which were filled with his tiny script depicting what he was told the surface world looked like before the Fall. His great-grandfather had told him stories passed down, about air and endless views, sunlight, natural grass and trees and fragrant flowers that grow as they please. Carter wanted to see them. He wanted to see the sun, he wanted to feel fresh air and smell the earth his great grandfather told him about. He dreamed about it, about a clear world full of life. Carter sighed. His hair was in his face, but he didn’t care. It was a veil of straight, light golden-brown, and the rest of it was tied tightly with a black tie. His pale green eyes were shadowed, tired. Behind rectangular glasses, they were slightly magnified.

He slid forward, resting his pounding head in his hand. His last class had been full of monsters, but older kids were often like that. High on life, or other things, and unwilling to stay seated. Carter preferred the younger ones, who especially loved his stories and lessons and absorbed what they heard. But they had just as much energy as the older kids, and after a week of shouting and calming tactics, Carter’s voice was spent and a bit raspy. He always took to his office above the classrooms to sleep off the day’s headaches, but today he was oddly aware of every sound on the floors below. He glanced to the wardrobe to his right, nestled in a corner of the room, contemplating changing clothes before leaving.

The white buttondown shirt appeared to be slightly too large for him, wrinkled as though he had scrounged it up from the bottom of the closet floor. He had rolled the sleeves part of the way up. His black pants were almost as wrinkled, but not quite as oversized as his shirt. He had taken off his shoes, black ones with silver buckles, and they rested on the rug beside him. It was an old one, the rug, faded brown and red, braided around the edges in gold, covering most of the old dark wood floor. It muffled footsteps, quieted the loudness of voices. If only that were the case downstairs. Frustrated, tired, Carter loosened his red tie and slid back into his shoes. If he was unable to block out the sounds of life in his office, he would go somewhere he could.

Out of the office, locking the door, across the hall, down the stairs, through another hall, and down the main stairs, he left the school behind. Somehow leaving the school only made his headache worse. Voices were magnified, every sound bouncing in his skull and only getting worse. He kept his eyes to the ground, watching his feet as he walked, avoiding the bulk of people. It bothered him that he couldn’t tune the world out as he did so often. Everything was so strident, and when he pressed his hands over his ears, his heart beat thumped and his blood rushed like the river somewhere nearby but five times louder. Carter was almost at a loss for what to do. All he wanted was silence, a simple request, but in New Angeles, silence seemed only to come with death. When he heard the dull music he had to look up. Without realizing it, he had wandered into the western area of New Angeles, where the low-brow hangouts were situated. He crossed the road and vanished into an alley. The shortcut would take him away from the noise, and most of the people.

Through the drip of condensation off the roofs rising high on either side of him, Carter heard the pat of flat feet trying to fall in step with his stride. Someone was following him. It was someone with a cold or something, he though, because his breaths were a bit hoarse. The flick of metal against metal clinked against his eardrum, and the footfalls became louder. They were fast, approaching quickly. Carter stopped.

He brought his elbow back as hard as he could, connecting with something soft. A grunt of pain escaped the stalker‘s throat, and Carter turned with a closed fist; he swung with purpose. It coupled with the hooked nose on the would-be mugger’s square face and threw him back. Carter stepped forward and kicked him, the blow landing square in the center of his chest and knocking him to the ground. Before the filthy man could regain his composure and stand, Carter pressed his foot down, keeping him there and pulling a blade from his pocket. With a press of a small lever below the hilt, the blade expanded twenty inches. Carter bent down, pressing the blade to the scrounge’s neck, and grabbing the knife from his open hand. Pocketing it, he lifted his foot and backed several paces away, holding the blade aloft in front of him. The mugger sat up, but didn’t move. His eyes--one had a milky film over it--were wide and glaring, both worried and angry. Carter stepped down the alley backwards, with one hand behind him feeling for obstacles. Coming out of the shadow of the two clubs, he turned and stepped onto the past stretching beside the river.

Retracting the blade and sliding it back into his pocket, Carter took to watching the river. It was swift, but not too huge and not terribly powerful. But a little ways away from New Angeles was a small area of rocks and moss, making a bit of a crevice that blocked out the noise of the city and was good for escaping the pains of life. Carter moved along the length of the river, watching it without paying much attention to where his feet went. He had walked the path many times. The water was calming, but oddly loud. Louder than the other day as it competed with the noise of the bars and clubs on the other side.

Carter let his mind wander, and stared at the unknown area of the cavern. The area beyond the river was black, always black, always so strange and mysterious. No one was allowed over there, and Carter didn’t know why. He wanted to know why, but there was no way across the river except to swim it. But strange creatures were under the water; creatures that would only drag a straggler under if they were to touch the finicky things. Of course, it could all be made up to stop adventurous minds from wandering outside New Angeles. No one has ever seen the creatures, and Carter couldn’t find any evidence of them written in his books. But the stories of their attacks were gruesome. He hardly believed they existed, but he didn’t want to be proven wrong.

Leaving the path, he returned to the noise and bustle and faint music. Joining the stream of people, he looked up let his gaze sweep across sign after sign. Finally Abbey Lounge appeared, and he picked up the pace. It would at the very least be quieter in the bar rather than outside, and he could at least numb his headache with… Nothing. If he decided to drink, the aftermath would not be worth it. Still, the place offered its share of interesting people. Always talking, sharing stories or lies, and he loved to listen in. Carter opened the door to a dull roar of overlapping voices that agitated him, but would eventually become a pleasing hum in the back of his mind.

For a bar, it was awfully quiet, but it still hummed with soft conversations and not-so-quiet, boisterous people. The dim lighting was created by candles illuminating dirty glass covers, their metal bases extensive to prevent a fire from starting on what fuel was available nearby. Tables were scattered across the floor in a completely random pattern, with varying numbers of chairs at each location. The patrons were just as varied as their seats were, with one table devoted to businessmen, another few to maintenance workers. Tables in the corners were occupied by less savory looking figures, tattooed and darkly dressed. The only place that seemed to have an abundance of open seats was at the bar; the wood was splintering in many places along the bottom edge of the counter, the chairs tall and mostly uncomfortable to even look at.

Depending on the individual table, the conversations ranged in topic and tone. Volume seemed controlled by both the company and the number of empty casks on the tabletop. The corners were obviously soft in volume, while some of the men at the business table were starting to get louder and louder, laughing and joking about things they had to deal with on a daily basis. Allan was at the other extreme from those people; he was silent as he drank, the loudest noise he made being heavy, long swallows. Rather than vocally ordering another drink, he watched the bartender until he caught his eye, finishing his drink as he tossed out another set of coins, which were left until the empty cask was replaced with a new one.

Allan started on this second one in the same way as the first; long, slow drinks that showed a familiarity with how the alcohol would work, sliding down his throat and warming his insides. As he set the cask down as he took a breather from it, he closed his eyes, a nagging little voice in his head telling him he shouldn't be drinking with the headache that was starting to form from the dancing lights earlier. Alcohol always made headaches worse, but he ignored the note of warning as he lifted the cask back up to his lips, the sound of the patrons behind him nothing more than a dull rumble. The sound of the door opening wasn't enough of a creak or whine to disturb the flow of sounds, the swarm of people behind him blending into one large blob in his mind.

One man stumbled around the tables as he idly chased after the barmaid that was delivering drinks and picking up orders and coins, butchering a song under his breath as he followed her, his path wavering with every step. Coming close to the bar, he tried to slip between Allan and a few men at a table, but despite the decent gap, he still stumbled into Allan, but made the mistake of grabbing at Allan's arm to regain his balance. Allan, already in a bad mood from his headache, turned on him with a silent snarl, noticeable only by the disgusted curl of his lip as his hand snaked out, grabbing the other man's wrist, twisting it back and around to lock it back behind him in a painfully high angle across his back. The man, too drunk to really get what was going on, didn't make a sound until Allan let go, his foot shoving the drunk man hard in the small of his back, the kick sending him flying into the floor several feet away. His sudden landing and squawk of surprise startled the men at the table he landed next to, all of them looking over at him. However, from the drunken way the man stood, and the dumbstruck look on his face, everyone at the table simply laughed, telling him to go to bed before he really hurt himself. No one chided Allan for the move; by the time the man had recovered from the initial crash, Allan had returned to his cask of dark ale, almost as if he had completely ignored the entire incident. The only difference was now one hand was holding up his head when he wasn't actively drinking.

His head was pounding; the quick move that had gotten "revenge" on the foolish drunk who had almost spilled his drink had been just enough to send Allan's whole world spinning, riding on the currents of the last cask of ale he had drunk. With determination, he took another long swig, not willing to sacrifice his drunken stupor that night for his head.

Carter preferred the largely ignored bars, mostly referred to as dives, but sometimes the more densely-populated places held the most interesting people. The people there already seemed half-soaked in their poison, so he took the only area with no one near: the corner booth near the door. When a barmaid approached, all Carter requested was water. She gave him a strange look, but said nothing. She returned quickly with a pitcher and mug, and Carter handed her the coins he had ready. In the dark, he rested his head in his hand, listening to the nearby table roaring to one another. It was unnecessary, they were hardly three feet away from one another, yet they acted like the teenagers he taught who felt they had to scream across the room. Still, he felt as he stared into his water, their minds were elsewhere and under the influence of a drug. One could hardly expect them to act civilized.

A near-silent commotion raised Carter’s gaze from his shifting reflection; normally he would not have heard it, but his oddly-sensitive hearing picked up a creak and quickening of breaths even over the annoying group close to him. Across the floor, the red-haired man in all-black had bent a drunk’s arm in a silent bit of rage, but as the table near Carter laughed at his misfortune, was released and kicked away as though in disgust. Carter caught himself smiling at the show, but shook his head and returned to his water. Whenever someone caught him watching, it always ended in a confrontation. With his headache that could almost be mistaken for a hangover, he would rather stay out of others’ way.

Instead, as he drained the mug, Carter thought of the dark area across the river. There was something so strange about that area, so dark, hiding what new discoveries were there with a thick veil no one could get through. He felt the river was a wall, preserving the unseen beauty that could never be copied, never be captured in a painting or photo or in mere words alone. Something that would reach deep into even the most close-minded person and bring them alive, let them see that there is something other than the cavernous New Angeles. Maybe, he thought as he poured more water from the pitcher, there would be a way to get to the surface, a place people spoke of as though it were a mere story, a myth they would never experience.

He wanted to feel what his great grandfather called rain, water falling from the sky; he wanted to feel wind, see not a black ceiling but an endless blue space that went on forever. He wanted to know about the mountains that exploded in smoke and fire and molten rock that they called volcanoes, and the vast array of animals and wild creatures that populated that brightly lit world. He sighed over the mug, turning his gaze to the scratched tabletop.

Among the many tables lined up against the wall, two men had been happily drinking and talking in a more civilized manner than most of the occupants of the bar. Absentmindedly, Allan's mind had wandered over to their conversation, following it without meaning to.

From the bits and pieces he could pick out, they were going on at length about some new discovery they had found; these two men, scientists by the way the spoke, were quietly arguing over the meaning of this new information. One of them was enthusiastic about his theory about what it was, his companion less than certain it meant anything at all. "You can't honestly believe it's from there…" he said around a long drink from his mug, worriedly watching the other man's reaction. "Why not? We haven't seen anything like this before… it's revolutionary!"

"It could just be a-" the other mumbled, Allan not able to catch that last word. The other man spoke louder, suddenly very indignant. "A phony?! Why would someone do that? And for another thing, who'd go that close to the west wall to play a joke like that?" His companion tried to shush him, glancing around as if some spy would steal this information. "Come on, Bernie, don't be so loud-!"

"I'm not being loud!" the man snapped, louder than he was before. He started to stand, but was quickly jerked down by the other man, who soothed him by saying that he was right, no one would put a phony out there, past the river like that. "But we have to approach this carefully; the reputation of the museum is at stake," he warned, his partner calming down at the thought. "Carl… it's a totally new species of flower. A flower that's loaded with a weird element that we've never seen before… it's got to be something important, right?"

Allan let out a long, slow sigh, almost disappointed rather than upset. He motioned for the bartender, who came over and seemed a little surprised when Allan set down yet a third round of coins, having already finished the drink. With a shrug, the barman went to refill his order anyway, getting distracted by a few other orders along the way. While waiting, Allan rubbed his hands up and down his face in a gesture of weariness, momentarily bumping the sunglasses up on his forehead before they settled back down on his nose as his hands went down again, thinking about the conversation he had "overheard."

He still couldn't believe that all that secrecy was about a flower. What was so special about it? They said they had found it near the west wall; near the river maybe? If it was anywhere near the dark, "forbidden" area across the river, then it would be more the location than the item that was important, right? With all the ghost stories surrounding the place, Allan didn't see why anyone would be interested in going there anyway. But something was nagging him, more than the idea that there really were idiots dumb enough to go poking around a place rumored to be inhabited by monsters. What element were they talking about? What made it "weird?" And in a botanically controlled world such as New Angeles, where did this flower and it's unusual elemental component come from?

Even across the bar floor, Carter could hear their conversation. As he rested his elbow on the table, he didn’t realize where his eyes drifted; he was too enveloped in the hushed banter between the well-dressed men who had been there for a while. He caught every word, and tried to contain the small smile that was trying to break through the placid mask on his face. They were from the museum, probably botanists, and had discovered what Carter had been searching for all his life: New, strange life. And on the west wall? Probably near enough to the river to find water enough to survive, Carter nodded to himself. But if the new plant was a mystery to the men, a strange creature containing a compound alien to their underground world, how could the plant survive without that one thing Carter was told they needed, sunlight?

The men wanted to keep it under wraps, though. Perhaps because they didn’t want to cause upset in New Angeles? But they mentioned the museum, so perhaps they would put it on display. Or, they would take full responsibility for the find, and their names would be remembered for decades to come. But if they had been inside the forbidden area of New Angeles, they could be punished, even with the weight of the probably-historic discovery balancing the scales. It could be possible for them to lose their jobs if they admitted to breeching the border. But if they made up a story…

Carter sighed and shook his head. He could find a way to get to that flower. No classes were in session the next two days at the academy, and the endless hours of searching for some answer to his questions could be located on the wall. He had gotten there before, under no scrutiny, but for no particular reason. Now interest fueled his desire to seek out the flower, somehow. He didn’t want acknowledgement for it; a simple glance, perhaps a quick sketch, and he could compare it to the other countless books on flora and plantlife both ancient and not in the academy’s vast library, and perhaps his own collections. All he wanted was to see it, the flower, the odd discovery, and more. His wish was a simple one, but to so many others, as steep an impossibility as that of flying.

Carter was blind to the people, and he had somehow managed to ignore the noise in the barroom. Only the sound of his heart thudded slowly in his ears, the rush of blood through his veins sounding more like the river moving, swift and unhindered. It somehow soothed him, numbing the pain in his head, blocking out whatever else the men said. It was of little interest to him now, anyway.

The bartender finally returned with Allan's drink, respecting the aura of aggression he was putting off by not trying to strike up a conversation as he had done with a few other patrons sitting at the bar. The two men who had been talking had finally come to terms in their little argument, cheering each other on with a heavy clank of their mugs. The camaraderie the two were so loudly expressing caused Allan to glance over his shoulder at them, one eyebrow visibly arched over the darkened lenses as he studied them for a few moments, shaking his head as he turned away.

His eyes caught something, though, as he was turning back around; the unwavering gaze of a man sitting in the far corner, sitting with a glass and a pitcher of water on the table before him. Allan's eyes narrowed; was that casual stare focused at him, or was this stranger looking elsewhere? Warily, and out of sheer habit, he studied the man carefully and calculatingly, noting the glasses, the ill-fitting clothes, the lanky hair. Harmless, as far as he could tell; Allan turned away, deciding that it wasn't worth the trouble of making a spectacle, possibly getting himself thrown out, for some stranger staring at his back. Even so, Allan wasn't happy in his seat anymore, feeling that his back was exposed.

The door banged open as a couple of badly, yet brightly dressed people came in, their behavior showing both their young age as well as how much they'd already had to drink that night. They swarmed the bar, louder and more rambunctious than even the current patrons had been. One girl staggered into Allan, the illuminated jewelry she wore blinking brightly in the dim bar. Allan, rather than reacting sharply as he had before, recoiled at the light, hand going up to his eyes in an obvious gesture of pain from the light. The girl was too drunk to see the look of disgust Allan shot at her as he stood, grabbing his drink and moving away from the bar. He walked past a few tables, quickly deciding on his new seat based on the light and company.

The chair in front of Carter was pulled back with a jerk, Allan plopping himself down in the seat with a heavy clank of his mug on the table. No other table in the room had so few or so quiet of occupants, and his head was pounding just enough to keep him from even pretending to be polite enough to ask for permission to sit. The two botanists stood, talking about needing to return to the lab and continue working on their experiments involving the flower. They didn't notice Allan's scoff at the mention of the flower, taking a long, deep drink of his ale.

When the screech and clunk across from him sounded, Carter’s hand shot toward his pocket for his knife. But it was not an offensive movement, so he relaxed. He could hardly doubt Allan’s decision to move; the two obvious minors--kids from his class, nonetheless--came in loud and bright. Bright was something he could handle; their horrid, grating screeches as they went back and forth about this and that scraped on Carter’s ears like nails on a blackboard. He shuddered, but kept his hands firmly around his mug. Their gaudy jewelry clacked and tinkled. It sounded like broken glass falling to a floor of hollow stone. The bartender’s face was puckered as he served them, and the barmaids gave them a wide breadth.

He wanted to get back to his mind, to the thoughts of that strange flower and its equally-strange compound inside it. He wanted to get back to his plans for getting into the forbidden area and examining the plant, but the new voices were too distracting. He sighed, staring at the table. There was a strong and familiar smell drifting from the black-clad man across the table; a powerful scent of ale. It tempted him, but he shook the thought out of his head. It would not end well if he decided to start drinking. He would lose sight of his intentions, and the flower would not be there forever. He doubted it would be there for the next two days.

He was glaring at the table as though it had offended him. It was mostly the rambunctious fools that now seemed to populate the bar who soured his mood. He would rather have the botanists back with their talk of new flowers and revolutionary discoveries. Instead, he only heard the kids at the bar, joking about the academy’s teachers--Carter’s name was mentioned several times--and other kids of fewer friends and lower status. With a roll of his eyes, he raised his glass to his lips, and could smell the clear water much better, a liquid so perfect it never bothered to be manipulated.

Carter glanced up after a while, slowly, directing his gaze nowhere in particular. Passing over the table of older men nearby, the bright loiters at the bar, he paused when he met--or appeared to meet--Allan’s gaze. The expression on his face was that of a simple question, one that deserved an equally-simple answer: What? Carter shrugged simply, returning his eyes to his glass. He didn’t want confrontation tonight.

Allan noted the other man's hand shooting to his pocket with the same attitude he had when he sat down; he'd already pegged the man as no threat, and saw the move only one of surprise rather than reaching for any sort of weapon. Frankly, he'd had been surprised to know his new companion was even armed. Sitting as he was, the light was behind him, casting his entire face in shadow, which suited his eyes perfectly; the lenses were dark enough to provide what little else was needed to shelter them from the light.

The louder of the two scientists paused at the door while putting on his coat, verbally double-checking that he had his notebook with him. His partner scolded him harshly when the man, clearly more affected by his drink than the other, started to mumble about the details of the unexplainable element they had found, particularly it's iridescent blue-green glow, the color of which permeated the flower, noting how the bioluminescence hadn't been seen in a plant like that before, making him wonder what purpose it had. The more sober of the two finally managed to get them out the door, the door swinging shut behind them with a dull clunk.

"Tch… damn scientists," Allan muttered, hearing the two men leave rather than seeing them, as he had once again closed his eyes, always invisible under the glasses. His voice was rough from the alcohol, his tone dark and moody, expressing instantly not only irritation, but discomfort. Hidden as his eyes were, however, it was hard to guess that the pounding headache he was feeding was caused by them. Hearing the man in front of him shift, however, got Allan to slide his eyes open just enough to see the other man's gaze catching on him again.

"Something I can help you with?" he asked not only gruffly, but sharply, as if Carter had been the one to intrude on his table. There was the slightest slur to his words, just enough to show the drink wasn't only affecting his voice. His entire demeanor suggested he was ready for a confrontation, almost as if he was seeking one. But he was easily distracted by someone nearby standing, head jerking slightly towards the sound before he returned to his drink, suddenly ignoring Carter. Indeed, the drink was affecting him; he just wasn't backing down from it.

Absently studying the room next to them, Allan finally let out a soft groan, one that sounded like it had been held for a while. His hand again rose to rub at his eyes, bumping the darkened glasses up as he tried to relieve the tension building between his eyes with his fingertips. The two kids at the bar laughed about something in a most obnoxious manner for several long seconds, coarse language permeating their taunts at whatever unfortunate item they were going on about. Rather than turn around to look at them, Allan merely tilted his head, eyes sliding open to look towards the sound of them, heavily considering doing to them what he did to the drunken idiot who knocked into him earlier. Or worse…

This action of the eye was slight, not even really all that noticeable. What Allan didn't realize was that his glasses were sitting farther down his nose than they were before, revealing his eyelids to the shadows of the shared corner. The move finally showed his long, narrow grey eyes, the cast shadows darkening them even more. What was striking about them, however was the small but defined blue-green glitter to his otherwise dark irises, the iridescent color almost seeming to glow. Almost as soon as these strange eyes were revealed, however, Allan seemed to realize the glasses had slid, and with a tap of his finger bumped them back into position, having visibly cringed when his eyes met one of the brighter spots in the room. The action was casual, more for the comfort of his eyes than to protect their unusual coloring, showing he either didn't care about what his eyes looked like, or just didn't know.

Allan’s voice startled Carter when he barked the question; not because of the sharpness or suddenness of it, but because it clanged in the depths of his mind like an iron skillet someone had dropped. “Not at all, my friend.” He said quietly. Though he tried to keep his voice low, it resounded and vibrated off his inner ear and made him wince. His hearing had gotten more sensitive, somehow, and it was becoming unbearable. Every clank of a mug or glass hitting the table, every scrape of a chair being pushed or pulled, the door to the bar slamming shut or squeaking open, every beat of his heart exploding over and over; he growled, removing his glasses and hiding his face in his arms. He would rather be deaf, he thought, than unnaturally aware of every minute noise.

It didn’t stop him from hearing the final words of the scientists before they left. The flower contained some sort of blue-green glow… He had heard of something like that, had read about it, and had even experienced it. Beyond one of the many tunnels leading to New Angeles, a lake resided in complete darkness. Mostly. The water itself, deemed poisonous by the eldest citizens, glowed with a strange bioluminescence. Carter had seen the water itself glow, had taken a sample not long before. His great grandfather, also an esteemed scientist, had discovered microorganisms in the lake that gave off a natural glow. No one would listen to him, they all believed the elders when they said it was poison that made the water glow. Carter didn’t know whether the organisms did in fact give off a toxin of some sort, or if there could be a component in the lake itself that makes it habitable only to such odd creatures, but he felt the flower could be coated in the water or the organisms themselves.

The thoughts hurt his head. He wanted to ignore his pressing ideas, memories, thoughts, even the light of the candle nearby was agitating his headache. The kids were hardly making it any better. The more they drank, the louder they got, and the more danger they put themselves in. Allan seemed to Carter like he would snap at any moment, an alcohol-induced rage that would most likely leave the kids wondering what the hell happened. Though they were talking about him and his colleges, though they should not have been in New Angeles’ low-brow area, he would hate himself if something happened and he didn’t at least try to stop it. Still, the passive part of his mind told him to let them get ruined. They were never supposed to be in a bar anyway, and the combination of what sounded like fake jewelry and roaring conversation was deafening.

Carter felt ill; his head was spinning and a sensation of vertigo was setting in. A migraine had formed in the back of his skull, and was spreading forward faster than the river outside New Angeles. Suddenly he didn’t care whether or not they were beaten down at all; what Carter wanted was silence, and he knew he would hardly find it at Abbey Lounge. He contemplated getting up, but his head would not stop spinning; he would have to wait it out.

Allan glanced back at Carter at the growl, watching him try to curl into the table. He watched him for a few minutes, then did the one thing that seemed most ill suited for him: he let out a laugh, a strange mix of a chuckle and a scoff, somehow thoroughly entertained by Carter's apparent attempt to shield himself from the room. "Too much to drink?" he asked, still laughing, motioning towards the glass of water.

He slightly grimaced as he looked towards the ever-noisy crowd, and his own line of thought followed Carter's, although the alcohol kept his mind from wandering too far. Wouldn't it be easier on him if he went somewhere else to drink, where it was nice and quiet? And dark? He'd taken to spending more and more time near the river, finding that its banks were the darkest area in New Angeles. Everywhere else there was light, always light; living underground hadn't chased off man's fears of the dark, so every corner had to be lit, every shadow cataloged and explained.

Allan had always liked the dark; it was a place to hide, to do what he needed to do. But he found himself actively seeking it on a near constant basis, to the point he had almost gone into the forbidden area a few times. He didn't believe in the monsters lurking in the dark, but he didn't like how he was ending up at the border more and more often, almost like something was pulling him there. He'd lived on his own pretty much his entire life; he never felt like he belonged anywhere. Allan had moved to New Angeles only a few months ago, having relocated multiple times over the past few years, traveling from one underground city to another, never feeling connected to anything. But lately he'd been drawn to that same damn place by the river, and the only thing he could find to explain it was simply the fact that it was dark, far darker than the illuminated city. That other thing he felt was unnamed in his mind, an alien constant to his world of movement and change.

Speaking of which… why was he getting the urge to go back? He'd have to coerce the bartender into selling a few of his precious bottles so Allan could continue his binge at the river, but that had never proven hard before. Allan's introspective thought pattern was evident on his face after the laughter had faded, noticeable from the unfocused stare at his mug, almost unwilling to leave what little remained in it. Even if he didn't get the bottles, Allan was starting to feel more and more tempted to go back to the river, to the darkness…

Allan’s laugh was like a knife in Carter’s temple, and his comment twisted it. “Please, don’t speak so loud.” He muttered, fully aware his comment had probably fallen on deaf ears or had not been heard at all. He knew coming to a bar had been a bad idea, but of course, he never listened to that nagging voice of reason. Now to be confused with a run-of-the-mill barfly? But he couldn’t take it seriously; it was his own fault, and he had to deal with the consequences. He wanted to leave, but if he stumbled about like a fool on his own two feet it would only confirm Allan’s assumption.

He longed to get to the river. It’s trickling water was calling to him more often these days, the silence and darkness. He was getting tired of New Angeles and its utter brightness, its loudness, its life and bustle and crowd. He would go find that flower, and perhaps find a way to break out of his existence in New Angeles. He was tired of teaching children a restricted academic of their ancestors building a life underground, of strange tunnels and monsters lurking under the deepest stretches of the river or in the darkness of the forbidden quarter across the way. He wanted to teach them what his great grandfather, the only man who had ever cared about him, had told him about the world above, of its endless wonders and miracles of nature that happen right in front of their eyes, with no mortal hand guiding it. He wanted so bad to learn about the wind, the sun and moon and stars and that desire was driving him insane. His thoughts sounded more like a broken record, repeating themselves over and over and coming back to him again and again, reminding him. He was losing his mind every hour he stayed in New Angeles; the thought made him chuckle as he managed to return his gaze to the room. A mad teacher, ranting and scaring his students. It amused him.

Like many, he believed in the monsters across the way and in the river, but he was one of the few who didn’t fear them. In fact, he wanted to seek them out and study them from afar, see how they lived and interacted with one another. If they lived in such darkness, would they even have eyes? He had read of some animals losing them after centuries of evolution because eyes were useless in utter darkness. Sometimes he wondered whether humans would have lost their eyes over time, or even their ability to speak, if they had reverted back to picking at the ground for food and living in caves. Carter shuddered at the thought. His grandfather had worried about it as well; before he died, he had given Carter his journal detailing his hopes for humanity to return to the surface, reestablish their life of freedom and no restriction, no fear. Carter read that notebook every day.

He could go to the roof of the academy, away from the noise. He liked it there. But the river was running through his mind, his veins. He had to go back, it was no longer a question of if he wanted to; back to the dark, the quiet, the isolation…

Allan scoffed at Carter's request, but strangely enough honored it, keeping his renewed chuckle to himself. With the tavern atmosphere getting more and more oppressive, the option of going to the river sounded more and more appealing. Despite trying to focus on his drink rather than his headache, Allan started to really wonder if he wanted to finish his binge that night, considering how his head pounded, and the brightly lit teenagers were still at the bar, where he would have to place his order.

Absentmindedly, he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't time to move again; he'd been in New Angeles for almost a year now, the longest he could remember staying in one place. He wondered if that wasn't what this weird longing was, just the unfamiliar sense of knowing a place too well. Every time he tried to clear his mind, he'd hear the rush of the water, and it just made him more and more desperate for its quiet and darkness. Allan did not like this feeling of dependence.

As he finished the last of his mug, he had finally, and unwillingly, made his mind up as to what to do next. He set the mug down on the table slowly, gently, letting out a sigh of resignation. "Back to the river, I guess," he muttered, and stood – and instantly his accusations of Carter's drunkenness seemed foolish, as he half staggered back a step before catching his balance. His face remained the same, however, as if he planned the near crash backwards after having downed three large mugs on top of a massive headache. Balance regained, he started for the door, muttering under his breath about how stupid he felt about being drawn to the "damn river."

Carter watched, concealing the faint amusement he felt at the show Allan was putting on. He always found it rather funny watching drunks gather their wits as the world toppled below them. But he felt this one was more strong-willed than the others, and would not make as much of a spectacle of himself. What was ringing in his head more than the bright teenagers at the bar and the general noise around him was his comment before standing. He was going to the river. The river Carter was going back to.

Carter had lived in New Angeles all his life. He had moved around a bit, though, exploring other smaller cities and the far outskirts, abandoned tunnels and warm springs. He was tired of the city. The faces he met were so… predictable. So well-known. As well-known as the city itself and his knowledge of the quietest, darkest places around the river’s edge. Though Carter had not seen Allan’s face around as much as anyone else, he feared Allan would know of the same places. He didn’t want the man, more or less out of his rational thought process, to believe Carter to be following him, which he would not be doing. But if Allan was newer to the city, he would be taking the main road and sidewalk to the river. Carter had been around enough to avoid them, and Allan, and get to the best part of the river quickly.

Immediately after the door slammed behind Allan, Carter stood. He left several extra coins on the table and gathered his thoughts, which had scattered at his sudden movement. Off to the river, he thought, to where the silence would only be broken by the smooth rush of the water over its stones.

Allan was disgusted to find that the lights outside the bar were brighter than inside; he had to squint as he walked, his pace slowed by alcohol, forcing him to exist in this bright world that much longer.

He finally made it to the edge of the west side, the blissful darkness beckoning him in the distance. Allan's eyes were able to open as he moved away from the illuminated city, still able to see every stone, every crack in the ground before him as if it was brightly lit. He finally reached the riverside, the same place he had been standing before, watching the children playing. But this was not his destination; rather than the hubbub of people talking as they had been in the bar, it was quiet out, save for the lulling tumble of water over stones and moss.

Allan paused for a moment, enjoying the sound of the water rather than the sound of people, letting the sound fill his ears. As inebriated as he was, he let his mind flow with the water, the cool air around the water feeling good on his skin. He had closed his eyes again, appearing to stare at the water as he stood next to it, remaining motionless.

At least, he thought we was. When his foot hit a bump in the path, he blinked, realizing that he'd been walking, following the river towards its source, and had already passed the last of the lamp posts that dotted the part of the river that was deemed safe. He shook his head, realizing with a start that the throbbing had gone down while he was listening to the river, but it returned with a vengeance, throwing his confusion off track. He eyed the lamp post behind him irritably, turning his back on it as he continued walking, finally stepping out of the dim circle of light and into the welcoming blackness. The lack of light made his eyes content, allowing them to relax rather than strain to keep his irises tightly closed.

The path faded from under his feet, turning into a rocky surface. Tufts of pale grass were visible here and there, the seeds having spread from where man had placed their genetically engineered lawns, but the farther Allan went, the fewer there were of them. His path pulled back and forth, weaving away and towards the river, until it came down to a sharply inclined bank, forcing Allan down to the water's edge. He looked about, and for the first time in months, had to pull his glasses off in order to see clearly. He pocketed the glasses as he bent next to the river, splashing some of the cold water onto his face, which instantly relieved some of the headache. Drying his face off with his shirt, Allan settled himself down on the rocky shore, watching the water rushing past his feet. The unusual blue-green glow of his eyes was striking in this darkness, but it vanished as soon as he closed his eyes, resting his head back against the equally cool stone behind him.

Carter vanished behind the bar and took to the alley, which was dark and dulled the noise of the city. He skipped over the obvious paths that would lead to the river, to the mostly-public stretches where stragglers would be kicking around pointless conversations. Carter would circle around them behind the buildings, and kept close to the short wall that signified the edge of the city. He leapt over a broken and collapsed section, his footsteps hushed by a springy stretch of moss on the other side, and ducked down. If any of the guards who were patrolling caught him, he would be hit with a steep fine. The one good thing about oddly enhanced hearing was his ability to hear anyone who may be on the other side of the wall. When someone strayed too near, he paused with baited breath, and waited for them to pass. It was slow going.

He crawled the rest of fifty feet to where the wall turned sharply and ended at the wall of an obscure shop. He slid down the steep drop to a quieter area of the river, not far from the west wall. It was far enough, though, that Carter didn’t want to bother with it at the moment. He wanted to get rid of his dizzying migraine and think about the surface world. Perhaps he would even think about an escape, a way to cross the river to get to the forbidden quarter. There had to be a way to the surface over there.

He slipped a bit on the slick stone, but made it to the edge of the river otherwise easily. No one seemed to be around, and the city’s noise had faded to be replaced with the soft rush of the water. The river was dark, but glinted a bit in the very distant city lights, and as he walked along the river’s edge even that light faded. The whispering song lessened the pain in his head, and even muffled against his overly-sensitive hearing. It was a sound he would always love, the sound of being alone with nothing more than natural creations. The sound of the moss underfoot, the softly-turning stone when one agitated it at his passing. Carter loved it all.

He paused at a very dark section of the river, where no one really seemed to go. Most city-dwellers were too afraid of the dark to venture very far away from the comfort of their always-bright world of annoyance and overcrowding. Carter paused at the water’s edge and kneeled, looking out across the way to the forbidden quarter. It was like a solid wall, the utter darkness. As though nothing could move past it. He shook his head slowly, passing his hand though the water… It glowed an odd blue-green, both the water and his hand, and when he took his fingers back, the glow was washed away. What traces remained on his hand still shone, but faded when he brushed it off. It had been doing that for a while now, and Carter still had no idea as to why. It reminded him of the glowing lake he had found, the organisms in the water making it glow.

He had a feeling the reaction between his skin and the water was related to his increasingly-sensitive hearing. It had started around the same time, he expected. But no matter how much he read or where he looked to for answers, none came to him. No books, no persons, nothing his grandfather had ever told him. He sighed openly, expressing his confusion to no one in particular. As much as he stared at the water, its simplicity and grace, he could not shake the feeling that he was not the only one around. Impossible, of course, because no one really came down the river so far.

Allan's mind wasn't anywhere near the surface, like Carter's; it wasn't really doing anything, actually. He'd been lulled to a halfway point between sleep and consciousness, simply focusing on the sound of the water. As quiet as it was in comparison to the bar, it echoed in the stillness, gurgling and dripping wherever it wasn't rushing and flowing strong. But it was a pleasant kind of noise, familiar and calming.

His eyes slid open again to enjoy the blissful darkness before him, happy to be able to open his eyes fully for the first time in months. He didn't the surrounding darkness as a wall, impenetrable; it was a blanket, a safe cover from the bright harsh reality of his world, far behind him in the city. It enveloped him, like a guardian against the harshness of the light. On the far side of the river, he could just make out the edges of the rocky shore, the wet rocks along the waterline shiny in comparison to the mossy areas beyond.

For a moment, Allan stared, his mind able to better focus now that it wasn't being hounded by the throbbing pain. How… am I seeing the other bank? he wondered, knowing how far the stones across the river had to be; he saw every detail, with the same clarity that he could see in the city… Ah, but he couldn't say that with full certainty. The lights kept him from being able to look about normally, and he had never bothered to wonder what else was happening with his eyes other than that blasted sensitivity to light. He hadn't been able to really keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time for so long, he wasn't sure when this sudden sharpness had started to occur.

Already on edge, Allan jerked his head towards the sound of the splash; it was a disturbance to the natural flow and rhythm of the river, so soft a noise he shouldn't have heard it. And he didn't, really… he noticed it, but he wasn't fully certain if he heard anything or not. His eyes went back to the far bank, then to the river itself. Despite his aggressive curiosity, he was loathe to move, as if he didn't want to leave the riverside. He finally forced himself up, promising himself that he wouldn't leave the shoreline; just go down far enough to see what it was that disturbed the water, if anything.

He quickly found an advantage to this unexpected clarity of sight; farther down the bank he noticed something moving – no, not a something… it was a person, from the way it moved; he kept himself from trying to make any further judgments of the stranger from that distance. Instead, he walked towards him – it, he had to remind himself – his boots tapping against what rocks he stepped on, the moss muffling the sound more. When he felt he was close enough, Allan paused, trying to get a better feel for the man, which he now obviously was. Glasses, long hair, loose clothes… still affected by the alcohol, Allan stared with narrowing eyes visible in the dim light, certain he'd seen the man somewhere before. Possibly while he was walking to the riverside?

He had to squint in the dark to see if anyone was around. His suspicion was stronger than his decision that no one was, and he stood carefully. Someone was watching him, he knew it. He had heard the shoes tapping above the noise of the water, had heard them breathing, such a faint sound it could have been passed off as a manifestation of an overactive imagination. But the heavy shoes tap, tapping on the river’s shore could not be merely a creation of paranoia. He didn’t look directly at the source of noise, of movement nearby. Glancing toward the noise, he could see more than a shadow standing opposite him, parallel to the water. Black clothes and curly hair, he recognized both. A very strange, faint glow was coming from his face, possibly his eyes, where it was almost unnoticed. Those eyes were trained directly on Carter.

He still didn’t want confrontation. A fight would ruin what little bit of his day had not been by his classes. He kept his attention to the river, the loose stones and water, and hoped Allan would leave him be. No one usually strayed so far away from the light of the city anyway; he would certainly go away, especially since he had been spending the evening drinking at a bar. But people were unpredictable. Carter could only hope as he crouched at the river’s edge and picked up a bit of dry rock. It was about as large as his hand, shaped like an egg and worn smooth by erosion. He scooped up a handful of water, and trapped in his palm it glimmered again. He poured it over the rock, and locked in its tiny pores the water made the stone glow. Not much, but enough.

Carter, still a bit tense at the presence of Allan, stood and stepped back, throwing the egg-shaped stone as hard as he could across the river. It broke through the wall of darkness, suspended only for a moment in the air, caught in the dark, before splashing. He could see it in the water only for a moment before the glow faded. He found a way to see in the dark, and it was simple. But he had no idea how long the alien glow would last without his influence. If he filled a vial or clear bottle with water that had been manipulated, perhaps he could see in the dark of the other side of the river. Perhaps he could find his way in the dark that blanketed the west wall, so he could get to the flower and examine it. But he didn’t know if it was only his hands and arms that could affect water, or all of his skin. Was he covered in the same microorganisms that made the underground lake glow, and to become active they had to meet with water? The questions almost took his mind off Allan, but not completely. He kept his right hand close to his pocket in case Allan meant to be violent...

Allan had been intently watching Carter, still feeling that he had seen him somewhere before, but as it was he was only able to see the lines of his clothes and not the colors. Somehow, he didn't seem as eager for a fight as he had earlier. He could see every move Carter made, how he clearly didn't look towards him, crouching down. Allan's hand twitched in response, but rather than finishing the motion he slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and continued walking forward, ever so nonchalantly, as if he was going to walk right past Carter.

Instead of simply walking behind him, Allan came to a stop on Carter's other side, it being a predetermined one as there was no pause to his step, but a concrete cease of motion. Allan had no intention of leaving the river where his eyes were finally happy, and actually hoped to chase off this intruder by getting too close, but then the man had stuck his hand in the water, where it promptly started to glow. Allan was able to connect the botanists and their glowing flower to the same iridescent color, an eyebrow arching as his eyes went back to Carter, watching silently as he coated the rock with the glowing water, pitching it out across the water. Allan's head moved so his eyes could follow it, but unlike Carter, he actually saw where it landed.

"If you're trying to hit the far bank," he finally noted, his voice still rough but calmer than it had been in the bar, "You missed." He kept his eyes trained to where the water from the rock had bled into the river, but just as it had near Carter's hand, the glow faded quickly, not letting him work out just how far the stone went, or how much farther it had to go. Why, exactly, he had informed Carter of the result of his stone-tossing was unclear, until he looked at him with his even tone asking, "Mind explaining why you glow in water?"

This close and directly, Allan finally managed to peg the man; the one he had sat next to at the table, the one drunk on water. He didn't remember seeing the water in the glass glowing when he touched it, making him all the more curious. Why when in the river? His eyes drifted back to the water with a blink as he waited for an answer, for once trying not to appear dangerous. Allan was still convinced this man was no threat at all, but why he was out in the dark like this was making him wonder.

Carter kept his gaze across the river, to the bank he couldn’t see, to where the rock had been washed away. Allan was walking behind him, and he expected the man to wander away to a different section of the river, so both of them could again be alone. But Allan had surprised Carter by stopping on his other side with his hands in his pockets, watching Carter as though he were even slightly interesting. Of course Allan didn’t see Carter as a threat; he was thin, fidgety, always with a lost look on his face. And when the other man spoke, it was in a calm voice, but still caught him slightly off guard. He had known the stone never made it to the other side; he had heard the splash scrape against his ears, forcing its way into his conscious.

Still, keeping a close watch on Allan’s body language, Carter decided to reply to the statement and the question he didn‘t even know the answer to: “First of all, friend, I didn’t really expect it to reach the other side. I wanted to know how wide this section of the river is.” He looked at the water again. The second part of what he said Carter was still thinking about. It was a question Carter also wanted the answer to. As a teacher, and as a man who liked to learn things, it went against what he did, what he liked to believe in, which was quite a bit. He paused, glancing at Allan, who had arched a brow waiting for an answer. Carter sighed; he was tired, and still a bit suspicious as to why Allan was even there. No one came to that part of the river, and he felt out of place with someone else around.

Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t know why I glow in the water. I’ve been searching for a reason, anything to tell me what could be the reason, if it could be environmental or some genetic altercation… I haven’t found anything describing something like this, nor have I ever heard of it before. There are several possibilities, but they’re too bizarre.” His voice hurt his head, and he rubbed his ears as he spoke.

Allan turned his eyes back to Carter as he spoke, smirking a little as he sighed, apparently in frustration. This close, the glimmer in his eyes was clear, the blue-green glow detailed as an iridescent sheen over his irises, giving off just the barest illumination to the rest of his eyes; the irises were quite easy to distinguish without his dark sunglasses on.

"Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with some new plant that's been discovered, would it?" he asked finally, eyes drifting back to where the stone's watery glow had faded. Partly, he was curious if Carter had anything to do with the two botanists he had eavesdropped on, or if he had heard the same conversation. He too was still wondering why someone was in his little sanctuary by the river, namely since it was beyond the halos of light; this was the area that people had long claimed to be inhabited by monsters, wasn't it? The shadowy areas that the light didn't penetrate, where most people feared to go? His eyes shifted back over to Carter with a slow, deliberate blink, waiting for his response.

The flower. Allan was right. Carter dropped his hands to his sides, staring past Allan with a gaze that drifted beyond what any other person would see. “The flower!” He exclaimed, wincing at the sound of his own voice. He continued in a softer tone: “It glows in the dark with a strange blue-green glow, the scientists said. But if that were the case, it would have to be coated in both the microorganisms and water.” He tapped his glasses. “But the organisms would have to be self-sustaining if they could last so long… Could they have been affected by the unknown elemental compound the scientists found? And if so, why would I be coated in the organisms? They must immediately activate in water, but if that were the case, they would have to be dormant while clinging to their host… right?”

He was excited about the realization. It could have been wrong, but Carter didn’t want to think about that. But, he thought, whether the glow came from the organisms, the unknown element, or both, Allan would have one or both in his eyes, or at least affecting his eyes. Carter felt a breakthrough had shown itself, and nodded at his short rant as though accepting it at least in part as being legit. He looked to Allan and studied his eyes, observing the same color as any time he touched water. If he ran his hand through a bowl of it, he would leave a trail of blue-green swirls that eventually spread apart, but still gave the water itself a very, very faint glow that resembled the color of Allan’s eyes. But with that color was a question. A question he had not asked yet, possibly relating to Carter or their location on the river, or whatever he had just rambled about. Whatever it was, Carter had no idea.

Allan instantly regretted bringing up the flower.

His eyebrows shot up and his eyes went wide as Carter began to rant, going on about… microorganisms and water? He could practically feel his headache coming back as Carter went on, his path of logic dizzying to say the least. The only reason Allan was able to keep up at all was the fact that he had overheard the botanists' conversation about the odd element they found in the flower. He pulled one hand out of his pocket, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers, hoping to prevent the headache from returning; his head was still tender from the throbbing earlier, and whatever it was about the river had made it go away. He didn't want it back.

Even so, in his roundabout way, Carter was making sense. "If…" He paused after starting to speak, trying to gather the thoughts that Carter had scattered about, "If it's from an animal, how is it in a plant?" When he looked to Carter to see what the answer would be, he blinked in surprise at seeing the man was staring – no, studying – his eyes. Allan was clearly perturbed by the look, but decided to try and ignore it, adding, "Didn't those men say it was the element that was glowing? I… didn't catch the entire conversation." His tone was starting to get defensive; he clearly didn't like that studying look. It made him feel that this odd scientist had decided that he was now part of this puzzle. What it also showed was that he wasn't aware of anything odd enough about him to study like that.

Carter caught a slight undertone in Allan’s voice and quickly looked away. He couldn’t help studying Allan’s glowing eyes, wondering what it was that made them the way they were. He obviously couldn’t feel it, and didn’t know they were so strange to Carter; he decided not to bring it up. Shaking his head when Allan said animal, he replied: “No, not an animal. An organism less than an animal, a… A bacteria, say. A type of bacteria that clings to the flower, or anything else, but isn‘t necessarily inside it. It activates when water hits it, and gives off a glow. But I’ve only seen this bioluminescence already in water, usually as large as a lake. This newly-discovered element must be altering the state of the bacteria, allowing it to fall into a type of sleep or hibernation and accumulate on things other than in water.”

He stared at the river. “The scientists said it was the element, yes, but they’re also observing the bacteria, the organisms, and are probably confusing them for the full makeup of the element. That, or the element is creating more and more of these creatures and spreading them.” He studied his hands, almost as hard as he had been staring at Allan. “But what I don’t understand is how they could be on me so thickly, or regenerate so quickly if they were washed away in the water.” He scratched his head, unknotting the tie in his hair and winding it around his fingers. “I’m not sure how long their life span is when they’re taken out of the original body of water, though. If they’re on me, they should survive a long time. But if they are self-sustaining, they should last indefinitely…”

Allan relaxed once Carter looked away, once again feeling a little lost from the explanation. He wasn't quite as excited this time, however, which made it far easier to keep up. He was slowly starting to get a disturbing mental image, one that he knew was foolish on the surface of it, but the thought still managed to lift the hairs off of the back of his neck. "So, you're covered in some sort of… immortal bacteria?" he asked, his disturbed expression stating what that mental image of his was.

Instead of backing off, however, Allan's interest had been piqued, and he knelt beside the riverbank, watching the water. "If it is a type of bacteria, then wouldn't that mean the water's… I don't know… dirty, or… contaminated?" he asked, needing a moment to come up with the word he wanted. He looked out over the water, narrowing his eyes at the far bank. Was it farther away than the bank further upstream? Did that mean the river got narrower the farther upriver it went? He looked up at Carter, adding with curiosity, "How many places have you seen this… reaction happen?"

For a moment, Allan felt confusion at himself; he looked back out to the water, wondering what the hell had happened. Not even an hour ago, he had gone to get flat drunk to forget the headache he had been getting from all the light. Then, he'd left when even the bar was too bright, hiding along the dark bank of the river, and now he was in a deep conversation with some stranger he saw at the bar about glow-in-the-dark germs? What was with this? Was the sound of the water really that influential on him? So why was he feeling comfortable with this strange scientist? As random as this conversation felt, it had still caught his full attention. So why was he still interested in the results?