Charles leaned against the stage. This was one of those situations he never imagined he would get entangled in: trapped on an island, reliant on a bunch of idiots to help him escape. It was the worst of all possible worlds for him.

"And now I'm holding the reins." Charles shook his head.

He needed a smoke. Already shadows danced at the edges of his vision. It was day three without sleep, and the tobacco was the only thing keeping him going. He had one more pack left before he would have to find some pharmacist or back street dealer to roll a few more cigarettes.

But now he was just standing in an empty amphitheater as the sun set in the distance, holding onto a brown-wrapped package covering an odd-looking sword they had stolen that morning.

Ortega sat on the far side of the stage with the skeletal man, completely ignoring that he was just bones below the neck. Charles didn't understand it. They were acting like old friends despite their lack of specific memories of each other. He reached down, pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and tapped out another cigarette.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Swick.

"Just one more smoke," he whispered before lighting a match across his pants. "Got to calm my nerves."

He brought the match to the cigarette and took a few puffs to get it to light. The cigarette was bent on the end, a true sign that he was running out. He had smoked all the new good ones and was down to the last few in the pack. With a crumbing ember, the end of the cigarette lit, and he took a puff, the tension in his shoulder releasing as he leaned back against the stage.

"Much better." He closed his eyes and released a puff of smoke.

Now, he just needed the world to slow down for a minute. It was moving faster than he had expected. Granted, he had hoped that he could just run away when he and Ortega found a way to deal with their memories, but the complications of the situation were dashed like a broken beer bottle.

And now he was bound to the idiot's plan.

Two hogs tied together with nooses. If Ortega failed, he would die. If he died, Ortega's mind would break. Even the act of gathering them all together was insanity. Ortega had him deliver a letter to a former bounty hunter, and they had stolen the sword together. None of these things should have been enough to gather his old crew together, especially with their memories suppressed.

"You know I can't suppress the curse on all of them, right?" Bolton stood up, tapping away the ash and looking at the two talking outlaws. "If they decide to come after us because of those items, we'll have to fight them. I'm not going to hold back."

Ortega looked up from his conversation with Baptiste, a grin cracking his face. Bolton hated that about him. He was too smug.

"Come on." Ortega stood, walking over to Charles. "They should just start getting here."

"Then we'll finally get a full explanation." Baptiste smiled as he followed Ortega. "I appreciate the conversation, but keeping out the details is killing me."

"Explaining once is better than four times." Ortega shrugged. "And we won't have to wait long."

He pointed at the northeast entrance to the amphitheater, where a green-cloaked figure stood. If Charles was right, it should have been 'Thorn Queen' Leah, especially considering her green garb. Charles crossed his arms and didn't move. This was Ortega's show, not his.

"I wasn't expecting this many people." She stood on the edge of the stage, looking over the three men. "But don't think I can't take care of myself if you attack."

Her hands were in her cloak, and there was no telling what she was hiding underneath. Charles chewed on the end of his cigarette, moving it from one side of his mouth to the other. He pointedly didn't reach for his gun.

"We're not here for that." Ortega raised his hands, showing nothing up his sleeves. "We're just here to talk once everyone shows up."

"And how many people would that be?" another woman asked, appearing from behind the stage.

Charles hadn't seen her, but it had to be the bounty hunter known as 'Cold Shot.' She matched what he had heard of her, and he vaguely recalled seeing someone similar in Ortega's crew, though the face was still obscured. The height was right, at least.

"One more," Ortega said. "You might want to unwrap that Bolton. He's going to come in hot."

Bolton reached for the wrapped sword, but as he did so, the final one arrived.

"Where is my sword?" a large man yelled as he stepped through the entrance to the amphitheater. "Give my sword back before God's wrath burns you alive!"

"Alright, maybe it wasn't a perfect plan." Ortega sighed, stepping away from Charles with his hands up. "Calm down, Sayed. We have it he—"

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"Demon's Claw!"

"Might!"

Boom.

He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. The large man, which Bolton recognized as 'Sword Saint' Sayed crossed the distance between himself and Ortega in an instant, his fingers lashing out with a speed that blurred the light around it. Ortega raised his hands and caught the blow, his muscles bulging as he caught hold of Sayed's attack and ground him to a halt.

The two men hit like two bulls, and neither gave way as they pushed back against each other's hands.

"Open it." Ortega grunted. "And hand it over."

Charles fumbled at the parchment, ripping it away piece by piece to reveal the sword inside. Sayed's eyes tracked to it but didn't let up on his grapple. Seeing the sword obviously wouldn't be enough.

"Do you think this will stay my rage?" Sayed asked. "You broke into my home and took my blade from its resting place. This is no fitting end for that kind of tale."

"This isn't the end," Ortega said, grunting. "It's only the beginning."

He turned on one foot, sending Sayed crashing to the ground from the force of his forward push. Ortega fell on him, grabbing the man's arms and locking them behind his back. Sayed struggled against it, but he couldn't bring his full force to bear in his position.

"This is a mess," Leah whispered, looking over the two fighting men. "I don't know how you found that letter, but I'm not here to watch a fight."

She turned to walk away, but Charles stepped between her and the exit. He didn't like getting involved, but he needed Ortega, and Ortega said he needed his crew. They at least needed to stay to hear him out.

"Sorry, miss. " Charles's hand rested on his revolver. But I'm going to need you to stay a while and listen."

"And what if she doesn't?" across from him, 'Cold Shot' put her hand in her pocket.

Charles froze. The entire situation was devolving and fast. Ortega would need a new crew if they didn't play their cards right. He adjusted his cigarette in his mouth but kept his hand on the butt of his revolver.

"Stop."

Baptiste spoke in a whisper, but the tone caught everyone's attention. He didn't move and didn't come to intervene. He merely stood with his arms crossed, skeletal hands hidden beneath his robe's sleeves.

"I understand you are angry and scared, but this man has brought all of us together for a reason. We've spent the last hour talking, and he is right. We all know there is something wrong here in Grim Aegis. We all know that our minds are broken. The haze we all face tries its hardest to keep us from discovering the truth, but we cannot allow ourselves to be bound by that fate."

Everyone hesitated at that moment. Leah turned back. 'Cold Shot' pulled her hand out of her pocket. Even Sayed seemed to relax a little, though he still couldn't move.

Charles raised an eyebrow. He didn't expect Baptiste to be the one to step in. However, when he looked at Ortega, he saw a grin on the man's face—had this all been part of his plan? Charles didn't believe it, not for a second.

"Devil's luck." He shook his head.

"We good?" Ortega asked Sayed, not releasing his grip.

"If my sword is returned, we can talk about it," Sayed said, though his tone didn't say that he had given up.

"Bolton." Ortega raised his hand, and Charles threw the sword at him.

Like it was on strings, the hilt flew into Ortega's hands, and he caught it deftly before laying it next to Sayed. When Sayed saw the blade, he visibly relaxed, and Ortega released him and stepped back. The standoff was over; now they had room to breathe, and Ortega had room to talk.

Bolton only hoped he wouldn't waste his shot.

"We're all aware that something is very wrong here," Ortega said as he watched Sayed stand up and retrieve his blade. "I'm a little more aware of it thanks to Bolton, but we all know the haze that keeps us from remembering anything before Grim Aegis."

All of them gave faint murmurs of agreement.

"We know what's going on here, and to say that we've been trapped by a curse is the least of it. You all have a life outside of this island, and it was taken from you."

"Oh?" Sayed rested his blade on his shoulder, looking down at Alex.

"You're a swordsman from Hajh, a man who fights to free the downtrodden and wants to see no one in chains." Alex pointed at Sayed. "You don't have to live a story as dull as being a butcher in Grim Aegis."

He pointed to Leah next.

"You're a member of the People's Revolution and a master of plants. You want nothing more than to see the downfall of the Empyrean so that people can finally be free."

Leah frowned, but her hood hid most of her emotions. Ortega pointed to 'Cold Shot' next.

"You're from Earth, just like I am, and when you came here, you started working as a bounty hunter. You're looking for answers in this world, the same as I am."

Finally, his finger rested on the skeletal man.

"You're the weirdest of all of us, but you're still a part of the crew. You want to see and experience the world, and you do it all with Eliza by your side."

"Eliza," the skeletal man whispered like he had recalled a distant memory.

"Jean told me that he had a dream last night that roughly matches up with the crystal that matched my own memories," Ortega said. "I think he wasn't alone in it. I think we're all connected, and you all had strange dreams last night, too. All I'm asking is for you to trust me long enough to help you get them back."

No one moved as he finished his speech. Charles took a long drag on his cigarette. It was a bold move, but he didn't think it would pay off. Before he had activated his curse, he knew precisely how strong the pull of the haze was. It was easy to forget your past and all the problems that came with it. It was the same reason alcoholics drank, or he smoked.

It all numbed the pain.

"Hah." Sayed laughed first, his chest shaking as a smile crossed his face. "You come and tell me that I have a grander story to tell. Have no doubt, brother, that was all you needed to say."

"I need to know how you got that letter," Leah added. "I may not understand this 'memory' problem, but I recognized it. I'll go along for now."

"I've always wondered about the hair I use as a bookmark," Baptiste said. "I never knew where it came from, but it was nostalgic to me. Perhaps that is a fragment of Eliza—a strand of fate from me to her. I, too, want to know more."

"What I want to know is if these bounties are real," 'Cold Shot' said, unfurling a roll of parchments. "If they are, there's a price on my head now."

"They're real," Ortega said. "Bolton picked them up before reaching Grim Aegis."

"Interesting." She turned the parchment around, spreading out the five bounties for all to see.

They read: 'Sword Saint' Sayed with a bounty of six hundred thousand dolers, 'Thorn Queen' Leah, with a bounty of seven hundred thousand dolers, Jean Baptiste 'the Reanimator' with a bounty of five hundred thousand dolers, 'Cold Shot' Wen with a bounty of two-hundred and fifty thousand dolers, and finally 'Tin Man' Ortega with a bounty of one million dolers.

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