"To Your Good Fortune in Liberty, Sir"

[Zephyranthes]

"Twenty-three... Twenty-four... Twenty-five..."

If William wanted to be ready for the enemy next time they struck, he needed to be in the proper physical condition. Normally exercise would be a grueling practice that seemed more torture than training, but his penchant for listening to the old hits of Sol's past during his workout routines made it an enjoyable experience. His legs ached from hanging around his bunk as he continued with his hanging sit ups. Undoubtedly Stone would ridicule him for his technique or efforts or anything he could find. William could see why the man was bitter and trusted him in a fight, though this didn't mean he had to like him. The Tin Man certainly had no heart.

"Twenty-six... Twenty-seven... Twenty-eight..."

More burning and aching came with each sit up, but it didn't matter. He was out of shape and needed to use what he had at his disposal to remain in top condition. He never thought he would miss the humble equipment of the gym back in New Boston where he practiced before bouts. He never thought he would even miss anything having to do with those hard years. But anything beat trying to deal with a lack of equipment and only the features of a barracks as a substitute fo-

"Agh! G-goddamit!," he sputtered, falling to the floor as a migraine overtook him. Stumbling back to his feet, he reached over to a medicine cabinet near his bunk and took out a bottle of pills. Tossing a couple into his mouth, he sipped on some water and swallowed the tablets. Sinking into his bunk, he cradled his head in pain as the migraine pulsated. He had finally thought the migraines from so many shots to the head had disappeared. But this was the first he had experienced in two months, and it was a consequence of all those years of putting his body on the line for a bit of prize money. The medication soon began to take effect, and William found himself sinking into another heavy sleep.

---

The streets of New Boston were slick with rain and illuminated by streetlights. Norman walked the streets barefoot and ragged, looking like any other homeless pauper that inhabited the paved thoroughfares of the city and any nook and niche they could situate themselves. He had left home for a day now, surviving off the scraps the wasteful New Bostonians left in trash bins and in piles on the road. No one had kicked him out, and no one has forced him away. Running was what he knew best at such a young age. And when disaster struck, it was all he could do to deal with it. He had been running for quite some time, though what exactly he was fleeing from was unclear. All he knew is that he needed to leave home, no matter what.

Norman leapt across a large gutter, then scaled a small brick wall. He dashed for cover from the rain before eventually arriving next to a dumpster and slipping and hitting his arm against the rusty metal container. Feeling the puddles of water and mud up to his ankles, suddenly Norman's legs refused to move. His mind willed them to move, but something had broken in his body. It was nothing physical that pained him thus, but his spirit simply could not continue. Without even a second to think about the problem, he collapsed into the filthy mire below him, feeling it seep into his clothes and nearly reach his face. A hot stream of water began to fall down near his eyes, stinging those portals to the world. He could not stop crying.

"Norman! Norman, are you there? Please answer!," called a voice from beyond the alleyway. He had heard that voice many times during his journey through the urban jungle, and many more times before he began his runaway venture. It was the voice of his twin, Chloe, and it was shrill and desperate, just as it had been for the past day. Norman was good at hiding his tracks, but Chloe was even better at following him. Whilst his older sisters would find it difficult to even keep up, Chloe was a natural at tracking him down. And in this moment her abilities had paid off. Norman's sobbing grew into outright bawling, and she could hear it from down the street. She rounded the corner, and her appearance was almost as wretched and downtrodden as his.

"Please, Norman... Everyone's worried... I wanna go home with you," she pleaded, walking over and picking her brother up out of the mud. The two looked identical, save for the differences their sexes had imparted on them.

"What's home, Chloe? Mom's... m-mom's...," Norman choked, unable to say anything. Instinctively, the two embraced in the cold rain. Norman realized that running wouldn't work this time. Sometimes you just had to accept the way things were.

"It's okay... We'll make it. We always do."

---

The small shuttle touched down on the landing pad in front of William. The Serenity it hailed from was unmarked and fast, just the way he had hoped it would be. His escape back to the Battlegroup Auxesia's main area of operations needed to be unnoticeable to anyone who could be following him. The captain of the transport was a former member of the Coalition that Ashley Bernitz, the pilot William had encountered before, knew very well. With the false papers that had been provided for his crossing by a shady dealer near the spaceport, he was ready to continue on his way. The Sutinga that he had purchased off of a local junkyard vendor was already loaded aboard the Serenity and was ready to be reassembled at the Barrier Gate once the ship had arrived there. All was set to let William Foulke join the only people he knew would keep him safe. At least, for the time being.

"The shuttle is ready, Mr. Foulke. Will you be joining us?," asked the middle-aged man in that odd Russian-like accent that many Coalitioners exhibited. Around him were some other passengers also hitching a ride to Bretonia and Liberty. William nodded at the captain, smiling as he did so.

Almost out of habit, William looked behind him to see if anyone was there. He knew he was being tracked, even if he couldn't see it. The captain of the Presque Isle had made it rather clear that the information he possessed was too valuable to lose. Being a rogue LSF agent didn't help his case, either. It was only a matter of time before whoever was spying on him would catch up. All he could do was delay that time and prepare for when it happened.

"Alright... Here goes nothing," he sighed, shrugging and stepping aboard the atmospheric shuttle with a small rucksack slung over his shoulder and a certainty in his step. The tiny vessel soon rose into the air, venting air and flame as it lifted off the landing pad and climbed towards the mooring post that adorned the docking ring of the azure jewel of Gran Canaria.

---

Within a pair of hours, the short rest William was enjoying had been interrupted by a rather noisy Legion pilot returning to his bunk. Slowly rising from his small cot, he rubbed his head, feeling relieved that the pain had finally passed. His conditioning was still not complete, and he still needed to be at full combat strength. He would not allow the Nomads or Wild catch him off-guard or unprepared, and he would not allow anyone to say he was not able to hold his own or pull his own weight. With that singular purpose in mind, he set out to continue his regimen with laps around the areas of America Base he was allowed to pass through.