Things were starting to settle down for Dustin Harlow. It hadn’t even been half a year since he was corrupted into the Negaverse, losing his identity and former life in the process. Yet still, the days of Dylan Von Hootenberg seemed long behind him. It wasn’t as though the adjustment had been easy – going from an heir of a multi-million dollar international company to a homeless teen on the streets was quite a culture shock, but he was resourceful.

The Negaverse’s willingness to aide him through the transition didn’t hurt either. He had already made dependable friends to rely on – both Ever and Chase, or Ilmenite and Labyrinthite, have become at once friends, confidantes, supporters, and superiors. Plus, they were both pretty cute, Dustin reminded himself. But that was a description that applied to most of the Negaverse, as if they were a dating pool for him to hook up with.

But as much as things were settling nicely, there was uneasy, unsettling feeling growing in Dustin’s gut. He knew better than to get adjusted or used to any level of normalcy and comfort. His cynicism had him convinced that was life was ready to blow up at any minute and set him off course, but it was a feeling he had been trying to suppress, letting these feelings build up and manifest into a ticking bomb within himself.

And then it all exploded.

Always the outgoing city boy, Dustin was bound to run into his old life again at some point. He was just heading out of a bar when he turned the corner and bumped right into his parents – literally, colliding with his father as they made the turn.

His eyes locked with his father’s, and then his mother’s. There was so much recognition, hope and longing in his eyes. And in their eyes was nothing but cold unfamiliarity.

“Excuse me,” his father said, passing him by with his mother.

Dustin wanted to say something. Say anything, but he was at loss for words. He knew they wouldn’t recognize him – he knew that they couldn’t – but he didn’t think about how that would make him feel. It was a cold reminder of the believed to be dead identity inside him; that behind the glamour of Dustin Harlow was the still breathing, now devastated Dylan Von Hootensberg.

How could they not sense any recognition in their son’s eyes? Were they not desperate to find him? There were posters of his face littered throughout the city, many torn down in the absence of hope, but the reward rising and rising to a now whopping hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. They missed him, they wanted him, but they couldn’t see him.

His mind reeled in shock and confusion, a form of highway hypnosis led him into the dark corner of his still empty, unfurnished apartment that he had been provided. Where does he go from here? Does he move on, knowing it’s the only option? Or does he hold on to his past, knowing nothing can come from it? The answer was logical, but neither felt right.

He should have known better than to feel settled.