The snow was heavy now in Canada. The patch of wilderness he'd been gifted to use for a training course was nearing completion after months of construction. His breath came out as visible white puffs, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't breath heavier on purpose, just to see it come out time and time again. He wasn't accustomed to cold weather, aside from missions that took him to colder climates. He'd been raised in the deep south, and had lived on a tropical island in the Bermuda Triangle now for... Damn, more than 3 years.

He sat under a large pine tree, bundled in a puffy winter coat, decorated in electric blue and white graffiti graphics. His hunter coat was bothersome while working, especially when he had to cover it with a winter coat anyway. At most, he'd tie it around his waist. An extra layer to keep his heat in.

The snow was piling high. The woods were silent as the snow fell a little softer now. Otto was taking a break from working on the final tweaks, taking in his design with a critical eye. Was it really going to do anything, or was this whole project a sham? He'd worked hard, there was no doubt there. But, if it didn't serve to improve a Hunter's chances of survival, then it was a waste. A waste of his time, and Deus's resources.

There was so much pressure for it to work. And this was only the first of three courses he'd be making.

It was hard to breathe. The cold air didn't help. His wrapped his arms around his middle; a difficult task with the bulk of his jacket. A groan escaped him, and he wished so badly he could disappear for a while. Bury himself in the white snow. Get lost in the woods. Vanish.

He pondered his life thus far, and all the things that brought him here now. His life at Deus, and even before it. He had so many things he needed to worry about nowadays, aside from simply staying alive.

The marks on his skin; not his scars. The hourglass, and the key. Both worried him endlessly with what they could possibly mean. He'd endangered himself and Tenya countless times, and these were the marks that made sure he didn't forget it was his fault he was weaker now.

His scars slowly faded with time, as did his memories of those he lost. He could barely hear Clerise's laughter anymore, or see her smile in his mind. He could scarcely remember Rin's sass. Nevada's voice and her warmth. Sam, however. Her face haunted his dreams every so often. He vaguely remembered them for what they were, but her smug, Prada wearing self was there. He knew it. But why?
Bad things that happened to him began to lose their hold on his nightmares. His time in the Horsemen's lair was so faded and dissolved now, he could barely believe it actually occurred.

The further back he tried to grasp at his memories, the more difficult it was. They dissolved if he held them too long. Why had he left home, other than a father who knew nothing but anger and bitterness, and a mother who'd grown too involved in her career to give him the time of day. A girlfriend who'd grown up from childish teenage angst, and left him. A town that was too small for a boy who wanted so much more than dirt roads and farmer's markets.

He remembered he had a stupid dream; a dream his grandfather had always supported full throttle. He'd wanted to be a rock star, of all things. Too shy to sing for anyone aside from his grandpa, he'd taken up drumming. He'd gotten good, very good, since he'd had nothing else to do, and no one else to talk to. Or play with. He'd lived a very lonely life. Very, very lonely.

Why had he wanted to be a musician? It seemed so odd, and normal, as he compared it to his life now. Otto wondered to himself... Who was he? Who was Otto Graves now? .... Who could he have been, had things been different?

He idly pulled out the picture Jude had given him out of his wallet. His reddened, cold fingers numbly held the photo of his birth parents along with a young Jude. His family by blood. A mother who looked just like him. You have her eyes, Jude had said. He'd never gotten to hear anything like that growing up. He'd not looked a thing like any of his family in Louisiana. Not a one. He was a black sheep. It felt good to hear it. But it also hurt. What kind of mother would she have been? If she'd been the one to raise him... would he have gotten to fulfill his dreams? Or would he still end up a hunter, just like Jude had?

Maybe if he'd been raised with them, there would not have been an angry man screaming at him every day, telling him what a useless waste of time he was.

Otto gently stored the photo away, his frown a little deeper now. It was useless to worry about what might have been. There was no going back. He could only change where he was going now.

But that was the thing... where was he going? And why?

He sighed heavily, resting the back of his head against the large tree. The grey sky darkened, as the snow began to fall heavier once again. There was no point in working on his course anymore today. It was as done as it could be, and he was delaying it out of fear that he'd missed something.

But he didn't want to go back home. Deus, a home? It was hilarious, really. It was a work place with beds. It was a jail with purpose and some pretend freedoms. Inmates he'd come to love and call family, if not reluctantly. He'd learned to fall in love countless times. He found comfort in things and people, and was content.

But here, all alone in a freezing cold blizzard, he wondered if he really was okay with any of it. Out here, he felt like this was what really was going on inside himself. A cold, furious blizzard, that simply ebbed now and then. He knew something inside him was dead, or maybe just dormant. He covered it up with anger, sass, and even tried to cure it by using the warmth and comfort of a few choice women in the name of Love.

That too, he questioned. Was he really in love, or was he just desperate to be loved? He liked coming back to his room to a warm and caring person. Someone that welcomed him back. Someone he could curl into bed with and melt away the ice in his heart for a night.

He worried he'd lose them too, and he wondered how many more people he could lose before he found himself as dead as they were. He didn't want to use them as bandaids or supplements until they ran out again.

He was dirty with the blood of the past. Every cut and stab he'd endured had chipped away at his soul. He worked on his Specialization as if it was a step into the right direction; a promotion, a responsibility, a job. He was growing and evolving, right? Not a snot nosed trainee with a bad temper and no goals; he was better than that, right?

He didn't feel evolved. He didn't feel like he'd grown up. He felt... emptier. There was something missing. Guilt ate away at him every time he looked at the Key mark. Fear, as he stared at the hourglass and wondered of it's gravity.
When he looked at Cami, or Maebe, he felt warmth, hope. He felt human.

But that was funny, because he knew well and good that was a lie. He hadn't been human for 3 years.

Day was turning to night, and Otto saw no reason to go home yet. His fingers were in pain from the cold, having accidentally dropped his mitts in a river earlier. He pulled his sweater sleeves out from under his coat in an attempt to cover them up, but he really didn't care if they fell off. His fingers, what could they do anyway? Nothing good. All he was good at was making mistakes that hurt himself.

He hated himself again. He'd gotten better, believing that his decisions were doing him and others good. But that was a delusion; a lie he'd told himself. Twenty years old he was now. He could no longer say he was just too young to really get it. He was an adult now, right? Not a teen. He had to be real now. This life was his fault. He chose to come here, he chose to be a hunter when given the chance. He chose to take on the key, the hour glass. All in the name of finding truths and answers at his own expense. It never did any good for him, or anyone that mattered.
He would always be a tool to be used. No... a pawn. Tools were actually useful. Pawns served to die, and he wasn't even any good at dying.

Tenya's influence on his self destructing mind was weaker and weaker as time wore on. She couldn't be upbeat, or he'd get mad. She remained silent, hoping the solitude would calm him down. But she was beginning to realize that maybe there was no saving him. There was a dead weight on Otto tat dragged him below the surface to drown, and she held no sway to save him. They both knew it, and Otto's guilt for dragging her down with him weighed even heavier.

"If I could set you free, I would in a heart beat.." He finally murmured aloud to her. Conversations between the two were few and far between.

<> She assured him, but was met with an unsettling short and spiteful laugh from Otto.

"Whatever. I'd run if I were you. You'e only with me cause you got suckered into it. You ain't never had the choice." She couldn't tell him he was wrong. She loved him, but she wasn't stupid or blind to the truth of it all. Their relationship had strained lately on them both. The trust and bond they shared was weaker and weaker. Either because of the key, or simply the idea of it.
Otto hated himself, and she knew he did. It didn't matter how much she loved him, or how much others did. No matter the proof. He hated himself.

"I'm gullible. I trust people way too easy when they got something I think I want. I took in that key, thinking I was special because of it. I ask questions or dig for information, and think I'm actually smart and informed for doing it. Really, I'm just an idiot. A kid playing pretend.." It was freezing cold, but he suddenly felt burning hot. He ripped off his hood and tossed off his scarf, letting the chilly air cool off his neck.

"I trusted Sam, and look what she did? I ran away from Death because it clashed with what I thought were my morals... but I still chase after false leads, thinking it's for the good of Deus. Really? I do it cause I'm so ******** self involved. ******** Clarice and her damned dream nonsense... telling me I had to carry on her important work. Only to find out.. she was a ******** user too. Wanted to turn us into immortal golems. And I almost fell for it. Again. I fall for anyone who makes me think I can be more than the dirt I really am."

"If I just exist to be used... then..." Then maybe he ought to stop existing, was left unsaid. Tenya held her pain close inside, trying not to upset Otto's guilt with her own worry.

He sniffed, rubbing away a runny nose, and ignoring the burn in his eyes. He blamed the cold air, rather than his own hurt feelings.

"I'm not needed. I ain't even useful. I'm ******** convenient." He wasted months trying to prove himself, and all he could see in his work was his desperate desire to better. He wanted that feeling, but not the responsibility it came with. He'd been trusted with recruiting Halloween kids into Deus as weapons, and he hated that too. It was important. Needed. Useful. And he threw it away.

"My dad was right all along." He said shaking, curling into himself. "I'm a goddamn waste of time."