The pickaxe struck the wall full force with all the power of human muscle and grit, but whatever clang it might have made was lost among the others. The machinery groaning, the fires roaring, and the rock shifting made the whole earth around seem to moan and rage over its destruction at the hands of its own creations. This hardly fazed the workers, who had little time to care for the pains of any other than themselves. Their only thought was set on the pay-check they hoped to clutch in their hands eventually, to put food on the table and pay back the bank, even as they wiped the sweat and blood from their eyes.

Kent wiped his eyes and leaned on the handle of the axe for a moment, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. He muttered a little prayer to himself, and hoped to God that no one saw him-

"-Slacking off on the job?" A voice said behind him, not without a touch of good nature.

He spun around, adrenaline pumping, but just as quickly relaxed. Kent smiled inwardly at the prank. "Hey, Leland… you haven't changed one bit."

Leland just had to laugh. "I wouldn't be so sure. Near-death experiences and two weeks of bed rest change a man."

"Wouldn't know. But… heck, it's great to see you, buddy." Kent pulled Leland into one of those heart-felt manly embraces with a friendly pat on the back (but not too close, heaven forbid).

It held for only a moment, and Leland pushed away. "Didn't miss me too terribly while I was gone?"

Kent rubbed his hands together and attempted to pry the axe out of the wall, all the while shaking his head. "Nope. In fact, the guys and I have been downright envious of you."

"Is that so?" He remarked with a smirk as he grabbed an abandoned pick and slung it over his shoulder, then reached out to steady Kent, who almost flew backwards when the pick came out of the wall.

"Yep," Kent replied, clutching his back. "So tell me, we just have to know: What's it like to actually sleep?"

Leland made a face as if he were tossing about for an answer in his head. "Pretty nice, actually."

"Heh. I should like to get one of these… 'terminal illnesses'."

"Wouldn't we all."

There was a tension between the two as they set to work, one momentarily forgetting the other's company. Kent found it hard to take.

"So… I saw your son yesterday."

Leland stopped dead with the pick hanging off his fingertips in front of him. His eyes seemed unnaturally dull. "Don't call him that."

"What? Your son?"

"Yes. Don't. He is not… my son." He said in a monotone.

Kent stared at him in shock. "Why do you say that? After what I saw, I'd certainly beg to differ."

Leland turned his gaze away and began to hack at the wall again, striking rock again and again and watching it crumble away. "Because I don't deserve to be called his father."

He could scarcely think of a response. He just stood watching Leland scratch at the wall. "You could try. He's never given up on you."

"Well, it's kind of late now."

Kent nodded, face drawn. "I get it. So you've given up on us all."

Leland's eyes flashed, but he couldn't bring himself to say a single word before they were interrupted.

"'Leland Hawkins'?" A voice grunted from behind. Leland turned to come face-to-face with a rather scrupulous looking alien character, who was none too pleased to be running such errands. Leland shot the creature a skeptical look.

"Yes?"

"Sir." The alien corrected, doubly displeased now. "I should like a short word with you, Mr. Hawkins. Bring whatever you have with you, if you'd please."

"Oh… sir, yes, sir." He added quickly. The almost rock-like alien turned and began to amble away, obviously assuming the human would follow. Leland swept up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, casting Kent one last glance before following. The look he was left with made his stomach curl:

Kent was watching him leave like one would farewell a man headed for the gallows.

The little office was quite disarrayed and covered in dust, cold and filth. The crude walls had no covering for their naked sides and there wasn't a dab of natural light, only a lantern set on a broad desk amidst piles of papers and folders. Leland watched the stout alien putter around the room rummaging through the files and thought bitterly to himself. If ever there was a hell, then I'm in it.

He was startled when the alien suddenly snapped up, clutching a file and glaring darkly at Leland, as if he had heard Leland's silent blasphemies. The man-who-was-not-Father tried not to look too guilty.

"Here we are, then," The alien grumbled as he brought the file down on the desk with a slap and flipped it open. "Now, Mr. Hawkins, you are aware you have been on sick leave for two weeks?"

"Of course, sir." Leland responded all too quickly.

"Don't get smart," He snapped, then reverted back to his fastidious tone. "Now, in the meantime, you have been working on the assignments we've sent you, is that correct?"

"Sir, yes, to the best of my ability. I've been very ill."

"Indeed," The alien grunted. "And I trust these have been completed?"

"They should be finished soon, sir."

"That is well. I understand you are currently entitled to the ownership of a property you've renovated into an inn, am I not mistaken?"

"No, that is perfectly correct, sir." Leland shifted a bit, wondering as to the sudden change in interest and its relevance.

"And how profitable would you say it has been for you?"

"Profitable enough, sir."

"Enough to sustain during your sick leave?"

"Again, just enough, sir." Perspiration was beading on Leland's brow.

"I see. Tell me, do you have any family you are currently supporting?"

His pulse quickened a bit. "My wife and young son, sir."

The alien's look was hardly sensitive. "And they are sustained by the inn profit as well?"

"Sir, yes, sir, for the most part."

The alien nodded and began to scribble on the files. Heartbeat drumming in his ears, Leland couldn't take it anymore. "Sir, may I ask what this is all about?"

He lifted his eyes and set his hands on the file. "I am releasing you, Mr. Hawkins. You are to return your complete assignments to me as soon as possible and you need not return."

Leland blinked at him in shock. "I… I'm what?"

"Released. Expunged. Fired. Need I continue?"

This took some coursing through his mind to really grasp. "I… you can't… why?"

"Well, if you want it sugar-coated, Mr. Hawkins, you are not needed here anymore. Your level is to be closed off by noon tomorrow, and we honestly do not have a place for you. Besides, your family seems as if it would get along just fine."

"But sir… Christmas is in a couple days… what am I supposed to do?"

"That is your problem, Mr. Hawkins. Not mine."

Leland stared down at the floor, numb. "Sir… what about my wages?"

"Wages? For what, pray tell? You haven't been here in a fortnight."

"Well actually, Jim… my son… came here yesterday and filled my shift. I don't want it to go to waste… it's very important to him."

The alien paused, grimacing at some internal conflict. "Very well," He mumbled after a moment. He pulled open a drawer, counted some coins into a little pouch, and flung it at Leland, who caught it against his chest. "The rest you will receive once the assignments are returned."

"Thank you, sir."

"Good day, Mr. Hawkins."

"Good morning, Jim!"

Jim slipped out of his thoughts to be confronted with the ever-jovial face of his alien companion, looking especially strapping in a silver-buttoned blue coat and immaculately set hair. The only flaw lay in the wiffs of sawdust here and there on the pockets and folds of the coat. "'Morning, Poquito," he muttered.

It was quite possible Poquito had forgotten all about the previous day's events (it seemed his personality didn't allow for such things to stay on the mind), and probably would not have remembered if it were not for the bruise coming in on Jim's cheek, where he had been sideswiped by a cart. Like some furry impression of Jim's mother, Poquito's paws flew to his mouth when he set eyes on it. "Jimmy! What happened? Are you okay? Ohhh… did your plan work?"

"I'm alright. Nothing happened. Nothing at all." Jim sat down on the edge of the sandbox, rubbing his cheek. Poquito sat next to him, looking sincere and somewhat frightened. "Nothing's changed… Mum's even more worried 'bout me, and Dad just hates me more. I've just messed everything up."

"I wish I could have been with you, Jimmy," Poquito sighed. "I hate to say it, but it is not as if my papá did not warn you."

"I know… Poquito, I'm so confused," Jim bemoaned. He toed the ground in front of him as he watched the other kids run about the playground, every one smiling. "I've tried everything, and I just can't fix it. And now that I've been to the mines…" He looked at Poquito, brow furrowed and pupils wide. "Poquito, I can't go back. I never want to go through that again. I can't. I won't."

The Canian frowned. "I am sorry I am not of much help, Jimmy, but perhaps you don't have to. You know you are always welcome at the shop of my papá."

"Thanks… you just can't imagine what it was like. It was dark, and cold, and cramped, and-"

"-Perfect for a scab like you."

The two looked up to Samson's sinister face, pudgy hands on his hips, flanked by Thomas and Bleacher.

Jim's mouth drew to a line. "What do you want, Samson?"

"Oh, I couldn't help overhearing," Samson drawled with a look of mock innocence, eyes sparkling with suppressed malice. "So is that why you were gone yesterday? Taking up the trade and following in daddy's footsteps? How touching." Thomas chuckled; Bleacher just blew air through his nose slits and continued to look grumpy.

Jim felt his face burn. "Leave me alone, you guys."

Samson frowned. "You can't tell me what to do," he taunted. "Why can't you just take a hint, Hawkins? You just belong at the mines, along with your wash-up of an old man. I'm surprised you've lasted this long."

Jim grit his teeth. "Shut up about my dad."

Samson blinked. "What'd you say?"

"I said," Jim leapt to his feet, so they were looking eye-to-eye. "Shut up about my dad. Just shut up." Jim spat, and gave Samson a violent shove against the shoulders, blood boiling.

Samson stumbled backwards a step, eyes widening in a combination of fear, shock, and manic glee. The playground activity was slowing as the tension began to spread, eyes turning on them. The two were locked in leers of fire, and Samson was laughing. "Hoe! So there is something in there, eh?" Samson tapped Jim back, and Jim hesitated for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching. Samson shook his head and made to turn his back. "But no matter what, Hawkins, you'll always be nothing but a worthless cur with no future."

Jim swung his fist up and collided with the side of Samson's face, sending Samson tumbling to the ground with Jim on top. Before he could even make sense of what he was doing he was swinging at the surprised boy with all he could muster, fueled by rage. The voices of the children shouting as they ran over to get a better look and Poquito's protests seemed to be in another dimension.

Samson wasn't surprised for long, and he was at least twice Jim's size, disregarding height. The heavier boy easily threw Jim off and pinned him to the ground, pummeling the boy's already bruised face with his fat fists while Jim could only claw and hick back where he could. The children chanted in the background.

Things might have been grim if Samson hadn't been torn off Jim at the last moment, both still waving blindly at each other. Samson's lip was split, and blood was streaming from Jim's nose. Samson struggled against the strong arms that held him back, and Jim looked up to see Leland's grim face. His heart sank.

By this time the schoolteacher had come running out, babbling as she attempted to help Jim up. "Mr. Hawkins, what is the meaning of this?!" She was wailing to Jim.

"I didn't do nothing, miss!" Samson shouted, hanging off Leland's grip. "Hawkins just flung himself at me, honest!"

"And what, your first just found its way to his face?" Leland snarled.

"He's lying! You should have heard what he said!" Jim shouted back, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"Now boys, enough of this! Honestly, I am ashamed of you both. Never would I have expected something like this from you, James," The teacher snapped. Both boys glared at each other; Jim was the first to look away. "I can't imagine what would have happened if James' father hadn't shown up."

Samson seemed to grow very pale as he realized who it was holding him back, and he scrambled out of Leland's grip quick as he could, shuffling a little ways away like a puppy with its tail between its legs. Jim sneered at the sight. The spectators were beginning to disperse, as it was sure the action was over. Thomas and Bleacher were nowhere to be found.

The schoolteacher sighed, then glanced at Samson. "I am going to have to talk to your father about this, Samson. And regardless of whoever started this… this nonsense… I want you both to apologize."

"Sorry." They both muttered, not looking each other in the eye this time.

"Mr. Hawkins, may I have a word with you?" She said to Leland after she was certain she was satisfied with their apology.

"Of course," He looked at Jim, whose face was red from both the fight and his own chagrin. "Stay put, Jim, I'll be right back."

"Yessir." Jim mumbled before the two grown-ups walked away. Samson and Jim were left standing there alone; except for Poquito, who had refused to abandon Jim and was hovering not far away. A pause ensued. Suddenly Samson grinned.

"Great going, Hawkins. I never knew you had it in you."

Jim met his eyes, but just sniffed and looked away. "I'm not a coward. And my dad is not a… a wash-up."

Samson nodded and folded his arms. "Alright, okay. You know… if you ever need someone to help you with that jab of yours… well, you're welcome to join us."

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "You serious? I thought you hated me."

"Well… maybe I did, but that was before you almost socked me out. I think you could really be great, just like one of us. Whaddya say, Hawkins? You in?" He held out his hand.

Jim stared at Samson's outstretched hand, then shook his head. "No thanks, Samson. I'm not like you."

Samson just smirked. "Not yet."