From the window of the Greyhound, the light of the full moon cast fleeting shadows on the fields and farms that dotted the passing landscape. The shadows were elusive, dodging and hiding from illumination. Garrett now felt like a living shadow, as he looked out into the lonesome desolate terrain. In the light of day, life seemed to drift down over the land like fresh linen. The night held the land's true face, shifting and changing beneath the feet of its dwellers and denizens.

He had left the Sanctuary in the middle of the night. No one was monitoring him, so there was no need to overlook or miss him. The freedom of the wicked. Garrett had not felt as if it was his home. It seemed less out of place than the Mansion, but there was still a distinct quality missing. Nights spent walking the streets, mingling with shadow and death, had not brought any closure to the matter. The chrysalis was still forming inside his new mind, moving and squirming inside his brain as it became.

The initial dawn to the enlightenment came in the form of an older gentleman. A tourist, complete with maps and I LOVE NY shirt. This type was especially disgusting to Garrett, its eyes blinking rarely as it would gawk and snap pictures of every banality and trivial fancy. This one approached him , the marked look of cautionary observance skittering over his countenance like spiders free from the sac. "Hey buddy, you know where Rockefeller Center is?" Garrett stepped to the side and craned his neck at the man's waiting map, open like a menu for the right choice to be selected.

" Hmm.., yes. I believe it is in this general area." Garrett's index finger vaguely floated over an area in the map as his eyes scanned the conveniently empty street. His hand found the man's shoulder and in a blink, the man was a crumpled mess at his feet, twitching spasmodically. Garrett crouched down to observe the man, as a child might look down at an insect whose wings he had just pulled off. Expert and practiced hands fleeced the aged bag of nerves. Money pocketed and jewelry contained, he stood and looked through the business cards and photos inside the man's wallet.

This man hailed from Elysium, an idyllic farm community in upstate New York, so named for the heavenly realm of lore. The light of becoming began to seep from the newly forming organism, cracks in his mind resembling the cracks of a burgeoning egg. Garrett thought more of the hamlet in question as he entered a local pawn shop to sell the jewelry. The fence seemed to eyeball him for a moment, until Garrett's own eyes settled back upon him. A shiver and money exchanged hands.

Now here he found himself, the bus slowing as it pulled up to Sandy's Diner, an out of the way greasy spoon which doubled as the drop off for Elysium. The driver informed him as he departed that there wouldn't be another bus for a few days and not much else occurred out in this part of the world. "That's just what I am looking for." He stepped off the bus with his small backpack and watched the bus leave, its red brake lights dwindling off into the darkness.

The light of the morning sun made the frost on the roof of the diner hiss in defiance. Some of the regulars were in the parking lot, sitting in their cars. Each man or woman stared in a sort of slack jawed awe at the small CLOSED sign hanging on the door at Sandy's. Twenty years of early morning work commutes always found Sandy or her husband Jack greeting the locals with coffee, warm apple pie and good company. Even when an emergency came up, someone was always there, keeping the light on for travelers. The sign hung in defiance.

Garrett walked among grazing cattle, inhaling the fresh scent of the country. The subtle bouquet of aromas coming from the flowers and fields served as an excellent side dish to the warm apple pie in his tummy. A sardonic smirk wriggled across his face as he appreciated the homey flavors. The silence was perfection, save for the occasional mooing and the vague sound of sirens. The sun was on his face and it felt good. As fresh grass crumpled underfoot, his thoughts traveled over the faces of those he knew. He wondered how Maya was doing, as she remained a beacon, a lonely lighthouse in a dense and unsure fog. His feelings had changed for her, as he felt that she was best for the old version. The cuddly, touchy feely guy with a penchant for Eastern musings. The man who walked these fields now among the cattle was a shadow of the former. Or perhaps the former was the shadow? Four legged or two legged, cattle was cattle.

The rolling pastures began their ascent into the foothills nearby. Garrett hiked up the ascent for a while until he could get a good lay of the land. The small town lay before him, its little ants already buzzing about. Garrett crossed his arms and surveyed the grid of Elysium. All good flocks needed a shepherd. His eyes found a strong shaft of oak near by, its bark stripped and the smooth shine of hands called to him. Every good shepherd needed a crook. His feet crunched against the frosty grass as he descended down into the valley.

The locals tended to stare. This was true the world over. Admittedly, the presence of a man in black, devoid of all hair, walking the Elysian streets might cause some looks. These people seemed to be especially rude, though. It was common for humans to fear his kind. If only they could accept the stark reality and surrender to their masters. All in good time. This, after all, was an experiment, to see just how far down the rabbit hole Garrett was.

Any scientist would heartily approve of the subjects' behavior. Two men, dressed in the rural flannel that draped many of the denizens of Elysium, were eager to approach Garrett and begin the experiment. They moved up on him quickly, their portly bodies forming a wall of fat to block him from further progress. Garrett found the situation amusing, smiling as he eagerly entered the alley he was being pushed into. He was thrown against the wall, the two making a sort of pig chuckle.

" What kind of a freak are you supposed to be?" The older of the two seemed to be the one who talked. The other was either muscle or window dressing. It was irrelevant to Garrett as to whom was under the false belief that they were in charge of the situation. It was a valid question, though. He supposed that there were many flavors in the bouquet of mutation. One day these two might even experience such bliss. They seemed to be social mutants already." Hmm, I suppose I am the kind of freak that you don't want to run into."

The men looked at each other. Quizzically, at first, as the answer was too complex for their monkey brains to understand. Pleasure crossed their visages next, as they were at least properly motivated to receive the intended threat. They approached him, vigorous anger and primal instincts combined. Moments later, a car stopped near the alley. The motorist inside merely slowed and waited a moment. As Garrett watched from the shadows, it appeared the driver believed he saw two dead drunks in the alley. They were half right.