Renegade Reborn by J. C. Fiske

gown along with Whip and Grandfield. Even Niffin had left her room and was peeking over the banister.
    “Um, it’s nothing, it’s . . .” Glinda said, when suddenly, Anaka’s hand went over her mouth as she spied Gisbo through the doorway.
    “Rolce, how could you? How could you bring him here?” Anaka said, and with tears in her eyes, she sprinted back up the stairs and slammed the door behind her. Rolce felt himself falling back against the wall beside an unconscious Crass, and slid down, lowering his head between his knees.
    “What would you have me do? I know what he did, I know what pain he’s caused everyone, but, but it wasn’t his fault!” Rolce said.
    “That really him? He looks so, so,” Grandfield started, slowly, shuffling up the steps to join them, followed by Whip, and even Niffin. They all looked down upon Gisbo’s thin, pale, undernourished body that was covered in a host of bone white, callused scars. He had not one, but two black eyes, his lips were chapped and split down the middle, his hair was furled, caked with grime and grew down past his shoulders, and his face had grown a full beard with dried, crusted blood glistening off it.
    “It’s him all right. I’d know that smell of his anywhere, only now it’s dim, covered up with the smell of whore perfume, stale cigarettes, blood, BO, and horribly cheap booze. Seems he’s been sampling all the wrong food groups . . .” Whip said.
    “Whore perfume? How would you know?” Glinda asked.
    “Fine. Broken in women. That better?” Whip asked.
    “No! That’s horrid! Whip!” Glinda started, but Whip ignored her, his face, suddenly melding into one of concern.
    “Ah, Gisbo . . . poor guy’s taken to the drink just like his Granddaddy, and probably hosts of Granddaddy’s before that. This kind of alcohol abuse? It runs in the family. It’s in his blood. At this point, he’d be better off chugging mouthwash for a buzz. ‘Least he’d smell better. Ugh, I gotta get out of this room,” Whip said, as he waved a hand in front of his nose and backed out of the room as surprisingly, Niffin, took his place. Carefully, she knelt down beside Gisbo, and began running her fingers through his hair, picking out the soiled clumps, and brushing his bangs out of his eyes.
    “Niffin, I wouldn’t touch him. I’d . . .” Glinda warned, but Niffin only picked up Gisbo’s hand and held it in her own. Her eyes began to water as she spoke for the first time since the Rupture. It startled them all to hear her soft, kind voice again.
    “You, none of you, have any idea what it’s like in that head of his. I do, and what I saw, almost killed me . . . all of you, all of you should be ashamed of yourselves for doubting him, chaining him up like this. He’s not a dog! He’s Gisbo Falcon! He’s our friend, our family, he’s our Renegade brother! It wasn’t his fault! It wasn’t! He’s . . .” Niffin started, when suddenly, she felt Gisbo’s hand in hers give a gentle squeeze.
    “They’re right, Niffin.” Gisbo said. Everyone’s eyes went wide as Gisbo slowly rose himself to his feet. “I don’t belong here, I . . . can’t belong here, with any of you. Not anymore. Whoever I get close to is now a liability.”
    Gisbo then gently reached out and placed his hand upon Glinda’s Flarian ringed finger. Powering up his essence, he snapped his chains with ease, rubbed his wrists, and walked out the doorway, then stopped, turned around, and looked Rolce, then Niffin.
    “Sorry, but you’re both wrong. You say that I didn’t do this? That I was controlled? That it wasn’t my fault? Tell that to every one of my victims. The Drakeness . . . it doesn’t work that way. It’s not that simple. Honestly, what it is, at its core, is a flight past reason and logic for one’s pure, unbridled, desire. My desire? My Joy? I can’t help it. I’m a fighter by nature. I LIKE to fight. Violence, battles, war? It’s all the same. Where others feel fear, I feel