A sudden sense of resignation struck Erik Torreon like a hammer. He couldn't go on. He was all out of fight. "You win," he said in a voice he hardly recognized as his own.

Devlin continued speaking as though he hadn't heard, stabbing the fire with a piece of rebar like he was running an enemy through with a sword. "Furthermore," he said brandishing his finger, "Your position requires a more fixed sense of human nature than I will allow. I won't deny that man is a social animal, but until plentitude replaces scarcity in our current "war of all against all," any attempts to construct new social institutions will pepetually fail. They necessarily must fail, because we have neither a common deity nor divinely appointed sovereign under which rule..."

Erik had stopped listening. In fact, he was regretting that Devlin had made him a prisoner when he could have done the merciful thing and just killed him. Yesterday morning Erik had been running from a pack of violent scavengers and the chase led him up a fire escape and through the broken window, practically diving into the filthy little man's shins. Breathless, Erik explained the situation and begged for his life staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The man quickly yanked off Erik's backpack and confiscated his machete and, still at gunpoint, instructed him to march up a flight a stairs. "But take a big jump and swing up from that post," he said nodding his head. "Otherwise you'll be taking the short route to the basement. Trust me, you won't like that."

He had looked where directed and gasped in awe at the building's interior. Columns of midday sunlight shone through gaping holes in the domed ceiling illuminated the scene. Enormous chunks of flooring had collapsed and fallen all the way to the basement, leaving a patchwork of platforms remaining, some seemingly in mid-air. Bookshelves acted as bridges between levels; planks had been laid over the void to connect some islands. Ropes and wires dangled from places unseen. Amy misstep led to a fifty foot free fall into the blackness of the lower level.

Erik's knees trembled but he did as he was told, using his momentum from the swing to fling himself safely onto the steps. The grizzled older man tucked the shotgun beneath his arm and followed him, landing with a groan. "I swear that'll be the death of me someday. Now up you go," he ordered. At the top of the stairs Erik was surprised to find a quite cozy room, complete with two mattresses stacked on top of each other, a bookshelf stocked with food and an assortment of guns, and two more bookshelves full of–-what else?--books. Erik felt the shotgun in his back, nudging him forward.

"Talk in low voices," the man said and motioned for Erik to sit on an overturned crate. They could hear a commotion outside, and that faint shrill laughter. "We're perfectly safe up here. Or as safe as it gets. There's nowhere to stand in front of those stairs. I spread a big tarp out, covered it in dust, debris, and other crap, and anchor each corner with a bit of string. It can't hold any weight at all. One step and—" he whistled low and made a plunging motion, followed by a wicked laugh. Erik swallowed.

"Even if someone gets onto the stairs, I'll hear them. See the back of that bookcase? That's a solid steel plate, dragged up here myself. I can stand back here and blast the shit out of anyone trying to come up. Do not attack an enemy that has the high ground. That's Sun Tzu. But that probably means balls to you, huh kid?" Erik shook his head.

"My name's Devlin," he said with a sneer. "Welcome to my home. I won't lie: it's a deathtrap so you'd best stay put. Now it's your turn. Who are you and where'd you come from?"

So Erik reluctantly spoke. He told him about how he'd come to the city in the springtime and how hard he'd been finding it lately, scrounging and trying to avoid other people. He stopped speaking as Devlin hoisted the backpack onto his lap. The man readjusted the shotgun on his knee, pointing it Erik's chest. One-handed, he loosened the drawstring and dipped in his hand. He pulled out a handful of phials and grunted.

"What's this? Don't lie."

Erik's mind raced but Devlin wasn't impressed by hesitation. He finger slipped to the shotgun trigger.

"It's a drug," he blurted. "A very powerful drug. Makes you think you're in a better place than you actually are."

Devlin nodded. For some reason he didn't seem surprised. "You addicted?"

Erik paused, then remembered that he was still very much in danger. "I don't think so. I'm not taking it anymore. It makes you... careless."

When Devlin asked where he had gotten so much, he had a lie ready. "A dead guy had it. I found him up near the Tombstone."

"Tombstone, huh?" Devlin said like he didn't believe it. He held a phial between his thumb and forefinger and jostled the dose of jack inside. "Did you know that place used to be a university?" Erik shook his head.

Devlin carefully dumped the backpack's contents onto the bed, careful that none of the phials spilled onto the floor. He set aside Erik's unmarked can of food and picked up the reader. He waved it at Erik, who felt tears welling in his eyes.

"It's a Titan Reader," Erik said before the man could ask, his voice sticking. "A gift from my father. It's a—"

"I know what it is," Devlin said, thumbing the on switch. The harshness melted from his face as the splash screen flared to life. "I know exactly what this is."

Erik watched for minutes and Devlin scrolled through the menus, pecking his way in and out of different books. It occurred to Erik, too late of course, that had he could have lunged for the gun while Devlin was distracted. But the man recognized this himself and straightened up, gripping the weapon.

"Now for the question that may just save your life young man," he said in a disturbingly soft voice.

Erik swallowed.

Devlin leaned forward and flashed his enormous yellow teeth. "What all have you read?"

It was the start of a very long conversation.