Golden Glade in a house that's not a home

It was fair to assume they had both, metaphorically, dropped the ball in one way or another to end up in the predicament they found themselves in. While the outcome of their beginnings was likely same--there was no telling the depths of depravity their stories went through to end up, well, here. Collision's was a story of hope. Dreams crucified by misplaced trust. At the end of the day he had gone from the betrayed to the betrayer and was the last to forgive himself.

Pike was right. It was too bad. Collision shrugged his shoulders and tossed the thought away. It didn't matter any longer though. Did it?

  "I can't imagine you would be either, but here sit two grown men discussing the woes of their own tragedies, no?" Perhaps Pike hadn't quite indulged to the depths Collision had already ventured, but he still showed some form of remorse--perhaps apprehension at something so simple as a surname. There was something to repel a more caring individual. Collision's knowledge of The Wilds was much more limited than others--at least he assumed.

  

The question was one Collision had arrived at plenty of times. He had also tucked tail and run from it like a scorned child, "Myself," The answer was quick. Only so because he knew the answer without any thought. The next laugh was awkward. As though he had overstepped. Regardless, the door had opened, "I suppose I'm a walking contradiction. To be in the open arms of a pack would be, honestly, endearing, but I'm in search of a cause-to serve. And that cause must, also, serve me," And it was rarely a two-way-road. He didn't want to owe his everything to someone that owed him nothing, and yet he wanted something.