It's not long after M.K.'s plea to the network about Riku's whereabouts that he returns to Beacon, without introduction or excuse. Riku just leaves wherever he'd holed himself up, most of his bruises faded except for the worst ones, and those are just discolored crescents lurking under his skin, around the inner edges of his eye sockets. He goes about his business like nothing ever changed, like he doesn't fully grasp or appreciate that it's been about three weeks since the hallucinations sent him chasing after ghosts.

He's misplaced a few things, his tablet for one, but it's the other thing he's more keen to find, a small charm given to him by a friend Sora had to bury. The search carries him far and wide through every inch of Beacon and he stops only rarely. He finds a jacket in the general store that's a little too big on him, but at least it gives him satisfactory range of movement for his arms.

Riku discovers what's already been found, later on, a scrapyard and a shop of bikes, and it isn't long before he gets himself more than a little greasy getting one of them in more than merely working order. These parts aren't Gummi blocks, which makes them less mutable and adaptable by far, but a lot of the basic principles are the same. With no actual place to call home, he spends some time here reading the maintenance manual.

Since Riku's missing his tablet, he doesn't check the network, nor does he make any effort to announce his return (after all, it doesn't feel to him like he's been gone long at all, thanks perpetual darkness and the erosion of the perception of time). It's very likely some people's first encounter might take place whenever he's passing through Bonfire square or stopping at the Invincible to get something to eat.

There's a few reasons Riku doesn't eat at the feast and none of them have anything to do with the spirits who put it together. It's just a very particular mood has struck and that meant he wasn't really interested in the emotional investment involved in participating in a party. Neither was he interested in divesting himself of all social interaction, so he chose to find a place to sit and think some distance from the festivities, against the same fence that his electric bike is parked beside, a sheathed broadsword leaning against its seat.

It's worth noting that Riku didn't used to go around visibly armed, save for those rare moments when he might have been seen by particular people with his keyblade.

Which, incidentally, means that when the conversation abruptly dies down and instead turns into the occasional slump of a body falling from a chair or into the tables, the crash of a dropped glass or plate, Riku looks around.

And when that silence gives way to the din erupting from the surrounding forest, Riku surges to his feet and sprints back towards where the feast had been taking place. At the sight of all those prone and collapsed bodies, Riku at once wonders if the food wasn't poisoned or drugged. He reaches for the shoulder of the nearest sleeper and shakes them, calling out to no avail; nothing seems to reach them.

Backing away, Riku starts to retreat towards the bike - and the broadsword he left with it - taking note of who hasn't collapsed. The air reeks, he can't read exactly what this darkness entails, but he knows it's strong and that it implies danger. The unconscious are vulnerable like this. They have to do something.

"Grab someone and get to safety!" he calls, finally pulling the broadsword from its sheath and hefting it, blade pointing outward, parallel to his shoulder, his opposite outstretched arm. The weapon's considerable weight besides, Riku appears to hold it steady in the other.

"Anyone who can - cover them!"

There's grease on his cheek where he swiped sweat off with his knuckles, he's dirty to his elbows, too, his v-neck shirt is smudged with oil. In a corner with his broadsword and his discarded jacket, a torch burns. Riku grunts as he wrests the part where Rosalind instructs.

Looking at it now, it just seems like an overturned table with all its legs lopped off and various machinery cobbled together against its underside. Some of it he already recognizes as pieces he had helped Rosalind assemble in her laboratory over a month ago. His faith in her abilities... perhaps Riku could call it faith when he doesn't have a ton of evidence to go by, as far as anti-gravity inventions go.

But they're short on options, and there's no way Riku can carry a bunch of unconscious people to safety with miles to go and a forest thick with angry, green-eyed spirits. It's hard to concentrate, when every stray sound, every distant howl or the snap of a branch makes tension go taut through every line in him, every fiber ready to fight on a moment's notice.

"What's next?"

The transport was as ready as it could be under the circumstances. Riku insisted on using it first - a trial run, he could have said, but Rosalind probably knew his intentions were more selfish. He had a sizable friend too heavy to carry the distance to the armory, and a few others to secure besides. It made him too uncomfortable to have them all piled up in one place, even if the Invincible had so many defenders.

He didn't doubt their resolve. What he fears is a disaster that robs from them everyone in one sweep of the board, everything in the wake of the fateful Lighthouse mission all over again, a long list of the fallen or lost, their lanterns or their corpses never found. He believes in their abilities and drive to survive, but Riku didn't want all their eggs in a single basket.

Daylight was loaded first, face-down, his winglets and other jagged protrusions protected by his hooded cover over one, his new jacket over another, a blanket. The others - Wanda, who had once cooked for them, when it was him and Dawn and Sora and Kairi all together, the last time he could see all of their faces without turning his head. Coraline, who someone, meaning well, had erroneously placed a sheet over her face, thinking her dead when he could smell the cosmic darkness radiating its own sign of life.

He tucked them into the cradle of Day's arms.

Perhaps he would have time later to come back for others. Once he's secured them to the transport, he climbs onto the bike it's connected to, and looks back over his shoulder, "It'll be dangerous. You still in?"

Those attempting to visit or find shelter at the Armory may be disappointed if they find Riku isn't there, because he's removed any torches from the area immediately surrounding it and moved them inside. In addition, he barred the door from the inside. Anyone reckless enough to try busting down the door to charge in risks skewering themselves on the barricades he build up just within, bristling with spears and polearms and swords, whatever he could pull from the walls.

Further inside, even the inner door leading down to the target range has been similarly fortified and barricaded. And then, within an enclosed space where the cement floor was made marginally less unkind by blankets, are those dreamers Riku tried to hide away. What supplies are here are meager - a rudimentary first aid kit, a roll of gauze, some disinfected rags, a few canteens and a large thermos full of water, some canned food. Enough for a few people to make it through a very unpleasant week if they were extremely disciplined and willing to tolerate a grumbling stomach.

Riku is hoping they won't need to.

Those who happen to visit while he's in may have as hard a time convincing him to let them inside. It's hard to trust your senses, your memories when there are spirits out there willing to turn them against you. And should there be an attack on the armory itself? They'll find a tenacious opponent unwilling to give ground who could nevertheless use some help.