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My vision... is blurry... I feel... faint... All I can think about is, What happened to me? I remember barbed wire... a flash of light... and then... darkness. And then I got here somehow... but nothing seems to be the same. Victor isn't there, and... I feel... empty. Like déjà vu. The ruins-- my home-- are nowhere to be seen. I was back in

my old house. But why?
I look around. What’s here that I would remember? I peek into the closet. Nothing. I look at the front of my house. Surprisingly: nothing. That’s when I realize: nothing is here what was here when I left. Did I travel back in time? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Is this another dream? I don’t think I would dream this up, so probably not. I have no idea why I’m here.

Then, the wall breaks down -- loudly. An RX-8 drone comes through, and, noticing me, begins directing red lasers at my surroundings. I yell, then I jerk from my sleep. So it had been a dream, I realize. I take a look at my surroundings. I’m in a sleeping bag at the warehouse. It’s night outside, but I can see a bearded figure cloaked in white, illuminated by lamplight. Oh, right, I remember. I had gone to see the

warehouse-- to check on #0 and #22.
But then, I had seen something-- something dangerous-- and fled. I suddenly feel a large pain in my head and bend over in pain. The man, concerned, braces my fall. “It’s alright,” I feel him say reassuringly. He helps me limp over to a table in the far corner. He then proceeds to lay me down and attend to my wound, small though it may be.

“I’m a doctor,” he states matter-of-factly.
“What?” I’m still in shock. I hadn’t realized how much pain I was in until I had sat up.
“I’m Walker #83. I’m a doctor.”
“Oh.” I only comprehend what he says after a few seconds. I look around. “Where’s…” I trail off.
“You had a giant duck following you. It looked like a breed I once saw, a geldseeker if I remember correctly.”
“But where is--” I repeat, before getting

cut off reassuringly.
“He’s just over there.” He lifts an old, careworn finger towards the adjacent corner. There, sleeping with his head on his feathery body, is Victor. He looks surprisingly peaceful, illuminated by moonlight streaming through a large set of stained-glass windows. I turn my head back to the man. His eyes, just like his finger, are old and careworn, and his face is covered by a white mask. “He was

making quite a fuss over you when I found you. And to be fair, you had some pretty significant head trauma. It’s a good thing I found you when I did.”
“OK, but… Where was I? Did I make it to the warehouse?”
The man is quiet for a moment as he focuses on the wound. “The warehouse?” he repeats, albeit a little absentmindedly. “This is the warehouse.”
I then attempt to sit up and take a look around. The man, however,

stops me. Then, a chuckle. “Don’t move just yet. I’m not done treating you.” He wraps a linen bandage around the top of my head: once, twice, three times, then tie. “Alright, now rest here for a few minutes, and then you can look around. I’m going to check on something.”
As I lay there, I try to think through what exactly happened before I got knocked out. I was running up some stairs, then I and then I must have hit

my head on a wall, because the next thing I knew, I was here. Oh well, I think, it’s probably not a big deal. If #83 found me, I must have been close to the warehouse. I sit for a few minutes and hear Victor stir in his sleep a little.
Glancing at my watch, I decide to get up in the dark. My head throbs a little, but it doesn’t hurt as badly now. I walk towards Victor’s sleeping form. He’s still sleeping, but I can

see now that I’m closer that his sleep is a little unrestful. I look at the windows, and now that I’m facing them head-on, I can see that they’re not quite stained-glass windows, more like poor reflections of what used to be something like stained-glass windows. Despite their misleading appearance, they are mysterious-looking and seem to beg for the world to remember them. I politely refuse their entrancement as I

turn around to see there are other Walkers here, who appear to be sleeping, albeit somewhat uncomfortably given their predicament. There is some air conditioning here, but the only things that adorn the room are a few dozen occupied sleeping bags, a few lanterns, some opened crates, and a wall made almost entirely of computers. I count them quickly in my head: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. #83 seems to