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A Boy And His Duck

First and foremost, who's excited to read this?

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White KB

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As requested, I have made a thread for my book, since putting it all in profile posts is kind of annoying.

In case you're wondering, it's about a boy and his duck and it's set in the World of Walker universe. That's [basically] it.

 
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ALIUS PROPHETIA
From a Red pursuer, a man shall run
A game they shall play and have some fun
'Cros't Villages Fowl and Paradise Lost
Hammers he'll use and waters he'll cross
To find his belovéd, ten feet tall
How shall he overcome his wall?
Finding he broke all the rules that he'd made
What will he do to attain his escape?
The answers are hidden, the lies not yet told
Mowers not yet ridden, and ducks not yet sold
Ordinary people, in the dark they will grope
But this sad tale gives a pixel of hope
To find all the answers, they must work together
Or none will be left, not even a feather.
 
Also available at bit.ly/598Story

“I would change my profile pic, but there's a law somewhere saying that I have to wait 3 1/2 years to change my profile pic every time I want to, or else I can't ever have a dog again, and also can't open windows or operate lawnmowers or use hammers.”

These thoughts were the kind I thought before the prison camp. And even earlier, before Red Nexus broke into my house. But it all started with a simple action. And that -- was exactly what you’d never think: an inconsequential action that changed my life. I changed my profile picture on a forum I frequented. I posted this message on the thread Cubing Ducks in said forum on Sep 9, 2021:

“The second conversion shall take place. I will live life on the lam to support the duck cause by changing my pfp.
My duck’s name is Victor, representing the duck cause’s inevitable victory.
The ducks will win.”

Little did I know how my life would change because of my seemingly inconsequential action…

ALIUS PROPHETIA
From a Red pursuer, a man shall run
A game they shall play and have some fun
'Cros't Villages Fowl and Paradise Lost
Hammers he'll use and waters he'll cross
To find his belovéd, ten feet tall
How shall he overcome his wall?
Finding he broke all the rules that he'd made
What will he do to attain his escape?
The answers are hidden, the lies not yet told
Mowers not yet ridden, and ducks not yet sold
Ordinary people, in the dark they will grope
But this sad tale gives a pixel of hope
To find all the answers, they must work together
Or none will be left, not even a feather.

The prophecy hath foretold this story, and much more. Read this true, it be not lore.
Read about what happened before…
The change.








The second conversion took place on Sep 9, 2021, furthering the duck cause.
I began to write music on Sep 14, 2021, which soon became my inspiration and my research. Then this happened:

“Y'know how I said there was a law somewhere saying that changing my profile pic prematurely was illegal?
Well, the authorities have almost caught up to me. I'll have to pack up my things and live life on the lam for the duck cause.
Goodbye, 3141 Rubik's Cube Ave., Somewhere on E_rth. I'll miss you.

Now, just to clarify, I'll still be able to post on the forums, but I'll be on the run from the Red Nexus organization until I reach the Last Safe Place (the Hotel Denouement).

‘They stole my computer, and they stole my home, but they won't steal my research, and they won't steal my hope…’”
-#83398

This is based on a post from the Cubing Ducks thread that I made, and later a [now archaic] signature, wherein, before I changed my profile pic to a duck, I asserted that it was written somewhere that it was illegal for me to change my profile pic more frequently than every 3 1/2 years, or I couldn't use things like lawnmowers, hammers, or windows. Eventually, I made the erroneous decision of changing my profile picture to an iconic representation of the famous bird, named Victor. Also, an important fact to note is that my duck is 10’2”. He’s a rare species of duck known as the geldseeker. His species was originally found by J. Roberts, the author of Jack and the Beanstalk, in 1733. Jack, as we shall call him, was actually part of the original story, and claims to have seen a "goose that laid golden eggs". Unfortunately, he got it wrong. In fact, there had been a DUCK that laid golden eggs at the top of the beanstalk, NOT a goose. And actually, it didn't even lay eggs. All it did was look for gold particles in the air and fuse them into an egg shape, hence the name geldseeker.
If you find that to be too much, it does come up later.

After a week and a half, nothing happened.

Little did I know that Red Nexus knew the whole time.

And little did I know that the punishment would be a lot worse.

When I was least expecting it, they made their advance. They had the audacity --and the professionality-- to break into my house and steal my computer--the only thing that went missing was my laptop, and everything else was exactly the same, except an RX-8 drone painting on the back of my closet door. Below, in 9 point font, was "walkers disjoin"

At that point, I knew I had to run. And run I did--tripping over my laptop on the way out. They had returned it. Like with my house, everything was precisely intact--my channel backup, my extensive music playlists, my progress on Layer by Layer podcast (ep.31)... except my profile pic and my account banner on the forum I frequented. The backups were intact, but the posted versions were glitched. I made this journal entry:

-
Sep 19, 2021
They got my computer and somehow manag3d to c0rrupt my syst3m.
Fortunately, I got my computer back.
Unfortunately, now my profile pics are all gl1tchy.
-

I kept running, ending up in nearby Litany. I remember reading somewhere that this was the country in which a series involving the son of the official fire marshall odiously lusts after the finances of three children. After much searching, I eventually found a very faded drawing depicting a map to the Last Safe Place.

Beginning to head there, I came upon Lousy Lane. Lousy Lane, as you may know, is located near the home of a famous, but deceased, herpetologist. It is also near a horseradish factory, so the air reeks of a wasabi-like odor. I ran, holding my nose as I looked back at every turn in the road.

Eventually, I made it to Lake Lachrymose. Unfortunately, the lake is full of indigenous leeches. Fortunately, I was staying in an inn approximately one mile away, and since it was tourist season, there were plenty of nice people to talk to.

That night’s journal entry:
-
I have stopped for the night. Tonight, I'm sleeping by Lachrymose Lake (and being careful of the Lachrymose leeches). Good thing is, I'm about a mile away from the lake at a nearby inn since it's tourism season here. It's less depressing than I'd expected.

Oh, and another thing. Upon arriving in my room, I received a copy of the Daily Punctilio, the local newspaper here. According to the title, "SECRET ORGANIZATION PAINTS DEAD SNAKE SCIENTIST'S HOME ALL-RED", it was obvious they were still following me. But how?

I was running, and I was going to keep running until my research was safe. Red Nexus or not, I would keep escaping them.
-

Oh, and by the way, my research is about ...
music. Good music, specifically.
One name that came up actually had an entire forum devoted to his music: Someone who goes by Walker #0.
Spoiler
So, I decided to join. I became account #83398 on this 53cr3t pl47f0rm, as it's called on the login page. But to me, it became more than a number. It meant that I was a part of something bigger, something that was quantifiable.

But that's not even the tip of the iceberg. The rest I have to keep secret until I reach safety.

Speaking of which, my journey from Lake Lachrymose to Lucky Smells Lumbermill was a satisfactory one. The only weird thing was that clouds of smoke appeared throughout the sky, along with a slight burning smell, but gave no indication of where they had come from. What's also strange is that I hadn't taken any note of it until when I wrote it down. Huh.
-
Journal: Sep 20, 2021
I'm heading towards the burned-down Lucky Smells Lumbermill, where my duck, Victor, awaits me. Then, we will be able to head more quickly to our next destination: an old learning institution whose tall, gravestone-shaped pillars stand, not for learning as they once did, but for the misery of the students who attend.
-

I found Victor at the Lucky Smells Lumbermill ruins, then rode him to Prufrock Preparatory School. We passed the gravestone-shaped dormitories, as well as a monument in the shape of a large bejeweled turban. Then, deciding to split up so we would be safe, we took separate routes to 667 Dark Avenue, the next place on my very faded drawing.

-
Journal: Sep 20, 2021 (p4rt 2)
Riding on a duck is fun.
I got to the lumbermill and rode my duck to Prufrock Preparatory School. Now I'm at the turban monument at the school, an homage to Coach Genghis. Genghis was a bright student here once, but love for money consumed him.
Victor (my duck) can smell the Red Nexus authorities on our tail. We might be faster together, but that just puts us in more danger. We're splitting up for the walk to a certain penthouse in the city.
-

-
Journal: Sep 21, 2021
I'm in the ersatz elevator shaft at 667 Dark Avenue. The Red Nexus group got very close to me on the way here -- a wall of cardboard was the only thing separating them and me. They left behind one of their trackers somehow, and after waiting a while I managed to retrieve it.

Turns out, they've been tracking my computer. Of course. Why didn't I see this before?
-

Once I arrived, I found that the stairs at the hotel were "out" (not dysfunctional, but temporarily out of style), and climbing abandoned elevators by yourself was "in". I thought that Victor might have decided to ignore tradition since the free will of ducks to climb stairs was also "in". I climber to the penthouse, and, clambering up to the top, found a letter.

The letter was addressed to "Delinquent #83398", and, when I opened it, the message was typed up in red ink:

We regret to inform you that your animal of transport was been selected for experimentation. That is all.

When I read that, I was furious. I wanted to rip the letter into hundreds of small pieces and let it fall. But just before I could do it, I looked on the back. This was a hastily written scrawl:

To _al_er #83398:
_o to

A.A. Ceilnortz
2718 _an_e A_en_e
____ol_t, Litan_
83398

to _in_ _o_r __c_.

WalK GooD, Kid. VU and be HUMBleD bY Fire anD YoU DUcK.

I realized that it was probably some sort of code, an address of some sort. It took me all night to solve it, but at 6:28 AM the next day, I figured it out. It meant:

To WalKer #83398:
Go to

A. A. Ceilnortz
2718 DanKe AVenUe
HUMBolDt, LitanY
83398

to FinD YoUr DuCK.

It had no signature, so all I had to go off of was the handwriting, but that didn't get me very far. I had several questions, like ‘who is A. A. Ceilnortz?’ All that I was really certain of is that this part of the letter was not written by anyone from Red Nexus. I decided to just go to where it had said: the town of Humboldt, more commonly known by its former name, the Village of Fowl Devotees.
On the way there, I was noticing two things more than anything else: the abundance of fires on the side of the road I walked, and the presence of fallen drones. They seemed to have a strange, octahedral design, and also seemed to be destroyed, but by what, I didn't know.
At the edge of one of these fires, I found a strange piece of metal, shaped like a "W". I wasn't sure how it worked, but I was sure I'd figure it out somehow, just like all the other puzzles that had crossed my path…


Later…
From what I can tell, they took the chip off of Victor, because this address doesn't match up with the one shown on my tracking device. It also looks like the back of the letter I found was hastily written in blue ink. This is inconsistent with the other side of the letter, which was typed in red. Also, Humboldt, as I found out from looking at the library at the penthouse, used to be the town of V.F.D. After the tragic happenings that occurred there so many years ago, they changed it to Humboldt, after the town in California. I'm about halfway there now.

It seems that whoever wrote this was not from Red Nexus. But who could it be?

Sep 23, 2021
I'm not in Humboldt. I'm so close, and yet so far...

***

They... caught me. I found my duck and found out who wrote the letter, but now we're all prisoners. Turns out, the person who wrote the back half of the letter was a prisoner here as well, at the A. A. Ceilnortz How am I supposed to escape? This place is a lot of things, but safe isn't one of them.

One last message before my story ends -- or at least that's what Red Nexus thinks.

#0, a prisoner here, came up with a plan for escaping to paradise:
59.225397N
24.197652E
the world is coming to an end. just like the ancient walkers predicted. the solar storm created chaos and destruction all over the world. friends desperate and scared. people trying to get by. but the terror red nexus brought upon the world was much worse than the solar storm ever...
red nexus and their [scribble] horrific rx-8 drones suddenly flooded the [scribble] streets. they put us all in high security camps. nowhere to run, no future, just misery. the only thing that keeps my spirits up is the thought of fu... the creation of w... we will no…

--NOT... GIVE... UP!
SrB4O7:Eu
the plan must [scribble] proceed. iv'e hidden all my research in what used to be walkers safe house. even tho rn burned it down, true walkers will understand. find #0 in the safe house!

Sep 24, 2021
I escaped.
I ran on my duck just before the first experiment began.
Two of the other inmates managed to get out in the ensuing chaos: #0, and #22. I was unsure if #28300 got out too, but I’m sure she’ll find a way.
Unfortunately, the rest remained trapped.
We're heading, with the research, to the nearby hospital to retrieve medical supplies for those who need them. Hopefully, everyone else manages to join us at the last safe place.

One person wondered, upon reading this:
>>Incredibly quick escape. Is there anything we can do to help?

To which I replied:
>>I'm surprised at how fast it was too. But Red Nexus made a mistake in permitting Victor and me to share a cell. Victor, being a geldseeker, was able to take what little gold there was in the prison bars and collect them into a very feeble door-opener (a key, if you will). There are more that escaped-- in the past, I mean-- who went to the warehouse.
The two I escaped with were also headed in that direction. I had a mission of my own, however, and so said goodbye to #0 and #22.

Later…
-
I'm at Heimlich Hospital, and I... I didn't know the hospital burned down! Those people at the camp will suffer without those medical supplies! Why did that evil, revolting man have to burn it down, even if it was so many years ago?
I'll just have to hope I find them somewhere on the way to the Hote-- I mean, the Last Safe Place. But that means that, in order to save them, I'll have to go faster. At that rate, I should reach the old carnival by tomorrow evening. Contrary to popular belief, I read that the carnival had a stockpile of first aid kits they never used, sometimes even when they were needed. And for once, I hope that's true…
-

Sep 25, 2021
I'm at the ruins of Caligari Carnival, and I'm happy to report that, although charred due to the fire set here by [redacted], S. B., K. B., & V. B., the medical supplies are still here. I'll go to the Mortmain Mountains to get them to the prison. Walker #88888 lives where the very old V.F.D. headquarter ruins are, and she'll know what to do.
Also, just as a side note, but one thing I'm wondering is, Why hasn't Red Nexus started chasing me again? Perhaps they don't know I'm missing, or... they have another trick up their sleeves.

Sep 26, 2021
At the Valley of the Four Drafts in the Mortmain Mountains. I haven't found #88888 yet, since her location in the Mortmain Mountains is as of yet undisclosed. However, I think I'm getting closer.

Sep 27, 2021
I found #88888. She has the medical supplies now, and will take them to the camp once she meets up with the resistance fighters (FaS). She gave me scuba gear, "just in case," as she said. Now I see what she meant. I decided to take the frozen river, not realizing that, six months after False Spring, its lesser-known complement, False Fall, causes the river to melt. I fell down the waterfall, through the air, falling over my feet over and over again, trying to be completely silent as I feverishly inhaled. It may seem easy to accomplish a feat like this, but if you've ever tried it, you know that falling from over a hundred feet while staying silent so the authorities don't hear you scream is a difficult task.
I finally landed in the water, but, although silence is golden, the splash that ensued wasn't. It was loud. Loud enough that I thought I saw movement very far up, up above the waves. Then, darkness.
I opened my eyes to a stunning sight: the ocean was beautiful. I decided to dive deeper. After a few minutes of searching for anything that might aid me, I saw a submarine. The only entryway I could see was a small, hand-sized window with a door handle beyond, supposedly an emergency exit. There was a hammer beside it. I used it, and the glass swirled in the water around me. Thankfully, the scuba gear had thick padding, so I didn't get cut very badly -- only one cut, on the right side of my left thumb. I realized, only too late, that I shouldn't use hammers. Then it occurred to me -- that rule had to go. I began to hammer at the window, again and again, stopping only when the window was no more. Spitefully, I opened my mouth to speak but then thought better of it. I reached my hand inside...
...and opened the door.

Sep 28, 2021
I opened the door. Inside, I was surprised to find the interior room perfectly intact. I had walked in on the Widdershins (the previous owners) having dinner. But then I realized -- of course, it was a large framed picture. I shoved it out of the way, the lights that had illuminated it just moments before now shining upon a deserted underwater living room. The medusoid mycelium, a deadly mushroom that had once lived here, had died years ago from lack of water and food. It was shocking how dead the room looked. The only items that littered the floor were a book on Lewis Carrol's poetry, some used matchsticks, and an empty bottle of horseradish. Then I looked in the corner and saw a flag, which lay, rolled up and unused, seemingly waiting for someone to use it. I decided to unravel it and saw, as it unfurled, that it flickered with a computer screen-type image. It showed -- well, there's something I was able to find online that probably describes it better than I could, but it pretty much showed how my W-shaped piece of metal worked. Called an AVI-8 drone, it unfolds into a semi-octahedral, flying shape. I didn't want to test if it was waterproof but rather decided to swim to the nearest shore. I had swum for a while to get to the Queequeg, so I figured I was close to the last safe place. I swam with all my might, trying to keep all my things in my bag without getting them wet in the process. Eventually, I clambered onto dry land -- at Briny Beach, of all places. I saw a man with a fedora on, who was trying to hide his face. I remembered an old rhyme I had read in a book when I thought of the man:

In photographs and public place,
Snicket rarely shows his face.

It was then that the notion came into my head to run, but I suppressed it. I donned my mask and walked up to the man that was Lemony Snicket, asking only these words:

Where are they now?

I never got an answer to my question. The man opened his mouth to speak but then turned and ran. I stood there, bewildered, but then a red shot nearly grazed my left shoulder. I turned around just in time to see the hideous drone. I started running towards the hotel. I thought, if I can just make it, I will be safe. I ran and ran, and finally saw it, way off in the distance. I ran further. My legs were screaming as I pushed all of my energy into them. I ran further and further, pursued by red shots. I could tell the drone was gaining on me, but I kept running. I made it to the hotel grounds and finally saw the ten-story Hotel Denouement. Subconsciously, I was able to tell that something was not right, but I ran inside the hotel anyway. If I could just find Victor in room 598 (where he had swum to as I fell down the waterfall), I would be safe. I ran up the ruined stairs, often having to clamber up the metal railings on the charred walls where entire staircases had collapsed. I ran until I reached the fifth floor. Then I ran down the fifth-story corridor, past 501 (Philosophy), 517 (Calculus), 589 (Fungi), and finally to 598 (Birds). I entered. Victor was inside, and the room was unusually pristine. I hugged Victor, or as close to a hug you can get when the recipient of said hug is ten feet tall. I heard a loud BOOM, and one of the walls fell into the Reptile Room (597). I couldn't run; I had run far enough. Another BOOM, this time so close that it was earsplittingly loud, shook the outside
wall, which fell down, down, down, collapsing on the ground with an almost equal sound. "It's OK, Victor," I said to my duck, but I knew it was a lie, and probably one of the worst lies that had been told in history. I peeked outside to realize that we were surrounded. Countless Red Nexus men with guns stood in the yard. A tear trickled down my face, filtering so that my mouth felt a salty taste. Then more and more came. I had avoided crying all this time, but now everything was coming, in sobs, into Victor's downy coat. I cried until all my eyes could see was a blurry veil of water, and couldn't feel anything. I didn't notice when my backpack vibrated, but when it had happened a few times, I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, took my backpack off, and opened it. The strange piece of metal was vibrating, and I knew what I had to do. I faced the blurred image of the window, and, holding it out in front of me, I tossed it into the air. "YOU-- MONSTERS!"

My cry was stifled by the third BOOM, and that's when the floor collapsed, sending Victor and me toppling, along with the long-since-dead remains of the once-prestigious Hotel Denouement, towards the ground.
The last thought that passed through my head before losing consciousness was, 'Maybe the last safe place was really the least safe place, after all this time…’

About halfway down, I passed out for a few seconds. When I woke up, I was still halfway down. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable fall to come, but then opened them again when I realized I was still in the same place. The wind was still rushing all around me, but my elevation had not changed. Then I saw, in the distance, everything that my flag had depicted: My piece of metal had become an AVI-8 drone.

It seemed to be scanning me, and I realized that my arms had been outstretched as I fell. Still terrified, I looked down. I was still about 50 feet in the air, and the view made me quickly look back. The soldiers were still there, along with the red drones. But one by one, the RX-8 drones were falling. Everything else had somehow stayed in place, falling in slow motion as it was held in place by a million patches of blue light.

But my drone was only casting one… I looked around again and saw Victor land softly near a group of people, some dressed in white and some in black. Arms outstretched, they were piloting drones nearly identical to my own, which were slowly destroying my aggressors.
Help had arrived, but as I landed, I could sense that this wasn’t the end.

To Be Continued
 
I left the ruins to get... something... but I don't remember what it is.
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 bed, at 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 have been. “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. “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: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. #83 seems to be sitting at this wall, but as for what he’s doing-- I have no idea. It seems important, but beyond that, I have no idea.

I turn back to Victor. Then, I gently let myself down onto his feathers and he suddenly opens his eyes. He quacks quietly to me, then goes back to sleep. I make a small laugh to myself. Silly duck. All of a sudden, I feel drowsy again. The last thing I see before I doze off is a disk with a picture of stairs on it.

I wake up as light filters through the large windows, and the light reaches my eyes. I wonder what time it is. Looking at my watch, I realize that it’s already 10 in the morning. Almost everybody else is up, and they all seem to be working on one thing or another. That’s when I remember what I came here for: Where are #0 and #22?

***

I verbalize the question to #83, who then proceeds to explain to me that #0 left to help assist someone who was trying to escape Red Nexus, and I shudder when he says the notorious name. “#22, however, is just over there,” he explains to me. Then a pause. “Are you a Walker?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your number?” By this, of course, he’s referring to my ID, not my phone number.
“83398.”
“That’s interesting. I think I may have heard that number before…” Then his expression shows that something has evidently clicked in his mind. “Did you help #0 and #22 escape one of the camps?”
“I had something to do with it.”
“That was something that took a lot of courage. Not many people escape the camps alive,” he says gravely. I shiver again. The fact that someone could die in the camps, although obvious, is something that I don’t like to consider. This time, the man notices. “It’s alright,” he reassures me. “Red Nexus isn’t likely to come here anytime soon.” I listen for his voice to falter, but he seems sure about what he’s saying.
#83 continues. “Also, I heard about what you did for the people in the camps. Bringing them medical supplies must have been a difficult task.”
“Well, I only took it to #83888.”
“That may be true,” he replies, “but you still did a lot of work. Getting from where you were to #83888’s home must have been pretty difficult. She’s something of a hermit, you know.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We’d had a hard time getting her down here, but when you took those supplies to her, she…”
“Started to come out of her shell?”
“Something like that, yes. She managed to start her AVI-8 pilot training, and I was pleased to aid her in the process. Unfortunately,” he continues, sighing, “she hasn’t managed to get the supplies to the prisoners yet.”
“Why?”
“She’s still working out ways to get in,” he explains, “And #0 and others are still helping her figure out the details.”
“That makes sense.”
“In any case,” he continues, “I’ve kept you for too long. Go talk to #22.”
“OK,” I reply. I maneuver around the crates, some of which have cloth and tarp surrounding them, and a lantern, on my way to #22. He appears to be studying a small, faded photograph of a house against another one of the lanterns.
“Hey,” I start.
He glances back at me, then his eyes light up.
“#83398! I knew you’d be here at some point.”
“Thanks.”
“I had no idea your duck was capable of doing that. It was a shame that we left #28300 behind.”
“Yeah. From talking to her, it seems she’s very smart and knows a lot about the Walker society. It seems that she’s the one who started this, in some small way, even though it’s not her fault.”
“Well, we can’t blame her. She fought against Red Nexus from the moment she knew they were trying to weaponize the AVI-8 drones. Once she found out what they were up to, she broke off from them and tried to stop them as hard as she could. Anyway, how have you been? I see that you bonked your head pretty hard.”
“I’m OK. I decided to stay at the ruins.”
“Makes sense, given that is what you were looking for. Even if it wasn’t a safe place, it was shelter. And in these times, any type of establishment that’s still standing is good.”
Changing the subject, I point at the photograph. “What’s that?”
“It’s an old photograph,” he says. “From before…”
We both know he means Red Nexus.
“I got it from #28300. She said there was something she had to give me before I left, and when I escaped, I realized I had forgotten it. So, I returned to the camp. It was dangerous, and RX-8s tried to pursue me on the way here, but I got it. Now, I’m trying to decode what it says on the back.”
I look at the picture, but can’t see it very well. After a few seconds, I offer, “May I see it?”
He seems a little hesitant but then offers it to me. “Be careful. It’s an old photograph, and it means a lot to me.”
I consent, and examine the picture. On the front is a picture of a house with blue paint, surrounded by green grass. The photograph is faded enough that the grass looks brown and the paint looks almost white, but the features of the scene are still recognizable. The day in the picture appears cloudy, although I realize it must have looked different when the photo was taken.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
“Flip it over,” says #22.
I proceed to do so and am greeted with a surprise. On the back, I had expected to see a blank white space, but I instead see the message on how to escape to paradise again, and the ever-familiar formula: SrB4O7:Eu. #28300 had told me it was luminescent, and I remembered that she had painted that house with things contained in the prophecy disks. In the middle of her endeavour, however, she had been arrested by the red troops and taken to the camp.
“Why are you examining it?” I ask, handing the folded photograph to #22.
“I think she -- #28300, I mean -- may have written a secret message on here, one that the guards couldn’t see if it fell into the wrong hands.”
“Where is she now?” I ask.
“She’s still at the camp, but I’m sure with her intellect, she’ll find a way to escape. She always does.”
“Where’s #0? Is he here?”
“Unfortunately, no, he’s gone to the desert. There’s a high-ranking official of Red Nexus who decided to force some people into slavery, doing dangerous driving -- for sport.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“His goal there is to sneak in quietly, and aid in one such Walker’s escape.”
“How so?”
“It all depends on how our AVI-8 drones work.” A pause. “Do you have one?”
“Yes. It was after we parted that I first used it, however, and only once.”
“You might want to learn how to use one. AVI-8 drones can be incredibly useful… but only if you know how to use one.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“There are actually a few new Walkers here who want to learn as well. We’re having instructional time after dark.”
“OK. I guess I won’t leave just yet.”

And so I stayed at the warehouse and waited for evening to come.
 
“What are you doing there?”

A Walker with a white mask comes close to me. He seems to be a similar age to me (I’m 16 and he looks about 15), but clothed in his white robes, he doesn’t look similar to me. His clothing looks to be mostly clean, but mine still has a little dirt from my fall, as long ago as it was. I realize, looking down at myself, that I need to change clothes. Focusing on the task at hand, I realize the question he asked is halfway between accusatory and curious. Before I open up my mouth to answer, he repeats his question, this time even more inquisitive. “What are you doing there?”
Then comes my reply: “Right now, I’m eating and resting.”
It’s true. Although Victor may have been wandering around for the last hour, I sure hadn’t. It’s noon and I’m eating a sandwich. I had had no idea how large the warehouse was, and so had been surprised when I found a kitchen, and behind it, a stockroom, from which I had grabbed a sleeping bag and a couple of pillows.
This person looks at me with a sideways look. Evidently, he isn’t used to seeing someone relax, and it seems to me like he hasn’t seen someone acting like that in a while.
“Nobody does that anymore. How can you relax, when you know the world’s gone to pieces?”
He has a point, but after a while, I answer. “I guess it’s because I have peace. I mean, Red Nexus may have made life like heck for everyone, but… I have things to be grateful for, Like Victor, meeting new people, finding that AVI-8 drone... it’s all very fortunate. I mean, I should be cead right now, but I am alive. Why shouldn’t I relax?”
“There’s a lot to do.”
“I know…,” I continue slowly, “but until the sun sets, I’m sitting right here.”
“I don’t mean there are a lot of activities. I mean that we have a lot to do. Red Nexus is powerful, and if we want any chance of defeating them, we need to work together, and work hard.”
“What’s your ID?” I ask.
“I don’t go by my ID. My name’s Jay.”
“Do you still have one?” I’d be surprised if I found someone without an ID here.
“#83875,” he states, slightly annoyed, “But my name’s still Jay.”
“Nice to meet you, Jay.” The word feels strange on my lips. The only person I’d met with a real name these past few months was Victor, and he didn’t really count, given that he was a duck and all.
As if summoned by my thoughts, I heard Victor quack from a very echoey corner of the room. Huh. I thought quacks didn’t echo. Oh well.
Returning back to the conversation, I state that I’m #83398.
“Nice to meet you, #83398.” A pause from Jay, then: “Don’t you have a name, though? I’m terrible with numbers.”
I utter something to him that I don’t utter to many others.
“My name is Keenan.”
“Keean?”
“Sorry, it’s kind of hard to pronounce. It’s just Key, Nin.”
“Okay; so Keenan?”
“There you go.”
“So Keenan, are you willing to help?”
“I would, but I don’t know what to help with.”
“Hmm. That’s kind of difficult to explain. Do you know how to pilot an AVI-8?”
“No, but #22 told me about the training tonight.”
“Oh. That’s good to know. I’m just starting to learn how to fly one as well.”
“Really? When did you come here?”
He replies. “Just last week. You can look at my ID card if you want to.”
Looking at it, I realize something. “Oh, sh, we have the same birthday!” Then I cover my mouth. “Oops, shouldn’t’ve cussed. I just haven’t been able to talk to someone in a long time, and the fact that we have the same birthday is just-- unreal!”
“Oh yeah, we do!” he realizes. “We’re exactly a year apart.”
We take our IDs back, and I close the conversation. “See you tonight?”
“See you tonight.”

He walks away, and I can see the smile on his face, even from under his mask.

***
After a few more minutes of resting, Victor comes up to me. *Quack,* he says. “Hey, Victor,” I reciprocate.
I can’t ever tell what Victor says, but once you stay around anyone, or anything, for long enough, you can understand what they mean much more than you could ever understand someone with words alone.
*Quack quack* He continues. “Look Victor, nobody else has seen a duck as big as you. Just give them time, and---,” I add last second, “Avoid the crates.”
The rest of the day is pretty uneventful. I take a nap but have trouble sleeping because I’m so excited and exhausted. Eventually, it’s 4. Already, the sun has started to set, something that can be seen through the windows, dirty as they are. “Alright, everyone!” #22 says in a genial voice, and the first yell I’ve heard all day. (Despite the largeness of the room, nobody talks all that loudly here.) “If you want to attend piloting practice, take your drones and we’ll meet outside. And take your things if you have any. We’re doing this under the cover of night, but that doesn’t mean we’re completely safe. Red Nexus could find us at any time, and we need to be prepared. Follow me; as some of you may recall, the way is a bit difficult to maneuver, so it’s easy to get lost.” #22 lights up a flare, and then Victor stays behind as Jay, some others, and I heed his warning and carry on. We head out the main room, through the door opposite the dirty windows, then through a room where, on the right, there are two open windows, made of earth. The floor is littered with leaves, giving the room a deserted look. We head through the next room, which has faded green paint and the words “DIMAS” written on them, then out to a sidewalk and some brown grass.

This is the perfect hideout, I think to myself.
 
“You have your drones. If anyone doesn’t own a drone, we have a whole stache in this crate.”
A crate with the Red Nexus logo is set down by two white-robed Walkers. I whisper to Jay, “Why does it have that logo on it?” as people reach forward to receive their AVI-8s. He’s quick to answer as he leans into my ear: “Red Nexus was a powerful organization, and originally funded the Walker Excavations,” he states, “and they actually helped uncover a lot of what we have. The problem is, they got greedy and started trying to weaponize the AVI-8s into the modern RX-8s. The Walkers managed to take back some of what was theirs, hence the crate, but RN still has a lot, and they keep what they still have with ruthlessness, imprisoning those that get in their way.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense, but I never thought about it that way.”
“You’re welcome.”
I smile a little. #83875, although a little annoying at the outset, is a great friend.

After about 2 minutes, we’re all ready to start, excepting the posting of the guard - meaning watchmen. Four Walkers go out to the four corners of our practice field, located about a mile behind the dirty windows.
“Alright, Walkers, for those of you who are new, my name is #22. Recently Alan and I escaped from the camps thanks to the help of a brave new Walker here, #83398.” He gives me a silent nod.
“I’m sure you all know the way the world has been for the last 18 years since the solar flares... or have at least heard stories. I long for a day when people can be born into peace and prosperity, but until that day comes, we can always pray. Those that would wish to do so may bow their heads. The rest of you may partake in a respectful moment of silence.”
I close my eyes, and, as I often find myself doing during a prayer, open my eyes and look around in furtive glances at everyone else. There are mostly boys around, ranging from age twelve to as old as twenty-five, but also some older people and some girls about the same age as the boys. It only occurs to me now that there may be families that live here, as I see a young girl of about nine holding her father’s hand, who in turn links hands with the mother, with the boy, a small fellow, not holding anybody’s hand but standing close by to his family. All is silent, save for that all-too-familiar occasional whisper that has the tendency to reverberate with a steady, “Sh-sh-sh’ sound, not quite rhythmically, but constant all the same. I realize that there is an aurora in the sky, and shut my eyes tightly again. I shouldn’t’ve been looking anyway, I think to myself. I pray for peace.

***
After a couple of minutes, #22 speaks up again. “OK,” he says solemnly, “I think we’ve all aired our grievances to the heavens, so now let’s enjoy ourselves.”

He starts by picking up his drone. “Okay,” he begins, “we’ll start with the basics so that all of you know what we’re doing. Start by picking up your drone and holding it in front of you.”
Everyone proceeds to do so, not quite in unison, but with enough stability to appear almost formidable, even from my place in the back. I realize that there are approximately 20 shadows cast upon the ground by the joyful aurora. “Now,” #22 says, “step back and toss your drone into the air.”
What happens next is reciprocated with smiles from beneath everyone’s masked faces. Everyone performs a nearly instinctual toss, and the drones light up before our eyes. What were once shaped like overlaid “A”s and “W”s are now nearly octahedral drones. It’s something that is truly magical to observe.
“Now,” says #22, “outstretch your arms so your drones know which one they belong to. If you don’t do that, they’ll just stay in the air and float and face you. When you lift your hand, they will turn to face forward. Everyone, do that now.”
Everyone did as he said. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, as my drone turned slightly to the right. At first, I thought it was just mine, but there were four or five others who had similar problems, and one man, who had tossed his incorrectly, had had his land on the ground in the original state. After a little coaxing, however, his flew properly, and as for the rest of us, we found that rotating our hands a little helped them to face the right direction. Eventually, all the drones faced forward. “Now that everyone’s adjusted,” continues #22, “we’ll continue.”
Throughout the night, we learn of how to steer while standing in place, and maneuver them back and forth. We learn of how to charge them via being in close proximity to other drones. We don’t learn how to scan or rebuild anything, but we learn a lot of skills as #22 goes around and adjusts things slightly.
Around 8, we head back to the warehouse. At this point, it’s four hours into the night, and so it’s too dark to learn any more for today. Heading back, I have a smile on my face. I’m wearing dirtier clothing than everyone else, but still I have a renewed sense of belonging-- It feels nice to be part of something.
As we enter back into the warehouse, coming back the way we came, I notice something move-- a shadow outside the window. It’s probably nothing, I think. Despite my feeling about not wanting to tell #22, I say, “Excuse me,” to Jay, and tell #22 quietly-- a simple tap on the shoulder, and then a whisper in his ear: “I think there’s something following us.”
He whispers back to me, “I’m not saying not to worry, but Red Nexus has eyes everywhere. If we panic, it’s going to garner more attention than we can afford. If we don’t, it’s still a very risky gamble, but they are still less likely to notice us. For most of us, avoiding RN is a fact of life-- but you already probably knew that.”
I nod, and we carry on. Then, as we enter the main room and head towards my sleeping bag, Victor nudges the bandage on my head and I turn around. Boo! he seems to say. Seeing that now I’ve turned around, he nudges me again. This time, it seems like a longing: When are we going to go back home?

It hits me out of nowhere.
“I don’t know, Victor. I like it here.”
Uncertainty hits me, then, as I go to sleep, darkness.
 
Another dream. I’m looking at the prophecy disk, examining it, when suddenly it comes to life. The man on the stairs slings on his backpack and continues his ascent, but an AVI-8 drone suddenly transforms, and all of a sudden, it’s an RX-8 drone. Its largely triangular/octahedral form morphs into a more square shape and begins attacking everything else. The man falls off the stairs, and the dots in the center fall, one by one, until all that’s left on the disk is a constantly moving piece of destruction. Then, it breaks through the front of the disk and begins attacking me. All of a sudden, reality shatters-- like glass, and I sit up in a cold sweat. It’s 3:29 AM.
***
I get out my computer. It’s been a while since I’ve used one, and most other people here have one. It’s a little scratched up from when I fell from the fifth floor of the hotel. Which wasn’t all that long ago, I think to myself. I think back to a week ago.

I was up in the air, frozen in space, surrounded by the intense blue light of the AVI-8 drones and the intense red of the RX-8 drones. There were about a hundred armed men, all from Red Nexus, around me. The red lasers were trying to penetrate the blue shield all around me, but failing. The white-robed Walkers, along with the night patrol, were guiding their drones and, since there were so many of them in a swarm, they were able to charge each other with their own synergy.
I floated down to the ground slowly, and so did Victor. The Walkers stood and faced the RN soldiers. Then, slowly but surely, the Red Nexus soldiers… walked away.
I had been shocked at the time, I remember. Why did they retreat?

I’m still confused as to why, as I listen to music until 5:41, then fall asleep again. When I wake up at 7:55, I don’t remember my dream-- it’s been replaced by another. I go back to sleep because I’m still tired-- it’s one of those all-too-early wakings that we all know.
***
At 10 AM, Victor finally nudges me again. The sun’s been up for three hours, but I still feel tired. I know we have to go-- I don’t know why, I just know we do.
I stop myself-- what am I doing? I can’t just desert everyone, I have to say goodbye to everybody I know here. I don’t want to do it.
I turn to Victor, who hasn’t fully gotten up either, other than the effort it took to nudge me, and try to compromise. (Compromising with a duck is easy. Reasoning is harder. It’s not the duck’s fault.)
“Victor?”
My duck lifts his head from his downy chest and blinks at me with eyes still bleary from sleep. He’s listening.
“Look, I know you want to go. I want to go. But we’ve made friends here. I can’t just leave them.”
Victor is still listening.
“I say we move here-- take our things and move them here.”
Victor knows we don’t own much, but he seems satisfied with my offer-- either that, or he’s just starting to preen himself.

I say goodbye to #22, #83, and Jay. They all seem to understand when I tell them I have to leave temporarily. “Be careful,” is a common thread among what they say to me as I leave. “Don’t let Red Nexus see you.”
I won’t.
***
The way from the warehouse to the Hotel Denouement is a simple one: simply go a few miles away from the warehouse on the entrance side until you find the pentagonal sign on the highway, then turn right and go by the highway for about a hundred miles. The way back is marred by desolation for about a hundred yards halfway through-- Red Nexus must have gone through chasing someone else who defected or did something wrong. Victor is having trouble keeping his footing, so I dismount from his white feathery coat and walk myself, and Victor follows.

I trip on the smallest of rocks-- I fall, hands first, and all of a sudden, there’s a huge, if skinny, gash in my arm. Fortunately, I think to myself, I have a first aid kit with me.
It had been #22’s idea. “It’s helped me a lot when I’ve traveled lately-- some of the kits you sent to the camps got deferred to the warehouse, out of necessity, and they’ve been a huge help. Take one, as a thank you if nothing else. You might need it.”

I’m faint as I grab the bandages out of the first-aid kit. Before any of this had happened, I had already been hemophobic-- even small cuts would make me nauseous. Now, it’s not as bad-- I have Victor. As I wrap the bandage around my left arm, I take deep breaths and count in Chinese: something I’d picked up a long time ago.
“一, 二, 三, 四, 五, 六, 七, 八, 九, 十, 十一, 十二, 十三。。。”
I falter after thirteen. All of a sudden, I remember how dangerous the hotel was-- still is, and question why I’m heading back. Victor seems undeterred, however; the bandage is on, and he nudges me with his bill.
Oh my gosh, I think to myself as I get back on Victor. I probably look like half a mummy by now. Victor carries me onward.

We finally make it out of the broken part of the highway, and I make a note to go by the muddy ditch by the side of the road instead, on the way back; it may be dirtier and more uncomfortable, but it’s safer.

We finally reach the Hotel Denouement: Home sweet home. Even if I have to move, and even if it’s unsafe, I’m still going to miss living here. It was a place that I could call home when I needed it most, and that’s what made it special.

I go into the shed by the ruins that serves as a storage closet and sleeping quarters. It’s mostly full of things that I either brought (which are negligible at best) or found among the ruins. And, of course, the only object that was in it to begin with: a large, driveable lawnmower. I have a feeling that it’s fate’s way of laughing at me: The law I broke to get myself into all this said one of my punishments would be never to ride one of these things again.

The whole shed is only about 12 feet tall, 12 feet wide, and 12 feet long. The lawnmower, painted half red and half black, is in the back left corner. The whole shed is pristine, save some dust that I tracked in when I took the objects I found in the ruins. The objects in question are simple ones: a charred copy of what used to be Odious Lusting After Finance, a blindfold, a pink hair ribbon, and a small statue of blind men feeling an elephant from different sides. I don’t know why I brought them here; I guess that now, if someone finds them, they might know what they mean. I take the only objects I need: a picture of a person I used to know, and my journal. The picture is blurry, and on top of that it’s old and faded. But I can still envision their face, as blurry as it is now. My journal is really two notebooks, one yellow and one purple, but it means more to me than almost anything else in the world.

All of a sudden, I’m reminded of Victor outside. He stumbled here part of the way, and I turn my head back to look at him. He’s nibbling on the grass, as it’s gotten up to my chest level, or about his wing level. I turn back, and stare at the lawnmower with new eyes.
***
Whoever said you couldn’t ride quickly on a lawnmower was a liar. I have extra gasoline in case I need to refill the tank, as Victor goes forward, unhindered by my weight. I feel free, save for the fact that I still need to watch out for Red Nexus. They could be anywhere, and this lawnmower is kinda loud…
As I ride throught the grass, we come to the broken-up bit of the highway we passed earlier. “Come on, Victor,” I say. “Let’s go on this bit instead.” I realize, as I say that, there’s a bit just beyond the ditch that happens to be level, and less dirty than the alternatives. The grass is tall, but it doesn’t matter. We turn around, and I lead Victor to the grass, then turn so we’re going forward. I don’t start mowing; I realize that Red Nexus could track us if I do that. We keep moving forward until we’re about three miles away from the warehouse, then a traveling patrol of RN soldiers passes by and we hide behind one of the trees nearby. I’m lucky; trees are sparse nowadays, or so people tell me. I’ve only seen a few on our journey. The lawn mower, safe and sound, is a ways back.

I don’t realize that Victor can’t hide behind the tree until it’s too late.

Some of them turn around to face Victor, and I prepare for the worst.
***
I’m hidden behind a tree as they take Victor. I’m panicked. No, no, no, not again, I think. This can’t be happening again, oh please not again, don’t let this be happening. It doesn’t help that the bandage on my arm is improperly wrapped. I’m even fainter now, and I slump against the tree and try not to breathe too loudly. It’s difficult, as the thoughts of every red thing I’ve ever seen creep into my mind and I want to fall over. Something tells me that I can’t, and that’s when I realize that my backpack doesn’t have my AVI-8 in it. I don’t know whether I would want it in there or not, and my head… oh, my head…
I hear a quacking noise-- my mind swims with possibilities. It sounds like a panicked quack, and I hear some men yelling and some rope snapping. I want to help, but I don’t want to risk my safety…
I finally decide to take the risk. Victor needs me too much... I’m so scared…
I stumble out from behind the tree and use a stick I found for balance. At first, the men don’t notice me, but then they turn around and come toward me. They seem slightly concerned, something I don’t notice until I hear the crack of wood from under my hand and fall over.

The last thing I notice before I black out is the stain on my bandage.
And it looks a lot like the Red Nexus logo.
 
“Why were you walking out there?”
I’m in an interrogation room. The walls are stark and manila colored, and, of course, there is a mirror disguised as a window on the left wall. Given the mark on my arm, they’ve guaranteed safety for me-- as long as I answer their questions.
“I was moving. My home was unsafe, and so I thought I’d travel to find a new one.”
“Hmm.” The guard wears the typical uniform-- a black suit, with a samurai-style helmet and what looks like a visor made of mesh, raised from his face.
I finally got that change of clothes I needed, but the shirt looks ugly: the gray fabric of the shirt and pants is okay, but there’s a large, red logo that’s all-too-familiar on the shirt, and I don’t like looking down at it.
The guard comes out of his thinking. He was evidently writing down some notes, as I can see since he’s putting down his pen now.
“What…,” he pauses, in an almost disapproving tone, “...were you doing with a duck trailing you?” He sits back in his chair. I get the message: He’s comfortable, and I’m not.
“That’s…” I trail off. Would he remember me as a prisoner from the camps if I told him? I decide to tell a lie, a white lie, but still something not true.
“I saw this duck in the wilderness, and wanted to help him.” It’s not false, but it’s a lie nonetheless.
“Hm.”
I answer all his questions and am surprised when he doesn’t recognize me or ask about the Walkers. After a while, he speaks up.
“OK, you’re free to go.”
“Really?-- I mean, thanks.”
He gives me a strange look, then seems to shrug it off, although it’s hard to see under his bulky uniform, and then returns to his work.
“Exit out that door,” he says, pointing a little absentmindedly in its general direction.
“What about my duck?”
He pauses. “Your duck,” he says, turning to me, “is an extraordinary find. We’ve selected him for experimentation, and sold him to one of our subsidiaries for that process.”
I’m shocked at how unconcerned he seems. “B-But--” I splutter, “he needs help, not EXPERIMENTATION!”
“Sorry,” he says in a way that’s obviously not sorry at all, “But I don’t make the rules. There’s no way you can get him ba--”
I run out in the middle of his sentence, trying not to let the guards posted outside the room see me cry, and end up turning a couple of heads. My brain is in a panic room, even if my body isn’t.

All I want to do is get outside since the black-painted walls of the hall are stifling me. I reach the front door and fall down in the grass.

It’s raining.
 
I lay on the grass, surrounded by dirt, and just lay there, numb.

The one non-human creature that brought me joy in this world just got-- sold. For experimentation. I don’t know what to think.

I sit there for what feels like days but is probably more like hours. I know I’m safe because of my bandage and my shirt, but I still hate the people who did this to me.

Eventually, I’m vaguely aware of my things beside me: my bag is slowly sinking into the mud. I realize with a small whisper in my mind that I need to return to the warehouse.

My face, like my clothes, is dirty, but stained with tears and not dirt. I know I have to get back to the warehouse-- and it hurts that I can’t take Victor. I get up and trudge back anyway-- they need me back.

***
Now I’m left wondering. Why? My thoughts make my body shaky as I go on, step by step, back to the warehouse. Then, I think: Maybe they sold it to someone I know. I feel hopeful, but then I remember that I don’t know much of anyone, and feel lower than before, sighing.
After about an hour of walking, I reach the warehouse. I take a big sigh of relief; I’ve made it.

#83 greets me inside and, seeing my clothing, says, “I can tell something went wrong.”

I respond, albeit a bit despondently. “Yes, they took Victor.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
He seems sincere. I go to my sleeping bag in the corner, and finally get a change of clothes from the back room. They are all on a rack, and a few new Walkers are in here as well. I see a change of clothes that fits me. It’s a white robe with a white shirt and pants to match, and a mask sticking out of one of the pockets. There is also a head garb similar to the one #83 wears, and I realize that some of the other Walkers also wear one. I decide to put it all on in the changing room. Coming out, I emerge as a new person.

I see #83875 at a distance, working on something, but I’m not sure what. I decide to approach. “Hey, Jay.”

“Keenan?”
“Yep, it’s me.” I lower my mask to show my face.
“Wow, you look different.” After a brief second, he adds, “A good different, I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess...” I reply, “but Victor’s gone. They’ve selected him for…” I find it hard to utter the next word. “...Experiment… ation.”

“Oh.” A few seconds of awkward acknowledgment. “I hope you find him soon.”
“Thanks, Jay.”
“Yeah.”
I decide to change the subject. “What’s that you’re working on?” I sniffle a little.
“It’s an AVI-8, but it’s partially disassembled. The prophecy disks say we’ll fight Red Nexus around 2090 sometime, but to do that we need to affix these firing cylinders to them and put them in time capsules. It’s a lot of work.”

So that’s why I needed to know about how the drones worked, I think to myself.

He then proceeds to show me how the attachment process works.

“What we do is we take the firing cylinder and attach it to the drone at this point here.” He shows me a spot just behind the eye to the left side. “Oh, that makes sense,” I respond.
“Yeah, I guess it does. In order to do this, though,” he continues, “we have to partially disassemble it and take this welding gear,” --he gestures to a welding mask, some gloves, and a blowtorch--, “and we affix it to the drone. This process shouldn’t hurt the drone -- at least, not as far as I’m aware-- but now it can be used for self-defense.”

“Wow,” I say.

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. Once that’s attached, we re-assemble them put the drones in these time capsules, like so.” He proceeds to carefully lay the precious drone into a metal box, about 6 feet long and 2 1/2 feet across. The box is laid with foam, like the type one would see in a box made for a ring. The lid, right beside it, has the overlaid “A/W” insignia on it.

“Then,” he says, looking back at me, “once one is full, we weld it together and set the timer for the right date. This is a process typically done by #0, #22, or #83, as one has to know the exact date to do so. Few know exactly when, and often this has to be interpreted by knowledgeable people.”

“OK,” I say, “but what if they abuse their power?”

“That doesn’t happen. There are a few Walkers here whose job is to ensure that Alan and the like don’t do that, just in case, and they look at the date to make sure it’s almost exactly the same to what most people can tell.”

“Hmm. Seems like a good system.”

I departed from that conversation with the knowledge I needed -- and the knowledge that I needed to learn more about the AVI-8s.
 
I go to the corner, which I realize it’s a little bit different since I don’t have Victor. I only realize, as I go there, that I had forgotten about him a little bit as Jay was talking to me about the AVI-8s. Then I begin to despair again. I sigh and wait for the evening lesson, still a little uncertain about whether I can go or not, and that’s when I remember— my research! I get out my backpack and take my computer out. It’s then that I realize— Music could hold the key to solving all of the problems regarding the prison break.
***
I go up to #22 just before the lesson and tell him— I’ve found the answer. I pass the clue to him and he says he’ll take it to #0. “This is incredibly helpful,” he says, “especially given what I heard from #83 about your duck. I’m sorry I couldn’t do something to stop it and I appreciate this a lot. I owe you one.”

“Thanks,” I say, a little surprised. “Do you really think this is the answer?”
“Yes,” he replies ecstatically. “Are you going to the training?”
“Unfortunately, no… I’m afraid I’ve missed too much already.”
“Nonsense. We have people come and go all the time, and tonight we’re actually starting from where you left off.”
“Oh! Really?”

***

Later, we go to training through the usual path, but when I get out of the building, I notice a small, black object gleaming in the moonlight. Huh, that’s weird, I think to myself. It can’t be…

“Hold up guys,” I say to the group. “I’ve gotta check something out.” I go and grab the little object. It’s half-buried in the soil, and so it takes me about 15 seconds to get it loose. When it finally pops loose from the soil, the ugly truth reveals itself.

“Red Nexus!” I exclaim in fear, and when I turn around, I can see that everyone’s masked face is focused on the object. “It’s a tracking device,” I realize out loud. “Red Nexus implanted a tracking device on me. It’s all my fault.”

#22 turns to me and takes the tracking device from my hands, gently, and examines it. “Yes, this looks like one,” he states, a little sadly, and everyone gasps. I take it back and stomp on it until it gives a little electrical dying sound.

“We’re going to have to move,” says #22, his eyes still focused on the device.

“Wait!” says someone from the crowd. “You forgot about the emergency plans.”

“Emergency-- oh, of course!” exclaims #22. “#83, can you get them?”
“Of course.”

We wait outside for a moment, and I realize there’s a slight chill in the air. Then #83 returns with four Red Nexus suits.

#83 announces that some of us may have to go undercover, and #22 explains that the positions will be given to four eager volunteers. I don’t know how this will work, but I’m the first to raise my hand. Red Nexus won’t win today.
 
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