It was, oddly enough, a rainy night when the documents were finished. They waited an hour then walked to the north side of CrudeOil City to see B’s mom. It was quite a walk with all their belongings and traveling across a whole busy city, but they managed to make it there with twenty minutes to spare. Mostly due to B almost running the whole way there. B said it was because he needed the messaging machine to be dry, and he was running from cover to cover. But they all knew he was lying. His new Nevada-style cowboy hat, along with the new poncho did its magic keeping him and his belongings dry.

Northside was split into two sides with tensions between them. There was a clear border of where the non-Proxima Centurions were not welcome and that was down the middle of NorthSide excluding the cross-section where everyone was welcome. The cross-section was pretty much a travel hub or in B’s case, more of a waiting station. Anyone could come in and just sit and wait for anything they wanted if they waited long enough. Most of the time they just waited for rides. Sometimes it’s for people coming into CrudeOil City. Not a lot, but often enough for people to do it, people would wait for animals or items there. The cross-section was always crowded and fights were issues enough for some people to bring and higher security to wait and travel with them. The cross-section, or any waiting station, was always a good place to ‘people watch’ and to get watched.

As soon as they made it into the waiting station, B saw a picture of himself with a list of his different names and personas listed on a screen with another few pictures of those ‘Wanted by the Centurions’ on it. B tipped his hat down and lifted his handkerchief above his mouth.

“Maybe we should wait outside on the uh, human loving side?” B asked as he turned to the little group.

Mothman was covering his mouth with his own handkerchief and shaking his head. He slicked back his antenna and tucked them around his hair to make it look like a hair accessory. Mothman discreetly pointed out the window towards the west side of the building. There was a group of patchwork armored humans in red shirts with gold symbols on their backs. B saw that one of them had an M3 with a picture of Mothman on the screen.

B and Mothman drew closer to Lola who cursed and looked around. She then pulled them around a pillar away from the screen and the window on the west side of the building. As they rounded the pillar they found a traveling band of Fae, about five of them all different animals, in a tight group.

“Come on, we’ll fit in with them,” Lola whispered as she dragged the pair along with her to the edge of the group close to an old, cat-looking Fae that was hopefully wearing a thick, wet, fur coat and wasn’t shirtless.

The cat woman looked to the group and smiled.

“Hello there,” she said with a smile so wide that it made her squinty eyes look closed.

“Hello,” Lola said politely.

“B, get the computer and warn them to come in on the east side,” Mothman said, then quickly and quietly told B their M3 device number.

“Ah, computers. They were just a blip in history,” the cat-woman said with a laugh, “I’m surprised a half-fae like you two would remember those after all this time.”

“Oh I’m not a fae-” B started.

“Not you!” She snapped, then with a calmer more admiring tone pointed to Lola and Mothman, “These love birds.”

B decided to tune that Fae woman out and work on getting the message out to Mark and Blake. He sat cross-legged on the floor setting up the messaging machine and posting fairly quickly.

[OmnipresentBacterium has posted!]

[Go to the East Side to drop off Mom]

B drummed his fingers on the edge of the keyboard while he wanted for Mark or Blake to look or return the message.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Look lady, I’m going to tell you again, I’m not a real Fae, I’m just trying to blend in with you guys right now,” Lola said in a hushed whisper.

“Oh, but you will be soon. And you,” B looked away from the computer for a second to see the cat woman pointed to Mothman, then opened her hand to show him a strange rock with a symbol carved into it. “You’re going to need one of these after you're done with this… next event in your life.”

“I think she’s trying to sell you something,” B said with a smirk as he looked back to the screen.

[McHarvy is typing...]

B stared anxiously at the screen as he waited for them to respond.

“Look lady, I don’t have the cash right...” Mothman zoned out mid-sentence and took a step back into B, which caused B to look away from the screen again.

“Hey watch it M and M,” B said looking at Mothman. He was clutching his head and the antennae were wiggling and the ends were falling out from where he had tucked them into.

Lola looked between Mothman, B, and the old cat lady.

“He’s having a premonition,” She said in a hushed voice.

“Lola… you're… not... safe…”

Mothman’s words were haggard and slurred.

“Don’t... let... B...”

There was a ping from the messaging machine.

“See…”

[MeHarvy has posted!]

B didn’t read the whole message.

[Already here. Mother is already onboard the next taxi flight to Colony 402. The plan is-]

In one swift motion, B slid into a kneel that sprinters do, then took off running into the Proxima Centurion’s side of the station.

“NO!” Screamed Lola.

B didn’t give her a response. He was jumping over bags and luggage and dodging people left and right. He didn’t look back even when his new hat flew off. He had to see his mom. He had to make sure she was ok. He had to make sure he was right. If she still loved him. She had to know he made this happen. He saved her.

He dashed through the door and into the pouring rain. He yelled in frustration as he looked around for colony taxis. He was sure some Centurion knew that he was the OmnipresentBacterium now, so he didn’t stand too long and followed the signs at a jogging pace. B saw some colony taxi ships in their chrome bullet-shaped glory as he ran up to the sides looking at the numbers for which colony they belonged to. Then he found it, it was slowly driving around the station when B read the numbers on the side, ‘Colony Taxi for Colony 402.’

B ran up to the slow-going taxi bus and slammed his hand on the side.

“Mom!” He yelled.

Some people and centurions looked out the window at him confused. Some pulled out their M3’s and centurion equivalent. But one woman’s eyes widened, first questioning what she was seeing, then in surprise. She had long blond hair and freckles.

He kept banging his hand on the side of the taxi. He saw her smiling and crying at him. She mouthed “B.”

“Mom! I can’t hear you!” He yelled with a half-smile and tears of relief.

She looked either very tired or had two black eyes forming. Maybe both.

He stood there for a moment staring at her trying to think of a way to get inside the slow-moving taxi, when his mom suddenly looked scared and pointed at B. She kept mouthing his name and ‘Hind’ and the letter ‘U’. She then started hitting the window hard as she kept seemingly screaming his name over and over again.

B thought the rain was getting harder but then heard a lot of heavy, fast footsteps splashing behind him. He turned just in time to see Lola and Mothman running away from a group of red-clad personal soldiers. He turned back to his mom and ran after her and waved at her with a sad smile.

“Bye, mom! I love you!” He yelled.

She kept slamming her hand on the window as the taxi kept moving faster and faster until B couldn’t keep up. She then moved to the back window staring after B as she sobbed and kept mouthing B.

“I’ll be ok!” He yelled at the bus. Though walking through the desert for a week and walking all over town for another has made him stronger, he was losing steam from all that running and yelling.

He reached up for another wave to the taxi when a flash of red tackled him into the muddy gravel.

B was gasping for air once his face was lifted from the mud puddle and was dragged limply by his arms toward a gas guzzler. B tried to sneakily look up to who was dragging him, as he tried to form a battle plan. He made eye contact with a red-headed man with short-cut hair, and freckles. His green eyes stung with deceit.

“Blake?” B whispered in shock.

“Mark,” He said flatly as he stopped and grabbed the back of B’s hair.

B couldn’t stop the hood of the gas guzzler from coming up to meet his face.

Things were dark for a while after that.