“There it is,” Samira whispered.

The pair sat in on the third floor, looking eastward toward the vast landscape that spread before them. Or would have spread before them, if it had been daylight. Sunset had been three hours before and they sat in a pair of camping chairs, sipping hot tea.

Dal peered through his binoculars at the strange event Samira had seen.

“I saw it yesterday too,” Samira said. “I just came up to look out before heading to sleep and pop, a beam of light from the heavens.”

It was as Samira said, a beam of light that seem to come straight down from the darken sky.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” Dal said. “Maybe its how we got here.”

“You think?”

“Just guessing, but I suppose to prove it; we could head to where that beam landed.” Dal continued watching the light for a few seconds as it slowly dissipated. Whatever it was, it wasn’t close, yet the width of the beam was wide enough to be seen clearly and easily from their position. It lasted at least a minute or more and must have been a huge area it covered. “How far away was the one you saw yesterday?”

“It was more to the southeast, a far, far away. The beam was like a thin thread of light. I didn’t really know what to think of it, so I didn’t bring it up. Last thing I want to have is you thinking I’ve lost my mind.”

“Has it been happening in the day too?” Dal asked.

“No idea, buddy.”

“What time did that occur, the last time you saw it?”

Samira looked at her smartwatch. “Roughly at this same time. 10PM.”

“Maybe whatever brought us here is still happening across this world,” Dal said.

“Think we can get to a spot and it’ll send us back?”

“No,” Dal said. “The weird dream I had when we got here. I think all those worlds were scrambled up and now we’re apart of this world.”

Samira was silent.

“I guess we can spend some time up here every night to see if this happens again,” Dal said. “Maybe we won’t have to look for people, they’ll find us instead.”

“That’s an even worst thought,” Samira said.

“I’m the most introverted person in the world,” Dal said. “But even I know we’re gonna have to find people eventually.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’ve seen all the end of the world movies, how does that usually go?”

“Well, supposedly according to some sociologists and whatnot, if the end of the world or a great traumatic event occurred, then people would usually band together. No one would be fighting for the last iPhone or bottle of water. People aren’t completely monstrous… not until they form their own little tribes. Then its no hold bars.”

“What?” Samira demanded. “No hold bars? What’s that? It’s No Holds Barred.”

“I don’t watch hockey,” Dal shrugged.

“You’re just saying that to piss me off,” Samira growled.

“What you’re a hockey fan?”

“There is about a thousand VHS tapes in that one storage unit, half of them are pro wrestling recordings from the eighties. Come on, we can watch them.”

“No!” Dal cried out. “Never! I shall not be subjected to inhumane tortured.”

“Torture? Why you little sh-“

WHOOSH!

The two fell over their chairs and sprawled on the floor, half blinded and deafened by the sudden light and noise.

“I don’t know if its pee or tea,” Dal said, patting his wet pants front.

“What the hell was that?” Samira groaned. She got to her feet, grabbing her shotgun and double checking the pistol on her hip. It was agreed after the iron bird incident they would never go anywhere in the warehouse or outside of it unarmed.

Dal looked around for his machete and found it leaning agains the glass window. He snatched it up and joined Samira in peering eastward.

There was a beam of light coming down to the east. It was massive and it was close.

“Must be near the river,” Dal said, his mouth agape.

“No, it’s further out. Maybe ten miles,” Samira said. “You can see the river right there.”

Dal picked up his binoculars again and saw she was right. He could see the wide lazy river and the trees beyond it. The light was further out, therefore it must be a massive area that was being covered.

“Let’s get upstairs,” Samira said. “The telescope will give us a good idea of what’s happening.”

They quickly clamored up the roof access ladder and got to the telescope.

“It’s fading,” Samira said. She looked into the telescope, while Dal peered with his binoculars. The afterglow of the beam faded into the night.

“It didn’t seem to do any damage,” Dal said. “The trees are okay, the vans, but I swear I could feel the pressure and the wind of it. Was it some kind of magic backlash caused by the arrival of the beam?”

“I can’t see anything in the dark now,” Samira said.

“Should we check it out tomorrow?”

“No,” Samira said. “Too dangerous to cross that river.”

“We have the motorboat and the row boat,” Dal said. “We could cross it with the motorboat. The literature on it says it can hold six comfortably.”

“Come morning, we’ll see what we can see,” Samira said, her tone firm. “Safety first.”

Dal sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

****

“What’s this? You starting up a store?” Samira asked.

They had decided to turn in after the night’s beam display. Yet Dal hadn’t been able to sleep again as the thought of what those lights meant. To ease his mind he began organizing items they had decided to keep close on hand and some stuff that were somewhat useable.

There was a lot of junk in all the units, but there were also plenty of useful items about. Pots, pans, knives, cutting boards, folding chairs, various kinds of bags and rolling suitcases, some food items, and the like.

In their attempt to fortify the front windows, they had taken the two vending machines and shoved them against the windows, but besides the two machines and some boxes, the front office was entirely empty. Dal had spent the last two years in that space, he felt more comfortable in it than he had in the break room or elsewhere.

The office chair was surprisingly comfortable as he had long since engraved his own ass groove into it. He couldn’t help but feel that it was his space, where he could relax and now decorate as he wished.

Dal had found shelving units in a larger exterior storage unit. It seemed to have come from a store of some kind. There were signage and display cases and chest high shelves. Dal set them all up in the front office.

There had been a time when Dal first began working at Store UR Hoard, where the owner had tried to make the place classy. There had been some leather couches, coffee tables, fake plants, and a small coffee and tea bar for customers. It didn’t take John long to realize that people weren’t going to sit inside of a self storage front office to relax, not when they were there just to sign papers or drop off payments.

Eventually the entire space had devolved into an attempt to sell moving supplies and cork boards with notices of events going on in town and stacks of free local newspapers and magazines.

“Organization Perk,” Dal said. “Actually no, this is more of that OCD my dad claimed I had.”

“Setting up half-off signage and teacups for sale?” Samira asked, looking at the wares on display.

“My mom used to work at a local convenience store. Dad was old fashioned and figured he was supposed to be the sole bread winner, but when your company job goes under and you’re too stubborn to take a filler job…” Dal shrugged. “Anyway, we were too poor and didn’t have close enough family to drop me off to be babysat. So, I would go with my mom to work. The owners didn’t care and even helped me out later when I was a teenager to find a job there. Mom had moved up in the company and now was managing five of their stores. She was organized as hell and didn’t take shit from anyone.”

Dal chuckled, as he hooked a package of ginger cookies onto a pegboard hook. “I spent maybe three years there when I was a kid. There were so many child labor laws being broken there; as I would stock shelves. Everyone thought it was cute to see a five year old trying to replenish the beer fridges. Plus I was a total tattletale, so I would narc on anyone trying to steal.”

“You miss them?”

“Fuck yeah I miss them,” Dal said. “Today would have been Sunday and even though my mom and dad thought I was a loser, they’d always have me over for dinner. I’d eat my fill and they’d send me home with enough food to last three days.” Dal adjusted a package of potato chips and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “I was their only kid, even though I didn’t become what they wanted or hoped, they still loved me. Even dad in his own shitty way.”

Dal wiped away a tear and opened a package of water, slowly stacking them on a stand. “Mom was already pestering me for grandkids,” Dal laughed. “My birth was a bad one for my mom, she had to get a hysterectomy afterwards. So there were never any siblings or other kids Mom could have raised. She came from a big family too, three brothers and four sisters. The same with my dad. Huge families and here I was the only one for my dad, who was the eldest of his siblings. A skinny, small kid who didn’t have any focus in their life.”

“They’re pretty tough people,” Samira said.

“Yeah, they are,” Dal agreed.

“They’ll be okay.”

“It was noon, right? Lunchtime. My dad would always meet up with mom to have lunch somewhere. If they were together when they were caught up in this mess; they could be fine. They’re not old, dad’s forty-six and mom’s forty-five. They could survive whatever comes.” Dal’s trembling hand dropped a water battle and it clattered to the tile floor.

“They’ll be okay, Dal,” Samira said pulling him into a hug. Dal could only shudder and ponder what his parents were going though.

***

Dal jerked awake when he heard a knocking. He had fallen asleep in the office chair in the front office. He looked about blearily as the knocking continued again. He snatched up his machete and grabbed the walkie talkie Samira insisted they carry around.

Light was streaming in from the gaps in the sheet metal. Thee was no movement outside, nothing showing that the iron birds were back or something else.

The knocking sounded again and Dal jerked. It was a straight up knock, like someone would give at a door. Was it another person? Dal eased toward the door. It couldn’t be an animal, could it? The knock sounded again and this time Dal was sure it came from the main door into the office. He pulled the small cardboard flap aside that was a peephole.

Bright morning light beamed into his eyes, but it was suddenly cut out by a figure peering down at him through the opening.

“Good day, being. What is this place?” the figure asked.

Dal stared and felt his mouth go dry and his legs turn to jelly.

A seven foot tall figure stood outside the front door. They were lean and broad in the shoulder, long limber arms reached down below their waist, covered in what looked like chainmail. They wore a battered cuirass of some kind of laminate and there were several weapons tucked at their waist and across their back. In their long arms they carried a crossbow.

Dal gulped. “Uh.”

“This sign says you are ‘open’. Does that mean you are an establishment of some kind?” the figure asked. “My creechmates and I are lost and looking for directions. It seems we are not in our clanlands anymore.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The face of the figure was wide and slightly reptilian, their eyes a bright yellow against their green scales. If Dal could put a human expression to the face, he would say it was open and honest. But they weren’t human and they were carrying a lot of weapons.

“Uh, we’re not open yet, please give me a moment,” Dal squawked.

“Of course. My creechmates and I shall await your true opening.” The figure stepped back and began to admire the vans parked in front of the windows.

“SAMIRA!” Dal shouted into the walkie talkie while throwing open the employees only door.

***

Dal had quickly washed his face and put on a button down shirt that Samira had left over from her husband’s clothing. He stood behind the desk as Samira causally had her hand upon the .357.

The first being entered the front office, ducking under the door and peering around in the now lit up small store.

“Ah, it is a shop or sorts,” the figure said. It was the leader it seemed. Two additional figures of followed suit. They were smaller, but not by much. Maybe six and a half feet versus the first one’s seven.

Dal cleared his throat, after picking his jaw up off the desk. “Welcome,” he said. “My name is Dal and this is Samira.”

“Your guard, trader?” the first asked.

“Uh, yes,” Dal said, smiling although he felt like running to their new bathroom.

“I have been to the city of T’loz’kak’van,” the being said. “I am aware of shops and traders. We of the Towering Spires have long been employed by the Copper Tribe’s caravans.”

“We are warriors,” one of the smaller beings said.

“Uh, right,” Dal cleared his throat, casting a glance at Samirs. She shot him a slight glare, her warnings that this was a bad, bad idea thundering in his head again.

“Mercenaries,” the larger figure corrected. “We sell our fighting prowress to protect the Copper Tribe’s traders. In turn we get to hone our skills and grow in status.”

“Did you also have access to the upgrading system?” Dal asked.

The larger figure paused as they were looking at a framed Marvel movie poster. It showed the main Avengers in dynamic poses, fighting aliens.

“Since we have arrived, we have been haunted by strange messages,” the first said. “We do not know what they are and what they mean.”

“We are cursed,” the third figure announced and the first two hissed at them. The third stood with their back defiantly straight and glaring.

Dal glanced at Samira and then back at the there figures. They seemed more lost than threatening and Dal made a decisions.

“Would you like to join us for breakfast?” Dal asked.

“Aw, shit,” Samira muttered.

***

“This is a grand place,” the first said. His name was Garran, his true name was near impossible for Dal to pronoun.

The second being was F’darr and the third was Lokkan. Garran and Lokkan were males and F’darr was female. Although to Dal, they all looked the same.

Garran looked up and around the warehouse as Dal and Samira prepared breakfast. It was the good stuff, powdered eggs, canned meat, and canned beans.

“They’re carnivores,” Samira hissed when they stepped away from the trio. “We’re soft, small, and weak flesh bags.”

“It reminds me of the caverns back home,” Garran said. “The low ceilings and narrow corridors ease my mind.”

“When did the world change for you?” Dal asked.

Garran was their leader. He took a slow sip of the tea he had been offered, refusing sugar or creamer. “It has been two days since we have been separated from the caravan. We were scouting ahead, when darkness overtook us. One moment we stood on a rocky outcrop, but the next we were in the middle of a strange forest. Our land is rock and dust, not trees and water.”

The other two shivered. “It is too cold here,” F’darr muttered.

“This is the frozen hell,” Lokkan announced. “We have died and now live in the frozen lands.”

Garran hissed again and barred his teeth. “Do you hunger in the shadelands, do you need to piss or shit, does your scales itch?”

“The minor torments only grow,” Lokkan said defiantly.

As they served them food, Dal decided to tell them what they knew. The trio were fascinate and horrified at the tale. That they were now trapped on a different world, far from their clans people and creechmates. They were on their own now.

“Impossible,’ Lokkan said weakly. “Impossible.”

“We have no reason to distrust Trader Dal,” Garran said. “He has shown us hospitality and shared meat with us.” F’darr nodded. “But if what he says is true, then our people may be scattered out there somewhere.”

“Many will not thrive in these cold lands,” F’darr said. “Too much wetness in the air and too many waters to cross.”

“I got a question,” Samira said, stirring her beans and eggs. She did not like canned meats. “Why do you all speak English?”

Dal jerked and stared at her, mouth open.

“Ah, as I said, we are mercenary guards for the Copper Tribe. We have crossed the Wailing Sands many times and visited many cities upon the Salted Sea. Mages sell such things,” Garran pulled out a strange trinket of polished beads, metal, and rock. “It allows all to communicate with one another. The White Sun goddess made our people, but the Red Sun decided to break them apart with different languages. With the power of the White Mages we can once cross the language boundaries.”

“So you have magic in your world, but not the system?” Dal asked.

“The cursed words? No, we do not have that,” Garran responded.

“Are you willing to sell that translator?” Dal asked.

Garran looked at the other two. “We may have an extra one,” he said finally.

***

“Such wealth in cloth!” F’darr exclaimed. “The Ts’obai plant gives off fibers that the weavers can make into cloth, but only the High Mother can wear such material.” F’darr rubbed the wool blanket in her long hands. She nuzzled her face against is, letting out a strangely pleasant coo.

Lokkan shook out a heavy wool sweater that had reindeer and Christmas trees across its front. He looked pleased for the moment at the thickness of the fabric and the warmth.

“You are rich, trader,” Garran said, sipping more hot tea. “But this is not enough for such a magical item as this. It is old magic, passed down from elder to youngster for hundreds of cycles.”

Samira rolled an eye at the obvious lie, but stayed silent. Dal only nodded. “I know it holds great wealth for you, Garran. But as you say, the Red Sun broke apart all people by giving them different languages. The same has happened here. No one will know what each other is saying and from that rises conflict. As a trader,” Samira nearly choked, “I am aware of the limitations of languages and the difficulties in trying to help other peoples. I do not want to underpay you for what you are giving up. That is a grand piece of magic and it is for that reason I present you this.”

Samira sighed and slid over a cardboard box lined with packing paper. Among the paper lay a hunting knife and sheath, twenty feet of parador, and a dozen steel arrowheads. While Garran had a crossbow, Dal had seen F’darr’s own self bow at her side. Garran’s crossbow was a simple affair, a smaller bow strapped across a frame.

Dal could almost hear Garran’s jaw hit the floor when he pulled the steel knife from its sheath. He carried a knife on his belt, but Dal had seen that it was obsidian. Similar to what the goblin had been carrying. The black volcanic glass was definitely sharp, but the steel knife was far stronger.

“Who am I?” Garran wondered softly. “I am no High Mother to carry such a weapon.”

Both F’darr and Lokkan had stopped what they were doing and skittered over to see the blade. They stared at it with awe. Dal glanced to Samira and she shrugged. They had obviously seen all the metal doors and grating outside. So a steel blade shouldn’t have been so mesmerizing to them.

“You have a deal, Trader Dal,” Garran said. “For this and the cloth, we shall give you the translator.”

Dal grinned at Samira.

***

“-and then I shall break every bone in your lower extremities!” Samira said.

“Okay, we know it works. Stop cursing at me,” Dal said as Samira had been determined to know if it could translate all five additional languages she knew. Dal had been subjected to Spanish, French, Arabic, Moroccan Berber, and German.

“Just have to be sure,” Samira said.

“Although it seems you were more interested in cursing your mate,” Garran said, sipping on more tea. He had allowed Dal and Samira to test the magical device.

“We’re not mates,” Dal said.

“Gross, no. He’s like a baby,” Samira said.

“They say the High Mothers choose the younger and stronger males to mate with,” Lokkan said, wrapped in a quilt.

F’darr let out a low hiss. “You are nearing your thirteenth cycle, brother,” she said, “and even the Low Mothers won’t bed you.”

“How old are all of you?” Samira asked.

Garran looked at the others. “Thirteen cycles,” he said.

“How long is a cycle on your world?” Samira asked.

“The days here are shorter, but almost the same,” Garran said after a while. “Five hundred and nine days is a cycle.”

“So you’re about eighteen human years old,” Dal said.

“How long have you been a caravan guard?” Samira asked, pouring the three more tea. They seemed to like black tea, or they were far colder than they had been admitting.

“I have been a guard since I was five cycles old,” Garran said proudly. “I was deemed Strongest and allowed to follow the Elders across the Sand Seas. My creechmates, F’darr and Lokkan have been guards for only two cycles. They are my apprentices and will form the strength of my own K’staziko in a few cycles.”

“K’staziko is what we call an armed group, my own mercenary company,” Garran grinned proudly. “I will be youngest to command and to bring honor to our clan.” He frowned and sighed. “Or was. Now we do not know what we shall do. This land is too cold for us and if you are right, then it will get even colder.” All three shivered.

“The rains will turn to ice and even the Salt Sea will freeze over,” Lokkan said. “Then the Ice Wyrm shall rise from the frozen sands and kill all those that stand against the Red God.”

“Lokkan is a failed Priest,” F’dar said quickly, letting out a laughing hiss.

“F’darr is ugly,” Lokkan snapped. “No warrior would bed her and her eggs are hollow.”

F’darr hissed, tossing aside her blanket and extending her claws. Lokkan did the same.

“Enough!” Garran snarled. “You seek to commit violence in the presence of our hosts? Who give us meat, drink, and warmth? Shame!”

The two ducked their heads and dropped to their knees instantly.

“We beg forgiveness, brother,” they said in unison. Garran hissed.

“They do not know discipline. My apologizes,” Garran said. “The softness of the colony has addled their mind. It is a place of politics and positioning, Low Mothers, High Mothers, Priests, and Old Warriors all hiss for power. Perhaps this is our punishment for our lax ways. The gods have decided to break us up once more and force us to realize our true path as warriors.”

Dal and Samira shared a glance. “It is fine,” Dal said. “I can give you the run down on what we know of the system. It’s not much, for our world didn’t have magic or the system.”

“Any information would help us.”

Dal and Samira began discussing all they knew about the system and what it could do. They refrained from telling the trio about the dungeon they had. It seemed they had a run in with plenty of monsters in their two days of travel. Iron birds, shadow hawks, log gnawer, and a thunder bear. The latter they had to flee from, for it was bigger than they were tall and nearly as fast as they were.

Dal scribbled that information down in his notes, as they discussed what the bluestones and redstone were used for.

“I have twenty two redstones and two thousand mana,” Garran said, peering at his status screen. He hadn’t used it since he had first gained it. “It says my Perks are: Steadfast and Double Step.”

“Oh, that’s pretty cool,” Dal said, writing it down.

F’darr’s Perk was: Blinding shot; an active Perk that cost ten mana to use and could blind individuals in an area for up to ten seconds. She tested it out before they could stop her and the warehouse was filled with cursing and Garran snarling.

Lokkan’s Perk was: Goddess’ Wall; an active Perk that created a magical barrier about ten feet in diameter. It only cost him five mana and would last up to five minutes, but it was only usable every fifteen minutes. Garran tested its effectiveness by firing crossbow bolts and F’darr’s arrows into the shield. It held up against the assault.

“We could have used that when the Chalk Wretches attacked us,” Garran grinned. “Three hundred of those wretched screaming down the dunes, flinging everything from arrows, rocks, and their own eggshells at us.”

The three spent the rest of the afternoon in discussion with Dal on what they could do to increase their stats and gain more perks. Samira watched with some amusement and fear. She didn’t know these people and it seemed they were more used to violence than she or Dal ever would be.

Samira made sure to keep the .357 in its holster and the shotgun strapped across her back. She didn’t know if she would need it, but better safe than sorry.

***

“Prayer,” Samira said when Garran asked where Dal had gone to. It was nearing evening and although their guests were interesting, Dal had still wanted to run some experiments on the dungeon. They had collected the broken concrete, but hadn’t tested to see if the dungeon could suck out mana from them.

“You are protective of the trader,” Garran said, settling down on his haunches across from her. She sat on a folding chair with the shotgun across her knees. “You are much older than he. You are like the High Mothers back in the Colony, yes? Steering males that they believe will rise high.”

“Maybe,” Samira replied. “He’s too trusting.”

“You are not?”

“Age and experience, Garran.”

“Understood, High Mother.”

“I’m not a mother,” Samira said bitterly.

“Ah,” Garran looked over his shoulder at where F’darr was snapping at Lokkan as they played with a child’s puzzle. Putting brightly colored shapes into their correct spots and pushing buttons to play random music. “Lokkan and F’darr are not the warriors they wish to be. Many cycles I have tried, but they are not cut out for it. Lokkan is too weak and F’darr holds the bitterness of leaving the Colony in her heart.”

“What happened?” Samira asked.

“Lokkan spoke truth when he insulted her. Her eggs are hollow and she cannot aide the tribe in the way mothers should.” Samira gripped the shotgun. “It may not be the same among your people, High Mother, but among mine. It is the Mothers who shape our colony, who shape who we are, and determine its future. How many children you can bring into the world determines how much power you have. As with warriors, how many enemies you can kill, then you raise in power too.”

“Yet you have been supporting them for the last two cycles?” Samira asked, her voice tight.

“I have done what I can, High Mother. But I fear it is not enough. I can only lead them so far, but they will need to make those steps themselves.” Garran looked lost for a moment. “We do not know where we are nor do we know where our people are. I do not know if I can keep them alive. They are my brother and sister, my creechmates, but I do not know if I have the strength.”

They were all just kids, Samira realized. They were just kids lost in a world they didn’t know and now the realization was hitting them that they could be lost forever. Samira had put the thought of her own family out of her mind. The sister she would never speak to again and her parents whom she might never see again.

She took a deep breath and looked Garran in his yellow eyes. He might be seven feet tall and somekind of warrior, but he was still a kid trying to keep his siblings alive.

“The world has changed a lot,” Samira said. “It is actually still changing as we speak. The beams of lights that come from the heavens, you have seen them?”

“I have, High Mother.”

“We think they are what brings others from different worlds here,” Samira explained. “We had a vision when we first came here, of great beings laughing as they cut up and mixed different worlds together. We believe that these strange beings are playing with us and hope to see what happens when so many different people meet and have to interact.”

“The Red Sun,” Garran hissed. “The chaos bringer.”

“There were twelve of them, so maybe they’re one of the dozen.” Samira said. “Whatever their plan is, we cannot fall for it. There may be different peoples from different worlds, but we cannot see them as enemies, but as potential friends and allies.”

“I suppose,” Garran said slowly.

“The world will have to be rebuilt and if we all work together we can do that. You and your siblings have a role in that too, Garran. Maybe you did not come here by accident, but were brought to where you were needed.”

“How so, High Mother?” Garran asked. There was an odd timbre to his voice, as if he were seeking a life line. Samira sighed internally and tossed him a floaty.

“You were scouts, yes?”

“We scouted ahead of the caravan,” Garran replied.

“We have need of scouts. You have need of a place of warmth and supplies, of tools and equipment,” Samira said. “We believe that winter is coming, the days are growing shorter and the air is growing colder.”

“We have known cold from the deserts of our world,” Garran said. “But this is different, it is too wet and too cold. Our scales may rot and we may sicken from it.”

“Stay with us for a while, Garran. Help us see what lies about this place we find ourselves in. Scout out the land for us, see if there are any other peoples around here. Then come back, rest here, repair your gear and we shall share our meat and tea with you, we shall offer you a bed to sleep in and what warmth we can give you.”

Garran ducked his head. “Thank you, High Mother,” he gasped.

Samira sighed. “Speaking of meat, let’s make dinner.”

Samira glanced to the dungeon storage unit. Dal had the walkie and he had his machete. As long as the trio didn’t wander into the dungeon storage unit, then things should be okay. Samira beckoned and the tough and scared warrior followed her back to the warehouse.