"A big red dog? I do not believe so, but I have received a report of a disturbingly large red canine captured and detained nearby." Dalton answered.

"That might be our friend. Can you take to them?" Stripe said.

"Unfortunately, the detainee you are looking for has been recently removed from my authority. The big red dog you are looking for have been moved from last known location to a more secretive location. I am sorry."

A layer gloom suddenly fell over the group's atmosphere. Metaphor and Stripe fidgeted clearly; tears almost formed in Stripe's eyes.

"Is there anything we could do?" Hero asked.

"I will have to contact upper management to see."

Dalton held out his hand, inviting the small gang along with his crew into the mill that stood behind him. The great steel door slowly opened with a command from his mind, revealing the dimly lit chambers within.

"Why not rest while we wait for a response? You look weary from travel." Dalton suggested invitingly.

Metaphor, and Stripe wholeheartedly accepted Dalton's offering, and followed Dalton right behind them in the dim corridors. Hero felt not an ounce weary, but supposed a short rest will prove good to the group's well-being.

They went through a dim corridor lined with featureless plastic. The occasional door would break the monotony. Hum and screeches of machinery emanates from every wall. Small pin-sized lights illuminated the tunnel.

They soon came to a large chamber with a high translucent ceiling filtering meager lighting. The bottom of the chamber was tens of meters below them when they emerged from the corridor. Plastic catwalks held up by steel cables criss-crossed the little airspace in room.

A large black machine sprawled in the heart of the chamber. Pipes taking fluids to and from the ever-busy core ran up and down the chamber. It quietly hummed, creaked, and occasionally clinked. The efficient machine took in whole logs and trees, producing nary a fume, smoke, and waste.

The great steel machine produced hot organic sludge. The hot liquid sludge was stored and stirred in thick steel cauldrons, and treated with various chemicals to yield a desired plastic. One cauldron produced soft flexible plastics that were molded into ropes, springs, and rubber, while another produced hard plastics for golf clubs, coffee tables, and firearms. The machine worked automatically, without need of assistance from other independent machines in the mill other than the occasional maintenance.

The machine bellowed softly at the entrance of Dalton and Tesla, appearing to be pleased to see them. Dalton and Tesla waved at the machine, and soon went off for the corridor on other side of the off-white catwalk they strode upon. Hero, Metaphor, and Tesla also waved at the machine, but it hissed with slight hostility.

Tesla and Dalton led Hero, Metaphor, and Stripe into a relatively large room. It possessed a soft velvet carpet, a triplet of bunk beds, and a large table. A large window showing a vista of Forestland, and its rolling sea of green; and Mountainland with the grand castle of Prometheus in its highest peak stood in the background.

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"This will serve as your personal quarters for your stay here. I hope it accommodates you well." Dalton said, presenting said chamber to the gang.

With a smile pasted in his face, Stripe decided to dive face first onto the beds, and almost sank into the soft mattress as if it was quicksand. Stripe groaned in pleasure. Metaphor claimed the top bunk above Stripe's bed. She laid herself slowly on soft bed, delighting and caressing her in the soft material.

Hero only stared at the soft bed. He saw how much his companions enjoyed the softness, but he saw little appeal in them. He had noted how most living things preferred soft over hard: from bread and soil to clothes and gears; people chose soft, but Hero was one of the few that preferred hardness.

Hero tested the waters, and tried to lay on the bed; perhaps it wasn't as bad as he thought it was. Upon laying on the softness, he found it uncomfortable. It felt like laying on a stretchable skin atop a cold lake, ready to give in from his weight. He felt unsafe, open, tense, and so he removed himself from the bed.

When he went to sleep, he would just dig a burrow, and spend the night, but the chamber was floored with carpet and hard plastic, and he would hate to ruin it for Dalton. He looked for a compromise, and found it almost immediately. The answer lied underneath him. There was a bit of space underneath the bed. He squeezed under the bed, and found it rather cozy, warm, and most importantly, safe.

"It would seem that you have found them satisfactory." Dalton remarked, still standing at the doorway. Contentment appears to sparkle in his eyes.

Then, a robot similar to Dalton, one of the rookies, entered the chamber carrying a tray of refreshments or more likely lunch. On the tray were boxes containing suspiciously shiny fruits, bags of exotic tea, packets of milk and sugar powder, and three porcelain cups filled with hot water.

"We do not have certain particular accommodations, but we hope that these edibles are satisfactory." Dalton said before leaving the room, and the gang to their devices. The tray-carrying robot left behind the food tray, and followed Dalton out.

Hero lifted one of the strange fruit-bearing boxes. It was off-white in color with a large picture of red bundle of grapes. "Edible Plastic Fruit" the label on the box said. Reaching inside, his hands grabbed a bunch of very odd grapes; they were bright cherry red, and shone like polished glass. They smell like lemonade with too much lemon concentrate, and tasted like it. They were hard to the hand, yet soft to the teeth and mouth, they were incredibly chewy. Other than looks, these were nothing like the fruits they imitate. His companions seem to be enjoying it as much as him.

Hero moved on to the tea. In the bags were a mix of dried leaves and flower petals of dubious nature. They smelled dry and bitter, and so he poured some into a cup of hot water. The blend stained the water with their dark green coloring. He hazarded a sip, and found it quite bitter, and somewhat medicinal. He enjoyed the brew rather well; his companions? Not as well. Metaphor seemed to be content of pouring a single packet into her cup, but Stripe was drowning his brew with milk and sugar that it would be more appropriate to refer to it as a melted milkshake rather than tea.

Dalton returned to the chamber in the afternoon. Exasperation burned in his lenses.

"All right. I am afraid that upper management has refused to surrender your friend." Dalton announced.

"Why?" Metaphor asked.

"They said that it's because Buddy had somehow marked itself as a threat to national security," Tesla appeared, answering.

"Wait, what? How did that happen?" Stripe asked.

"[REDACTED]." A loud beep emanated from Tesla and Dalton's mouths as they simultaneously said something someone did not want them saying. Stripe winced at the incredible sharp sound.

"The detainee had [REDACTED] restricted areas." Dalton said.