Walker sat slumped on the bench, shaded by the pavilion, and hundreds of people droned around him. Many were in groups, some entered the central pillar that he had yet to enter, and others showed off merchandise, machines, and even weapons. He didn’t know how the lawn, interspersed between the concrete sidewalk that led to the central pillar, wasn’t trampled by the constant movement of beings.

To be honest he couldn’t get enough of it. But something on his phone had caught enough of his attention to tear his eyes away from the buzz around him.

$1342.69

That’s how much was in his PIP account. They even printed out an ID that doubled as a debit card. He coughed; his body was struggling to keep up with his breathing. A recurring theme these last few days.

He’d never had this much money to himself at once. Even over the summer when he still held a job, most of what he made went to his father rather than himself- a thought that didn’t elude him when asked if he wanted a direct deposit into a bank account.

A breeze swept through the pavilion and swam over him. He let the conversations wash over him. Walker found it interesting how if he wasn’t paying attention the voices jumbled together and became gibberish. However, the moment he paid attention to one, it became clear.

Based on their voices, two women spoke behind Walker: “-and that’s just it, I don’t talk to Brian all day and he has the audacity to come home and ask if there’s something wrong.”

“No,” gasped the other woman.

“Yeah, and after I say nothing’s wrong, he just starts talking about his new bench program at the gym-”

In front of him, close to the center of the pavilion, wandered a boy holding a sheet of paper. He was young, and small, with a lopsided bowl cut that hung over one ear.

“Anyone see my dogs? Two mastiffs! Responds to Max and Buddy!”

Walker squinted at the sheet, which consisted of two photos. Indeed, two dogs with tan bodies and dark heads. He tried to muster up some sympathy for the boy but came up with nothing. How often do flyers work? Even if he spotted two mastiffs earlier in the week chances are they moved elsewhere.

His stomach grumbled.

An image of a bubbling bath pervaded his mind. A solid gold bath. Foam that reached the ceiling. A platter of food: sizzling lamb drenched in sauce, steamy broccoli casserole with crisp onion mixed within, buttered toast dipped in garlic, mashed potatoes with chives and chunks of- the bandaged man was lying on a bench not twenty feet away from him.

To Walker, he was the most oddly proportioned man he’d ever seen. The cloth that draped over the man broke up his silhouette, making it hard for Walker to discern his true body shape. Rolls of cloth that Walker guessed his fingers habituated, grazed the ground. They could have easily hung lower than his knees. The head, along with every single square inch of his body, was also wrapped with bandages, though were significantly darker than the rest of the bandages.

He reminded Walker of the ancient torture method, The Rack, where a person would be tied to a wooden structure featuring a series of cranks and stretched out. If any of them survived, this would be how he would have guessed they ended up.

Walker stood up. He knew this probably wasn’t the best idea, but for some reason, a pang of empathy shot through him.

He sauntered toward the bench, “You’re the guy from the bush,” Walker asked rhetorically.

The bandaged head, which was the closest part of the man’s body to Walker, turned, “And you… look a little worse for wear” The man giggled, child-like high pitched.

Walker didn’t get the joke, “Thanks for the help back there… at the hotel I mean. I didn’t realize missing check-out time would be so…” Walker fished for the word, “harrowing.”

The shrouded figure cautiously sat up so he faced the center of the pavilion. “Oh, they’re not. They had a very important person that requested that room. Most likely there was a stash of either cash, drugs, weaponry, or something far more valuable stored in that innocuous room.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Walker, taken aback, stared at the figure. “Thank you for your candor… I guess.”

“I am very truthful yes.” From the ruffling of the head bandages, Walker guessed he was being looked at, but since the body didn’t move he couldn’t be certain.

Silence.

Walker coughed; this time accompanied by wet phlegm.

“Ooo,” the man stretched out the syllable with his soft voice. “That doesn’t sound too good, does it? Need someone to smack your back for you?”

Walker held his hand up in the STOP position before coughing again, “Just not feeling too good.”

“Ah, got the sniffles? The goosebumps? Looks like your skin has a rash too…”

“Something like that.” Walker frowned as a thought occurred to him, “So are you in PIP? Seems like everybody I’ve met around here so far is.”

“Hmm, you could say that. They call me every once and a while to complete the odd job or so. Nothing of consequence really, I just enjoy the work.”

Walker shifted weight onto his other foot. It was even draining to stand. He wasn’t even sure that his legs had fully healed from that sprint earlier; it certainly hurt to stand up and sit back down.

“Anyway, I just came to say thanks. My name’s Walker.”

Walker confidently stuck up his hand. The shrouded man hesitated, then stood up. Walker was right: his arms did hang below his knees, and since he was several inches taller than Walker, and even a few inches taller than Chet, it made the effect of being stretched even more pronounced.

The shrouded man shook his hand, “Smiley.”

“Interesting name.”

“I know,” Smiley said before slithering out of Walker’s hand. Once again, Walker couldn’t tell where the bandages ended, and the hand started, under his grip.

“Anywho, I’m also famished so I’m going to go absolutely slaughter some food. Bye-bye.” Smiley, and his borderline offensive voice, strutted away.

Walker scratched his neck. No wonder everyone gave him a wide berth, the dude was weird. He fished out his phone to find somewhere nearby to eat when he noticed messages from Chet. He read over the messages, looked around, and headed off in the direction of one of the booth-ridden streets.

ɸ

Sonya tracked Walker as he walked toward the edge of the pavilion. His skin didn’t exactly glow with health, nor did his gait inspire fluent walking ability, but he looked a hell of a lot better than the corpse I left at Archipelagos.

“What’s he doing with that ball of yarn?” Zach asked. He slid his fingers through his slicked-back hair, “If I knew he would be colluding with wackos I wouldn’t have bothered with saving him.” Sonya’s noise crinkled; she wouldn’t be surprised if his hair was styled with his own face oil based on how greased it was.

“He certainly recovered quickly; that guy no longer looks like mashed potatoes. Wonder what that quack gave him,” continued Zach.

She grimaced at Zach’s slimy voice with each syllable he plopped out. “I don’t know, I only stayed to set up the table, after the plastic sheets went up, Egor shooed me out.” Zach smiled up at her, a horrid sight.

“What do you want?” She asked.

Instead of responding immediately, he hoisted the rifle that hung from straps attached to his cargo jacket. It was long, longer than most standard rifles. It was also wider than the average rifle, about fifty percent or so if she had to guess. As such, next to Zach, it looked comically proportioned. It was a janky weapon, but in a way, beautiful. It was a mixture of stainless steel and polished Tungsten wood. He flipped the due safety position to the middle and opened the bolt to reveal the magazine with a satisfying shink.

She was familiar with the chamber, it was split into two parts, the augmenter and the actual chamber itself. The chamber itself was normal, holding four rounds (+1 in the chamber to make five). However, when one opened the bolt the augmenter would open to the side, or the top of the rifle stock (depending on the model or make). The augmenter was a tempered glass cylinder, this one could most likely hold a .308. Lining the glass cylinder slowly rotated four metal flat rods that glowed a faint white, hinting at the power coursing through them.

Zach whipped out a small cleaning handkerchief and wiped away some of the grime before he finally responded, “You know what I want.”

She sighed, “I can’t put you on.”

Zach’s wiping paused for him to glance up at her, “Look, I know you think you can’t, and normally I wouldn’t ask but after…” He paused, his face twitched, a flash of anger, “I can’t join an expedition without someone sponsoring me. And being the Father’s daughter…”

It was Sonya’s time to be annoyed, he didn’t know what that entailed. What it would cost her.

“Fine, the conclave meets up in a couple of months. I’ll propose you.”

Judging by his fervent wiping, and the smile that Zach couldn’t help but allow, he was satisfied. “What’s with this guy anyway? Owe him money?”

She avoided eye contact with him and instead feigned interest in the central PIP tower, “I’m just the charitable type I guess.”

“Uh-huh. Try not to get knocked up.”

Sonya left him to polish his rifle in peace and approached the PIP entrance on the other side of the central pillar. There were a couple things she wanted to buy before she headed back to the hotel.