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I mentally signed out of my c-chip. The newest model of the small circular device my family's company, Cerebral Tech, created decades ago is worn just behind the ear. They're like the old cell phones people used long ago, except they have way more capabilities and are controlled mentally. Honestly, the design's a little tacky if you ask me, but I can't imagine living without one.

The rattling of the train caused me to refocus, reeling me back into reality. It dawned on me that I'd been so engrossed in my thoughts that I wasn't even aware of my name being called.

"...Lisa? Lisaaa," Trik floated towards me from his room of the train's suite we rented while waving his arm impatiently. He's a sarcastic, self-assured, pompous yet mildly emotional, theatric little ass – I mean prick – who, for some reason, refers to anyone other than me by their last name.

Physically, he's a sophisticated AI system in a four-foot-tall, floating, expensive, robotic body capable of detecting the immense energy signals of the Primordials from great distances. But let's just shorten it to SAS or, to be ethnically correct, "technological being." That's what he prefers anyway.

I told him he reminds me of a female robot I saw on an old streaming device. She was from some ancient children's movie where the robot descended on earth and fell in love with some trash disposal robot: except Trik has arms, a black screen for a face, a silver body, and blue LED lights for eyes, eyebrows, and a mouth. He wasn't too fond of the comparison since he's already sensitive about his slender build, so he usually stays in his camouflage form where he looks more like a 5'5" 17-year-old.

Today, he wore a red shirt, black shorts, and blue socks (he doesn't like shoes). As always, he was perfectly tanned and had perfect brown hair. I never get jealous, though, since I know it's all artificial.

"Sorry, Trik, what were you saying?"

"Jeez, I've been calling your name for five minutes. What were you doing anyway," he asked with a hint of exasperation. "Don't tell me you were fantasizing, again."

"I wasn't," I replied sharply. "Not that I would tell you if I were."

A few months ago, I started receiving these painful headaches that would completely debilitate me. They're usually associated with images followed by a muffled voice. Though they're no longer as straining, whether I'm awake or asleep, my mind constantly slips to visions of some barren wasteland where I come across a faceless lost boy. I try approaching him, but the dream then shifts to me plummeting through the sky. Each time this happens, I'm falling while desperately clinging to a disfigured and bloodied figure as we approach terminal velocity. It should've been an awful and terrifying experience, but it felt like I was more concerned for whoever the figure was than us crashing into the ground.

Of course, Trik caught a glimpse of that part a couple of weeks ago and assumed it was some weird fantasy. How did he manage to glimpse part of my dreams? I'd forgotten my c-chip was set to display (stupid me), so anything I was visualizing in my head was being shown on a holo-screen emitted from a unique bracelet that comes with every c-chip.

I tried explaining it to him before, but I couldn't even explain it to myself, so it's no surprise he didn't buy it.

"Just recording my first memory log. I told you I'm trying to help the next Watcher as much as possible, so I'm going to log all of the events and experiences I go through so they can learn from my past."

"You were serious about that?" he asked.

"Yes. Simply training us until we're 19 and sending us out with a starter pack doesn't help a Watcher get through the civilizations or wilderness encountered during the mission. There's nothing to go from. No past lessons learned, no information about skills or tricks discovered that could help, nothing! The family leaders just sit there on their thrones and bark orders to the rest of us, Mom and Dad included. Just think of all the Watchers who have probably repeated the same mistakes as the last and never knew because they want to 'keep us on our toes,' or what was it Dad said? Oh yeah, 'be creative,'" I said, using my fingers as quotations."

He wants us to 'show him our adaptability,'" I ranted."

Neither of them has ever actually worn the mantle of Watcher, so they have no idea what it's like. They just happen to be the current family leaders of our century. The same goes for the leaders of the previous two Watchers, who probably failed to find Death because of that," I finished, then sulkily added, "And I don't wanna be like them...This is the Hearts' century, my century. I wanna complete the mission of gathering them all after figuring out whatever's going on with the world. I want to prove myself and show what separates us from the Sadios and Russos. We're supposed to be the head family, right? So, I can't disgrace our name."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Yea, there's definitely a lot of pressure on your family this century," Trik replied while stroking the hairs he made grow on his chin.

I remained silent and stared out the train window as the scenery flashed by.

Approaching me, Trik continued more seriously, "Listen. You shouldn't be worrying about failing, Lisa; your journey's only just beginning. Besides, in the last year, you've accomplished something no other Watcher has; you figured out there were two other Primordials all along!"

"Pretty sure they wanted me to make that discovery," I remarked.

"I find it hard to believe we were lucky enough to find two new traces of spirit residue that no other Watcher came across. And considering those same traces were near the site of the previous Death Primordial's...death, I have this gut feeling that something big is going on." I stopped for a few seconds to contemplate what it could be.

For now, my theory was that these newly rediscovered Primordials got the jump on Death, but that's hard to believe since Death is one of the three most powerful Primordials, if not the most powerful Primordial. So realistically, I came up with nada, then gave up.

"Anyways, all the more reason why we need to find the last two Primordials. Hopefully, that lead we got back in Charlotte isn't a dead end," I said.

Trik made an expression as if he suddenly remembered something.

"Oh right, I almost forgot! I was saying earlier – while rudely being ignored – that I've started detecting the signal of the Death Primordial's spirit energy. It's approximately 53.7 miles west of our current destination."

Having not fully registered what I'd just heard, I remained dumbstruck, staring at Trik before eventually responding.

"Oh, my God! Trik, do you know what this means?!"

While still stroking his chin with what appeared to be a proud expression, he began, "It means that I've finally–"

"It means we've finally found a lead that wasn't a dead-end! It means after 200 years, I'll be the first Watcher to find Death," I stated, grabbing hold of him excitedly.

"Seriously," Trik said vexingly.

Pushing away from me, he continued, "You do realize it's because of me that you're going to be the first Watcher to find Death in two centuries. But of course, you wouldn't think to acknowledge my contribution. As usual, you'd rather spend more time complaining about your family than noticing how invaluable of a member I've been in the last year of us running across the country. I get this is your mission, and as you gather everyone, it'll be your team, but how do you plan to lead the team if you're being so self-centered?"

It dawned on me that he was in one of his moods. Being one of a thousand robots with artificial emotions, he likes to feel needed and irreplaceable, so he always tries hard to prove himself. And being that this is the first Primordial he's successfully found in the last year –something he was made to do – of course, he'd feel a sense of accomplishment. Accomplishment I just disregarded. I felt like an idiot.

"I'm so sorry, Trik. Of course, you're invaluable; you've been with me since I was a kid. There's no way I can do this without you, and I mean that literally. Without you and your sarcasm and charisma...and excessive talking, I'd probably go insane traveling around all alone. You're my best friend, my brother; I'll always need you. And as you know, my mission is pretty much shot without you."

I pulled him back in for a hug.

"I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate all this time," I said apologetically. I rubbed the top of Trik's head, and when I looked down at him, I could've sworn I saw him blushing. I get he's camouflaged, but can robots blush?

Pushing me away, he cleared his throat (which is weird because he technically doesn't have one).

"Ahem. Well, moving on, according to the Quantum Train's schedule, our stop's at 3;therefore, we should be arriving in Atlanta in an hour. So go clean yourself up; first impressions are everything."

Trik left to clean the suite.

"Hey! I'm not that dirty," I protested.

"Yes, you are," he responded from his bedroom.

Feeling a little self-conscious now, I went into the bathroom and realized he was right to suggest a clean-up.

My white jeans weren't so white anymore, my blue shirt had tiny holes and rips in it along with dirt stains that probably came from my altercation with the jerks who couldn't take a hint back in Charlotte, my shoes were scuffed and dirty, my face no longer had its olive glow, and my hair – oh god, my hair – was dingy and matted. It wasn't nearly representing its natural cocoa and black luster.

I needed a shower desperately. I didn't have much to work with, but I managed to clean my face with some wipes somewhat, brush my hair, switch to a clean shirt, put on a pair of shorts, and throw on a thin black jacket.

Not my best choice of clothing, but I'll have to go with it, for now, considering in the next moment, I was thrown off balance when the train screeched to a stop. Looking out the window adjacent to the sink, I could see we'd arrived at an Atlanta train station.

I opened the restroom door.

"Trik, I thought you said we had an hour!"

"I said we had an hour 30 minutes ago," he retorted, approaching the restroom. "But it seems we've arrived ahead of schedule."

"Great," I muttered.

I threw all my belongings back into my spatial bag and walked out of the restroom. Standing there, I closed my eyes, inhaled, then exhaled deeply, trying to prepare myself mentally. After all, this is my first encounter with a god. After about ten seconds, I felt as ready as I was going to get.

"Alright, let's go."