Rabbit had a thought about that brat who shot her.

Maybe she should have been grateful. Maybe he was trying to save her from meeting this pig.

She felt bad for Forty-One's victim— at least initially, when they found him in terrible condition, wounded grievously. It should be something serious for gray goo to trigger on such scale.

Yet— somewhere along the way, that sympathy dissipated. He wasn't hurt as bad as he looked. The man had squealed at her as soon as she and Bear had arrived— looking to chew someone out as opposed to actually being helpful. He didn’t seem to have much to add— the targets blocked him off in the tunnel, Forty-One walked up to him and immediately shot him in the face, got into their vehicle and ran him over. She noticed each time he paused to breathe, he snorted. It sounded like oinking.

Remember Rabbit, punching the techno-baron right in his bullet wound won’t help your career, she thought. She was trying to find the benefits of doing so anyway, but she couldn’t think of anything. Forty-One's bullet clearly put the pig on edge, though.

Maybe she should try pulling out her own gun?

He snapped in her face several times.

“Are you listening here, doll face? Are all you folks like this?”

She just stared back at him.

“I have a name, your humble baron-ness.”

He threw his arms up in frustration.

“Whatever! I don’t care!” He pointed to the damage on his face. “This is why you drop everything you’re doing. Murders. Robberies. Orphanages burning down. I don’t give a damn what you had going on. They shot me in the face. Catch the ones who did this to me!”

“Yes, sir.”

He gestured at the nearby tunnel, the far end blocked off with grey goo.

“ They shot me in the head. They ran me over. In broad daylight on the way to Love Town, no less! This is unacceptable!”

“Yes, sir.”

He jammed his pointer finger on his flat palm.

“They must be brought to justice— my justice. City justice! I want you to report directly to me for this. You’re my agents now.”

“Piggy. Get in the car and we will inform you when they are captured. You are overstepping your bounds,” her almighty senior, Bear, finally decided to do his job for once. Wait, did he say 'Piggy’?

The baron scoffed, unable to believe what he just heard.

“And just what Mother-given pile of golden screws do you th—”

The Bear grabbed the Baron Piggy by the collar and raised the pig to his eye level.

Piggy was not intimidated.

“You think you can scare me, huh? You put another hand on me and your whole life is over. In fact, I want your jacket. And your gun. Then I want you to get on your knees and thank me for being merciful. Then you can get back to wor—”

Bear interrupted him, uttering his next words clearly.

“We are working under the direct orders of Mother. Piggy— tell me— are you choosing to hinder our ability to carry out this mission? Or are you just doing it on accident?”

The fright etched on Baron Piggy’s face gave Rabbit pure joy.

With the name of Mother, Piggy’s eyes went wide open. Rabbit could see him shiver. He just bent his head as far down as he could while being held up from the collar by Bear. All his haughtiness and might left as fast as it came.

Bear dropped Baron Piggy, and the rotund man stumbled onto the floor.

“In the name of Mother and Father, we are graced and ordered,” he then got back up and trotted with his stubby legs towards the replacement limousine waiting for him.

She hoped he would be shot in the face. Again. She looked back at Bear.

“You sure you want to throw Mother’s name around like that?” She couldn’t help but to criticize him. Rabbit thought he handled Baron Piggy pretty well, but it was just in her nature.

“Rabby, if you want to be an enforcer for long, you should learn when to shut up and when to speak up.”

“Words to live by Boss— words to live by,” she looked up towards him. Bear did not seem amused.

He continued.

“For example, this is the moment where you should shut up.”

***

They say that mystery is the scent of allure.

For Swan, mystery held something much more. It held potential— the potential to leave this place for good.

Potential to do much more, be more. Do something. Anything. What were she and the other girls here for? Being forced to do whatever others desire— for what? What choice did they have but to live sinfully, when they were born into a place like Love Town?

What sins did they have compared to those who are born free and came to Love Town?

This Forty-One— she had smelled his potential.

“You’re thinking of someone other than me,” Pearl looked her in her eyes, pouting.

Swan caressed Pearl, as both sat near the other at their extravagant, albeit impaired, lobby. Shoulder to shoulder, waiting for any potential pre-dawn visitors. She hoped they would all would slip and die in the front entrance.

Close to the door, at least. It would be safer to loot their wallets. Love Town was a gruesome place where only bad things happened.

Oh, how much she would give just to be able to burn down this building. To burn away the things they did, that they had to do, and would need to do just to amass the money they need.

How despicable their life was. What kept Swan going was that they had each other. Swan just wanted to be free to be lost one day. Lost in each other's embrace— in each other's love.

Swan wanted to be away from this miserable place, not staying for even one more moment than needed. To be with Pearl. Yet, for now, they couldn’t.

Their freedom had a price tag— a thousand more Belgars, assuming the prices didn’t increase again. They had been five hundred Belgars away at one point until the border pumped up the prices— again.

“Yes. I’m worried, Pearl. About our future.” She kissed Pearl on the forehead, leaving an orange mark of her own.

“It’s hard. But you know you can always lean on me. Never forget that.”

“I'll never forget,” this time, it was on her tender lips.

Orange lipstick did look good on her.

“She will accept if you ask her later tonight,” this time, she couldn’t smell him before he arrived. How amusing.

This Forty-one, he was much more than he first appeared. She could tell now that showmanship was ingrained in his circuitry.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she said, before looking back at him.

In front of the stairwell stood a man. Someone who would be lost in a crowd if you didn’t know exactly what to look for. His face, his body— nearly his entire being was forgettable. His nose was maybe a bit on the bigger side, but that’s about it.

For those who know how to read people, however, it was crystal clear there was something about Forty-One that set him apart from almost everyone else. What it was— she couldn’t tell. For now. If only she could make him sit in front of her for a while. She would see what made him tick.

“Yet the satisfaction brought it back,” he replied.

“Then, my dear, care to satisfy…” She donned her most appealing smile, drawing Pearl closer to her as well. “… our needs?”

“How about you help me pawn this in exchange for six hundred Belgars?” He stuck his finger inside the trigger well. He twirled it around like a suicidal maniac, or a cocky amateur.

She knew he wasn’t either of those— not like some of the sentinels who wandered the streets of Love Town.

No— staring at him while he performed his trick with the gun, he felt very much like Cecil— a predator who knew how to kill. The gun had no doubt been used for murder. Or murders.

He might just kill them once they had the money in hand. She wasn’t sure if she trusted him.

“Seven hundred,” she said.

Swan could feel Pearl tugging her arm down, worried and eyes wide, but also unsure what to say.

“You drive a hard bargain. I accept,” He grasped the gun and put it right back into his considerably large pockets.

This Forty-one— The mystery only grew deeper.

***

She dreamed. She dreamed of pancakes, of happy lands, of fuzzy memories.

A breakfast table with Mother.

Her radiant smile is on the screen of every TV.

Looking down from atop the Skydome, not willing to miss even a moment of this experiment.

But the whole scene shattered. Like everything around her had been made of glass.

Why? She didn’t know.

Yet there laid shards on the floor, with memories and pictures embedded in their surfaces.

She stood in the middle of a large fragment that only showed white.

Where was she? Didn’t matter.

Who was she? Something to wonder about later.

She was broken— in open denial of her mother.

There were fragments to collect, to appeal— to appease.

There was a human she had to build. Herself.

“Wake up and stop drooling,” someone said to her.

Mother?

“I’m not your mother and don’t even match the gender…” The voice halted. “… Wait, do you think I sound like a woman?”

It was likely Forty-two.

Yeah, like the first time they met.

Where did they meet?

She found the fragment just in front of her. How convenient.

It was when she escaped her house and jumped down the pressure pipe. Of course.

Hold on— escaped?

She rose sharply, head-butting Forty-Two in the process.

“Ouch! Do you have a medical problem with not abusing your surroundings or something?”

She didn’t bother to answer.

It was hard to digest what had happened. She remembered sinking in bed when they arrived here. She remembered she was in a brothel. She lived in the skydome a day ago.

She looked towards Blondie. His features remained the same— terrifically attractive. But his attitude left much to be wanted. Forty-two didn’t give answers— just questions of his own. She wasn’t in need of any more of those. She had enough to deal with.

Forty-one. He was the key to everything.

He was able to guess what she was thinking and how, like he just knew beforehand. Or maybe he did read her mind. But how?

Thinking about it tired her out. She just wanted to rest more.

The bed they laid on was unusually comfy, and the sheets were clean. Those two things she had been extremely glad about. The rest of the room was in a state of almost complete disrepair.

The wallpaper gave way to patches of brick in the background, stains of all kinds littered the ground. Red, white, and purple dominated the color scheme of the room. There were three beds that had to be separated when they arrived, a TV on the opposite side of the beds, an oddly clean patch of carpet, and a dust-free square on the wall, likely where a picture or painting normally hung. She did see Swan taking it down before they got to the room. She didn’t wonder what it was.

It was clear that the likes of Forty-two and her didn’t belong here. Not just physically, but mentally. Not with her thoughts of home and what had happened.

Forty-two waved his hand in front of her eyes. “You okay?” He looked concerned.

“I’m fine, I guess,” she pulled herself up into a sitting position.

Both stared at each other, unable to talk. The silence drew on.

Someone had to break the ice. She opened her mouth to speak, but Forty-Two interrupted her.

“I, uh… think we should know each other better,” Forty-two said, hesitance pressing on each word. “Since, you know…”

“Since we’re in this situation?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Big Nose is a maniac.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I wouldn’t call Forty-One a maniac…” He stopped smiling. “Actually, now I would.”

He rubbed the back of his head with his hand.

“Normally, I’d say he's quirky. Unique. But at the same time, he’s got a unique capacity and drive, I guess.” he gazed away from her towards the wall. “But today… today was different.”

She nodded.

“I would be more afraid if you called this a normal day.”

She mirrored his gesture, feeling the length of her hair.

“So… Blondie. You’re Forty-Two and he’s Forty-One.”

“Yep. That’s right.”

“I think it’s nice how two neighboring names become neighbors in City.”

He smiled.

“Yeah. It’s a long story. Before I go into it, I have yet to actually ask: What’s your name? What should I call you?”

“Daughter is my real name… or should be. That's how I remember it.”

Forty-Two suddenly looked skeptical. He paused for a moment.

“No offense— but how can you be named Daughter? how would someone get away with naming you Daughter with the gods of City around? Just— Mother, to start with. I’m pretty sure she would have to be the one to name you that.”

“She did name me that.”

To this, Forty-two only raised a brow, glancing sideways. “Right… of course.”

“Don’t you believe me?” She got up from her bed and leaned up close into his face. “Look carefully.”

He examined her face closely, giving her the benefit of the doubt, but then leaned back a little to speak.

“With all due respect… Daughter… you look nothing like her. Hell, I look more like her than you do.”

That was it.

She was trying to be kind. Yet— it was infuriating. Being manhandled by those sentinels, no one recognizing her, and now being scorned for who she was. It was no more nice Daughter for them.

“Oh yeah? What time is it? Good. It’s about to start,” She walked towards the remote, hung to the wall right where the television stood. “Now watch, and admit it is me. Daughter. The one and only.”

She turned on the television. It was seven PM; she was on all channels.

She crossed her arms and turned towards Forty-two, disdain for his lack of culture on full display.

The television spoke the truth of her. The prayers she heard, the laughter at her jokes, the tears people cried for her. They all told of her truth. She was the dearest of City, and the masses made it known through their voices in the streets and their whispers into the ears of the gods of City.

They were here for her, and she was here for them. That feeling stayed with her when her memory was gone. She had lost even her name, but not that knowledge. As she listened, the images in her head became clearer. More feelings came slowly and in fragments. No one, not even Forty-Two can just ignore reality.

Not even Mother can deny her truth.

“Now look. And apologize,” she couldn’t help but to shout that last part, unable to contain her anger any longer.

Upon realizing what he was seeing, Forty-Two was caught in disbelief, staring slack-jawed, looking back and forth between her and the television.

“The TV… Have to look at the TV,” he just muttered.

“No, you have to look at what is in front of you,” she walked towards him and got in his face, scowling. “Look at me.”

He will face the truth.

Wide eyed, he stuttered. “D—Daughter, I belie— I believe you now. But you have to look at the TV!”

He pointed at the box behind her frantically.

Why did he want her to watch her own show? She was there. She wondered for a moment. Did she forget something important?

She held the scowl for a moment before turning back, curiosity getting the best of her.

There sat familiar Host, with his radiant smile, snow-white teeth, and obnoxious existence. He sat in his comfy leather chair, hosting a— blonde girl with leaf green eyes. This unfamiliar woman talked like her. Looked like her. She had the same voice, the same on-air mannerisms. The same height as her. It wasn’t her. But— they had been calling her Daughter.

But she remembered doing an interview almost exactly like that, a week ago no less. It was live. Host couldn’t edit that, right?

She was Daughter, right?

Why was that girl even there?

Who was she?

Why imitate her?

Why did Mother allow this?

Is this why she… escaped?

“You wouldn’t leave because of something this irrelevant. Don’t worry.” she was too lost in her misery to notice Forty-one entering the room.

He seemed rather dirty, an orange lipstick mark on his left and a red mark on his right cheek.

Where the hell has he been?

“Really, Forty-One? I can see the lipstick from here. Aren’t we in a life or death situation?” Forty-two fortunately spoke before she had to. She had too much to deal with right now. She needed time more than anything. Time and answers.

“First, no, nothing like that happened. I’m all business right now. Second— I got us a way out, but we need to lay low somewhere else for a day or two.”

He then brought a gun from his pocket, pointing towards Forty-two and her. She stared down the barrel of the gun.

“And third, you two need to listen to everything I say. Right now.”