On a surface that would have been otherwise pitch black, dark along with the rest of the underworld, shimmers of faint whitish light illuminated the dark resting waters of the infinite underground ocean, making visible the caustics on the surface that move in animation on the otherwise still sea.

Those caustics didn’t reach any other surfaces however, as the only nearby planes were the ones far above the sea, the chrome disks that levitated in the air that happened to function as the light sources in the first place. There were many chrome disks high up above, different platforms at different elevations, the colony of pads as the sole luminescence in the black world.

The world was always at night too, the dark stone sky covering any light with many thick layers of isolation, and further deterring attempts at exit were countless razor sharp spikes that hung from the sky, teeth visible for as far as the light touched with the implication that it continued on forever. Even from deep down at the surface of the sea the spikes were clearly huge, presenting a threat to any lifeforms who sought to oppose the natural solitude of the cavern.

Those stalactites only looked larger the higher up one’s perspective would be, same with the chrome pads that perhaps from the very bottom only did look like small disks but upon closer inspection actually covered the surface of a whole room, not only large enough for a person to stand on but more than enough to house a great amount of furniture or other equipment.

While at first glance the pads appeared to be positioned at complete random, there did appear to be a distinguished center point that being the widest pad of them all but also the lowest, as all others were at other variations higher and at other variations smaller. They did however lack any visible connections between each other as they were deficient in any interconnecting bridges, or at least in the moment of viewing. Still, there was a clear intent with the placement of the pads, a methodical design that had to be adequate in order to not only survive such an unforgiving environment but to thrive in it.

For those pads were not just random flat platforms hovering in the cavern, as instead they all appeared to house furniture and equipment, making use of its space to hold stations on each of the pads. Large metal machinery could be seen on some of the distant pads, tall boxes resembling server computers, and others with the resemblance of a laboratory given large chambers connected by tubes with some even having what looked to be cages stacked on one another as though experimenting with living organisms although all vacant.

Most of the pads while carrying equipment didn’t have any present movement or much expression beyond the static lighting of some machines, although that was with the exception of the central bottom pad which had four curved tables around the edges along with a few other small machines and devices, but close to the origin were four more curved tables making a tighter enclosure where above the tables were screens that fully wrapped around in a cylinder, lit up blue but with visible movement as there seemed to be animation on the lights.

In fact, the closer to the screens, the more apparent it was that the image being shown to the outside was just a suppressed mirror of the actual displays they were meant to exhibit, for all over the screen there were many rectangular widgets, some of them moving and others stationary. There wasn’t any movement outside of the cylinder that the screens made, no motion on the rest of the pad or any of the others for that matter.

However, through that particular curved display at the very origin of the pad hovered a single chair, and on that chair was the sole being inside the cavern who was of life, the man with long black hair down to his shoulders that parted with bangs like solar rays, dressed in a suit with a long black cape with a hood that was at the time down.

Surrounding the one man who lived in the hostile cave was the cylindrical monitor full of a myriad of windows featuring various written articles, spreadsheets, and videos with many of them seeming to be styled as news broadcasts given the long bar on the bottom with moving text and some of them even displaying news anchors at a table speaking. Upon a keener inspection, many of the news videos that are not just showing anchors but rather other footage show said footage of mass gatherings, people many of whom dressed in all black some marching down streets and others at great fields, and a few of the footers of those broadcasts read: “MOURNING OF THE SHIELD’S DEATH CONTINUES WELL AFTER PUBLIC FUNERAL,” “MEMORIAL SAID TO BE IN DESIGN TO BE PLACED IN VERSEPOLIS SPACE SQUARE,” and “VPCD OFFICIAL STATEMENT ON CHIPPER AS OF MORNING ON DEATH OF MEDITAT.”

While many of the windows were of various sizes but small enough to let the others fit, right in front of the man was the largest window by several magnitudes which played another video, although this one in a large field with the largest gatherings of all streams by a substantial factor, covering the entire field dressed in black with what appeared to be lanterns held by them although ones that emitted a cyan glow rather than orange. The camera panned up to reveal that further up the field was a much less crowded section, a section guarded by a cluster of men in the familiar navy blue uniforms with white epaulets armed with the hovering ballpoint rifles, as behind them were five deep holes in a row with the shape of coffins.

Watching all of those videos and reading all of those articles was the latino adult man whose age seemed to be around midway through thirties in terms of the overall hardness of his skin and wrinkles on his face or rather the lack of. He did however have some facial hair in the form of a beard, although it’s not too developed and has not grown too far past being a stubble. The hair still however casted the illusion of greater age, or perhaps the dreary blue eyes helped better to cause such discrepancy, eyes that lacked its starry light, but was instead just a dead ocean’s surface.

The man’s shoulders were covered in golden pauldrons that reached down to his elbows, pauldrons attached to the azure fiber suit with faint blue streaks coursing throughout, emitting from the pencil emblem on the chest. The suit was somewhat dirtied, visible darkenings on the otherwise bright body, the signs of being worn out.

The chair he sat on was angled back to allow him to recline as he lacked proper posture. He did not appear to care about his rather unappealing image however, all his focus was trained on were the videos and articles all around him, all on the same topic.

Despite all the videos being played, none of them had any volume, as there was not a sound in the cave. The man was completely silent without as much as an audible breath, for going off audio alone it was as though there was no settlement in the cave, but instead left as it naturally was meant to be: alone.

“Hello sir,” the British male voice abruptly ruptured the silence, causing a slight jolt in the man on the chair, at the very least forcing his attention to move upwards with a raised eyebrow as he curiously inquired, “What is it?”

At the center of the pad and screens sat the man who listened to the voice report in a professionally assertive tone, “Sir, I believe you have been failing to fulfill your duties as of late.”

His head still up with perplexity, the man asked for clarification, “Duties? What duties? There aren’t any major aberrations that I’ve detected, and even if there were it wouldn’t be as if I’d be effective at containing them. Not just me…,” before he lowered his head.

Again the man gazed at the screens before him as the voice corrected, “I apologize for the miscommunication, I was referring to your duties as C.E.O. of X-Prints. You have not called into work as of late and as a result have been missing a plethora of calls and meeting invitations. It seems Dana specifically was frequently attempting to reach you, although the pattern has recently ceased. Would you like for me to initiate a call with her?”

The valid question received a sigh from the man who shook his head and denied, “I wouldn’t, thank you, not right now. I’ll…get to it later, I cannot right now.”

“Is there a reason you may provide?” prodded the voice, to which the man raised his head again and argued with a tone that was noticeably more agitated: “I don’t need to give you a reason, I’m busy anyways, just don’t concern over it and I’ll handle those matters appropriately.”

Although quickly the man’s irritated demeanor shifted to a guilty one with a frown, and he lowered his head before muttering, “I’m sorry…I will get to it…I promise…just give me some time….”

Despite the push, the voice still pursued relentlessly, “Perhaps you should meet Dana physically? You have not had a physical interaction with her in quite some time, and it may quell her of any worries about your condition. Shall I schedule a meeting with her?”

“Please, you know my answer,” drearily rejects the man before returning his sight back to the monitor with an exhausted sigh.

Without proper maintenance the man’s head has a few black hairs poking out, not straightened as he’d present them to be, and as he kept watching the videos around him the voice reported again, “Your productivity rates have lately declined, whether it is work for your professional occupation or another, I advise that you find a meaningful activity rather than your current one.”

“Are you saying what I’m looking at is meaningless,” uttered the man in a voice nearly whisper with a gloomy tone, facing slightly up. His interpretation appeared to cause a genuinely pained response, his mouth now slightly hanging.

“That was not the intended meaning of my statement, I apologize. What I mean to suggest is that perhaps you should take some time to work on a project rather than simply consume media, or at the very least partake in an activity that requires more of your own input,” reformats the voice upon noticing the misinterpretation and its damage, although the man still does not appear to be in much of a better mood.

He lowered his head before muttering softly, “Like what? As I said there are no current dangerous aberrations. Local crime has been handled well by the local enforcement too as they have been for the past years, they do not require my intervention. As I said I will contact Dana about my inbox later, but other than that I have no work. I don’t understand what you wish for me to do.”

A few of the windows on the wrapped display moved around, some of them getting closer to the center as others dashed away, articles and videos being swapped positions for some to be read while others were put off to the side.

“If you do not have occupational work to commit to, perhaps you can indulge in another productive activity. You can take advantage of the gymnasium on the upper floor and partake in physical exercise. I see no harm in making some use of that equipment to justify all the dust elimination routines,” advised the voice in a sincere tone, clearly not trying to be forceful with the man but rather provide meaningful suggestions that can hopefully be taken to heart.

In fact at first the man did seem to contemplate the idea based on his expression, pondering for a few seconds with the tightening of his stare. He ultimately reached a conclusion, one intertwined with his own justifications: “Physical exercise has no use to me, I could simply rebuild my body with the necessary muscle mass, conditioning my body would be an obsolete task when it is easily replaceable and malleable. My current body is also not in an inadequate state I’d say, unless you wish to contend.”

A few more seconds passed after the argument was made, to which the man resumed his viewings of the videos and articles, as in fact a few more windows appeared on the screen out of nowhere and loaded up search logs, some of which expanded to more articles and videos that were immediately fully sized. A few other windows displayed what seemed to be forum threads with logs of messages, and there was a window that seemed to scroll through a log of videos with many of them having moving images of various former comrades: the man in the white race suit, the woman in the green dress.

Continuing to view more media against the voice’s wishes, the man read and watched as the voice alas struck back with the lecture: “The positive results of physical exercise are not exclusively the increase in muscle mass despite that being the leading goal. Physical exercise has proven benefits in increased confidence generally with oneself and in social settings. It has also been known to improve self discipline and management when sustaining a consistent schedule.”

“Regardless of its physical benefits, a consistent routine will also help with sustaining momentum in a prepared mindset which may become convenient in the event that you are caught in a physical altercation. These benefits cannot be easily attained with your abilities, but instead can only be acquired naturally through various other methods, one of which I am advising currently,” concluded the voice in its professional tone that was almost passive aggressive in its professionality, a hue picked up by the man who groaned and placed one hand on his forehead, agitated with the neverending pestering from his own creation.

He breathed out a fatigued sigh before murmuring in a tone of defeat, “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

That question was rhetorical however for the answer was already provided without a word transmitted, and in surrenderance the man leaned upright and slipped out of his chair, onto his feet with a stagger that he caught himself on with the silver tables, his legs having fallen asleep and struggling to reactivate.

Upon its wake, the man walked around the table before him and stepped straight through the holographic screen, his body passing straight through the particles like colorful fog as he compromised, “Very well, I guess an hour or so of training may not waste too much time. Although it’d be an irrational chore to make a trip all the way to the mansion’s weight room,” as he came to a stop just a few feet from the table behind him, facing an open space on the chrome pad and raising his right hand forward angled down, the streaks along his arms beginning to flare brighter and fiery azure sparks lighting on his fingers.

“Especially given I could easily just bring the gym here,...” justified the man as from his open right hand burst a myriad of azure flames that spread out before him, soaring forth at a downward angle before striking the floor, each decently separated by several feet all across the range between the man and the pad’s edge. Each of the stream’s tailends which impacted the ground began to then morph in shape, each in a unique variation but all spreading into a larger construct.

Some of the streams on the floor shaped into circular platforms that rose slightly off the floor, detailed with multiple rings stacked on each other as others were vastly larger, some forming chairs next to each other with devices and others being tall beams with space in between to walk in, connected by an overhead bar.

Much of the pad’s quadrant was being consumed with machinery that was already in place just upstairs, each flame rising and taking its own shape with a rack that held what appeared to be dumbbells beside one of the taller beams, all of it stemming from the flames emitted by the man, although some of those flames seemed to waver which kept the shapes from becoming truly solid.

Strangely enough the bright streaks along the sleeve started flickering and the man noticeably tensed, his forehead wrinkling and eyes sharpening, his hand clawing and his arm tightening as if stressed from a creation far simpler than the outlandish designs he’s brought into existence time and time again.

Yet before him the many flames beaming out of his hand started to thin and shake, which as a result caused many of the constructs still only materialized as fire to disperse some of its material, losing shape.

An irritated tsk emitted from the man as his teeth gritted, and he grabbed his right arm with his left hand to hold himself steady, his eyes glowing brighter as he pushed out, “Come…on…,” although those eyes then began flickering rapidly.

“Wait no!” exclaimed the man’s voice as all of the flames abruptly thinned out together, extinguishing many of the constructs with just a few of them managing to manifest completely, or more accurately manifest as solid metal objects that clearly lacked their mechanisms.

Among the dying flames one of the wide hovering platforms did manage to materialize to be made of metal with a gray grippy surface similar to treads, although the platform immediately dropped to the ground with a clang as several others do, for they could not even hold themselves in the air.

Eyes expanded, the man leapt forward reaching his right hand out as though trying to grab onto the flames just as they dispersed in his grasp, his hand closing shut in a tight fist its arm still held up until it’s ultimately allowed to drop, leaving the man with a disappointed face which he lowered his head, panting heavily as though somehow exhausted despite the attempt being a failure. Azure flashes reflected off his face with the soft crumpling sound of flames from the dissolving remains before being flushed out completely. His breathing starting to slow, he uttered although still fatigued, “Dammit…again? This has been a common occurrence lately, why have I grown so much weaker? I should be able to make whole-.. towers and I can’t even make some primitive gym equipment.”

While the man stayed standing in front of the center tables, the voice commented noticeably more sincere and gentle, “I have noticed an increase in errors when applying your abilities, it does appear strange I do admit.”

A deep breath of air was taken in before being let out, better recovering himself able to raise his head up and request, “You know what, can you run a full diagnostic scan for me right now? I don’t know if perhaps I am having another minor block, I thought I stopped having those but who knows.”

“Very well sir, beginning procedure now,” promptly complied the voice without resistance, and all the sudden the man’s whole body flashed blue for a moment before he then turned around towards the screen, taking one more heavy breath before beginning his way back no longer with the intent for exercise.

Back in through the holographic wrapping cylinder stepped in the man as he squeezed his right wrist a few times and reflected inquisitively, “Although this feels…different…somehow. In the past when I’ve had these blocks, there was always this frequent sense that I was struggling to reach my full potential, like I could feel it right in front of me but I just couldn’t get it, I knew I wasn’t at my best because I could feel my best just ahead.”

Turning around to face the screen again, although now standing and placing his hands on the table, he continued pondering to himself: “But this…it doesn’t feel like a block…I don’t feel like I’m lagging behind.”

Perplexion covered the man’s face, his eyes sharp and keen in thought with his head angled down in line with his shoulders, inspecting himself while the diagnostic ran: “I do feel like I’m at my potential…but that’s the worst part. I feel myself at my best, but that best is waning. It’s different…and it’s irritating…why does this have to happen now of all times? I admit I perhaps have not been the most productive lately but…I haven’t loosened that much…I still have some dignity.”

“Analysis complete,” alerted the voice, instantly perking the man’s head up like a dog being shown a bone, anticipatory with expanded eyes.

Plastering over the articles and videos on screen were new windows that instead showed various charts and tables with logs of data as well as diagrams of bodies and brains.

“It appears you do not have any prior symptoms of a block present currently, nor are there any alien or harmful traces that could be inhibiting your abilities. The relevant properties to this error appear to have no issues, theoretically you should not be having these challenges,” reported the voice as the man examined the different widgets and schematics.

After getting a brief glimpse of each widget, the man let out a disappointed breath and dropped his head, wondering out loud abashed in voice and expression, “Have I really just let myself go that much? I haven’t been this weak since my first couple years, how is this happening?”

“Huh…strange,” the voice suddenly commented with a tone that lacked its original formality but instead sounded almost human, calling the man’s attention back up with a sharpened gaze in curiosity.

Up on the screen in the very center before the man appeared a new widget also depicting a diagram of the brain, although with a shading of blue the same tone over the entire graphic.

The voice reported apprehensive of his own analysis, “During irrelevant inspections for the sake of a comprehensive analysis…I noticed that your brain has traces of residual Exmatter, specifically corresponding to those of your own abilities which have exclusively been found in creations made with your Exhuman powers. You have repeatedly replaced components of your body before, leaving such residue behind, and in the past you’ve even managed to rebuild parts of your brain. Yet there are certain sections that cannot be restored, as replacement of such would definitely eliminate your connection to your abilities and likely end with your termination regardless, and somehow I’m reading residue in those precise sections.”

Disoriented from the nonsensical findings, the man’s eyebrow raised as he asked, “Wait, huh? Yes I can’t rebuild my whole brain, I know that, I can’t even build a brain to begin with, at least not successfully. Perhaps your readings are flawed, I do have Exmatter residues in my brain, all Exhumans do, but not those from me.”

“My analysis is precise, sir, I have distinguished those readings from each other,” assured the voice confidently which at first left the man in a defeatedly perplexed state, although he became again more intrigued upon the more mystified comment from the voice again: “Or…hmm…this makes far less sense.”

Now ever more compelled towards the truth, the man beseeched almost excitedly yet at the same time with noticeable wavering anxiety, “What is it?”

On screen the brain diagram was laid over by a larger figure of the entire body, all shaded in the same blue as previously, the exact same tone even such that it practically made a silhouette with the additional detailing of inner layers.

“I noticed the residues on your brain all have the precise same age, thus I ran a full scan of your body for the same residues. Now your body does have these residues as you’ve had to recover just about every bone and muscle, that was not a surprise, but what was is that your entire body exhibits the residue of the exact same age, the same as your brain. There is a slight difference with different components of the body, but the calculated margin is all within a second.”

Even more bewildered, the man peered at the screen’s diagram while criticizing in a stern tone, “That doesn’t make sense, I mean you’re practically saying that I recreated my entire body simultaneously, I haven’t done anything close in so long…but more so I’ve never done that with my entire brain. I’m not even sure if rebuilding my full brain would result in my identity being preserved…something has to be wrong. What even is the age you’re deriving anyways?”

“Loading in the age down to the minute,” answered the voice without rebuke to the somewhat aggressive doubting. A new widget was brought on screen, casting a new white light onto the man’s face which he stared straight at in a sharp keen glare.

Slowly the glare began to unfold, his facial muscles loosening and his eyes widening, his mouth opening as his jaw lowered, for his curiosity became shock all in the matter of seconds.

Disoriented with incohesive speech that just breathed out of the man’s mouth he uttered, “Wait…that night just recently…that was the night that…the invasion…wait….”

“Yes sir, but more precisely the age is the same second that I had your body returned to The Pad. Moreover, while I had taken this to be a minor loading error, my logs indicate that at this moment your tracker was duplicated before one was then erased. The information contained in them was identical and these bugs have occurred in the past, but they may not be a coincidence in this case,” further uncovered the voice, only causing the man’s horror to grow, his mouth opening more.

Noticeably the man’s gloved hands began to tremble on the table, as were his sleeved arms, as the black strands of hair were dangling around the head of the man who stared down, his voice nearly a whisper as he analyzed, “Wait…but if that’s all true…then that could only mean…my current body was created completely detached from my own or…no wait…I…wait so what you’re concluding is that I’m…a separate…that I’m…I’m not me.”

“I cannot confirm your speculation, these are all the relevant findings I could uncover for you, if you believe my scans may have been faulty I could initiate another diagnostic-,” offered the voice to which it was interrupted, “No, there’s no need, your report is accurate,” by the man who was trembling, his hands now tightly gripping the silver table’s edge.

All around the man there were diagrams, charts, tables, reports, articles, videos, for behind him there were still news videos of gatherings walking streets all in black. All of the various lights were reflected on the man’s face and body, even through the black strands that covered some of the hologram’s rays.

With eyes not exactly exaggeratedly wide in astonishment but rather hauntedly fully open in morbid dread, the man concluded for himself: “The reports weren’t false…that day…all members of The Shield were murdered…including Meditat. I never even knew I could fully create an organic lifeform…let alone a human…let alone a full copy of myself. There have only been a few cases of Exhuman abilities being granted unnaturally…and I never even believed I had the capacity to do such…but he did…he bought just enough time to send something back…. It’s incredible…but at the same time…,” as he lowered his head to the ground.

Staring at the floor away from the lights, the man echoed the revelation that had just come to him: “For as marvelous as this feat may be…such an ambitious application was sure to have flaws…and while perhaps the body doesn’t appear to have problems in deterioration…it’s only natural that the creation of an Exhuman key would not be perfect.”

He then raised his fist in his gaze, tightly closed as he came to realize, “Which means these abilities I have now…they don’t have the same natural integrity as they should…they’ll weaken until they fizzle out entirely…. He was able to leave me behind…but I’ll only last for so long…I’m a temporary solution…and I’ve already spent so much time…,”

Slowly the man’s head raised with a horribly terrorized face, and he began to stumble backwards, “I already wasted so much time…I wasted so much already…I was brought into this world and I’ve done nothing…can I even replace myself again with something better…? What have I done…what the hell have I done…,” before he abruptly collapsed on his knees with a clang, dropping on the ground as behind him watches the man in the azure suit.

Staring at the scene encased by the screens, the man on the other side from a distance is practically identical to the man, for at least his body was a near match with the exact same blue fiber suit, the same golden pauldrons, the same black cape, the same emblem on the chest.

In fact the distinguishable features only diverge in similarities on the face which appeared to be aged just slightly more, the skin harder and the eyes wearier. Deeper into adulthood difference in age is more difficult to examine, but the man is ten years older, and yet at the same time he’s experienced just as much life as the one he watches now. The standing man although lacks the same facial hair as the one knelt, as though despite the one behind being older, the one on the floor had lived longer.

On the other side of the man who stands with a face dreary and miserable kneeled the man who raised both of his hands, grabbing the sides of his head in breakdown as he began hyperventilating, unable to even formulate words to describe the storm in his mind, for it was that moment when it came to him the true depth of meaninglessness he had indulged in.

Both of the men dressed the same, both nearly the same if not for the face, one watching the other all alone, on the verge of crying from the realization of solitude he had to bear, the weight that’d befall on an individual without nearly the same strength to carry.

Watching the agonizing breakdown, the older man comments to himself softly in a voice completely ignored by the one on the ground: “I don’t even remember doing it…all I remember was pushing myself back at him…I didn’t know all this happened….”

While the man on the ground remained in his collapse, the one left standing contemplates in a guilty tone, “So he was here for ten years…still presumed dead until recently but…he was still fighting all that time…. He couldn’t rely on his abilities…he had to hurt himself just to manage…all of that happened. I just made him without a thought…a real…conscious being…with emotions…and I left him to suffer in my stead, alone, to fight my wars his whole life and die without me acknowledging his suffering.”

Suddenly the screen behind the man began to oddly blur and sparkle.

In fact the chrome floor beneath the man’s feet started to light up and blur, the tables, even the man seemed to start losing form like a painting being washed over.

The whole world around the man abruptly dissipated into flickers of light that then dispersed themselves, revealing the true environment to be a dark circular room with a circular light gray tabletop behind him, a table surrounded by five executive style black chairs. The room’s only source of lighting is the scattered holographic screens no longer fully encapsulating the man, but rather surrounding him displaying various logs and articles.

Inside the dark room of the standing fortress, the man’s lowered head doesn’t change as he just stares at where the holographic depiction of the former Tempest knelt as the British voice speaks to him, “If that is the interpretation you derived, then may that be of your opinion. However, if I may, he perhaps did pass away but before doing so he formulated the group who he’s titled ‘The Bellators,’ and in objective analysis of footage I’ve gathered of them since, they do appear to appreciate their alliance. He sacrificed himself for them, and even if he did not anticipate your return, he left knowing they’d thrive on their own.”

Contemplating the response, the man glances back at the table behind him, panning between each of the five chairs, five members of a team. He turns around fully and approaches the table, keeping his arms by his side while watching over what had now become a relic.

“Perhaps so…I guess it is remarkable that he developed his own group when I never could myself,” acknowledges the man with a slight grin, although that grin becomes more in pain as he looks down at the table and contemplates, “and they seemed to have liked him too…he was able to do so much with so little…he was able to save this world when I couldn’t. It’s so blatantly clear by all of their gazes…how much they wish he was still here ....”

Silence follows in the dark room, not very large as there was not much beyond just the table and some additional walking space. The walls have been smoothened by now as there’s little notice of erosion, although they aren’t perfectly shiny, for the process would take some time given how long the base deteriorated.

“He’d commonly use you as a reference to put himself down, even to the end he knew he was backed up against a corner you wouldn’t have the same desperation being in,” reminisces the voice before urging, “I apologize if this may be blunt, but I’d prefer you not begin doing the same with him.”

The somewhat sociopathically ignorant request pushes a huff from the man almost in a laugh, and he shakes his head before retorting: “I’m not sure if feelings work that way, and I thought you were the more human one between us. You really have changed.”

Whilst the snarky jab does clearly alleviate the man of his more somber thoughts, his smile returns to a frown and he releases a soft sigh, placing one of his hands on the back of a chair. He had received much needed clarity, as while of course he couldn’t have learned all that he missed, there was a degree of understanding in the locality of where he was now, at the least in better comprehension of who he had let walk into the highly secure fortress the night before.

Without warning a door behind the man vaporizes into a cloud that then disperses, flooding the room with significantly more light of the white tone, although much of that light is obstructed by a silhouette standing in the doorway.

The man squints from the blast of light, trying to prepare himself to turn around but not before the familiar friendly albeit deeper female voice inquires, “Medit??”

From tight eyes to wide, Meditat blinks twice in remembrance of his promise, instinctively relinquishing the screens around him, and notwithstanding the pain he’d feel he turns around to face the doorway, finding the woman in the black blazer with her arms crossed over her chest, her head tilted and her green eyes sharp in a glare.

“Did you come up here early or-,”

“Yes yes I did, sorry I didn’t think you’d be awake so early,” naturally deceits Meditat as he places his hand over his eyes and navigates forward, working to adapt to the light he had secluded himself from.

Stepping out through the doorway forcing Dana to strafe to the side without heed, Meditat glances around curiously to find himself in a white corridor brightly lit, turning his head before locking onto part of the wall as Dana squints and reminds, “Huh, it’s one in the afternoon!” That statement is concurrently confirmed, for on the wall across the corridor there is a window screen that shows the outdoors of the green forest beyond the mountain’s walls, the forest vibrant green in the bright day as the cyan supersun stands above the white clouds in the bright blue sky.

Still shielding his eyes with his hand, Meditat steps towards the window in shock to just how long he had been up as Dana’s voice behind explains, “I tried finding you in your room and then had to go on a manhunt, this place really is a labyrinth. Actually on second thought…why didn’t I just call you-?”

Persistent to maintain the illusion of responsibility, Meditat turns around back to face Dana who’s gazing back at him by the door, stalling for a moment in difficulty to find the right words before slowly approaching her and branching, “Understandable, you must’ve been exhausted, you and the others.”

Even now Dana clearly isn’t fully awake, continuing to squint but able to nod her head and respond, “Yeah you could say that….”

All the sudden she comes to life with shining eyes and a lunge forward with the reminder, “Oh yeah, that’s right! I think Kokei said she found the kitchen, you know her, she practically has a sixth sense for-or wait no…never mind. Anyways though I think she’s trying to figure something to make, but uh…so I don’t know how to say this but the refrigerators weren’t on and ten years is a lot of time so ....”

At first puzzled by the seemingly unassociated mentions as Meditat may perhaps be the least awake, he squints and ponders for a moment before his eyes widen too in comprehension, to which he also nods his head and acknowledges, “Oh I didn’t think about that, sorry! I hope they weren’t left hungry for too long, you were all waiting until the afternoon, you’ve been starving all day.”

Equally if not more perplexed, Dana also squints for a few silent disoriented seconds before she wakes up again and innocently smiles, “Oh yeah ah ah ah…yeah because we’ve been up all day…haha yeah, yeah let’s go,” before turning around and beginning down the corridor, now the one to shut down the conversation.

Standing still Meditat remains at first, his face still of the same innocently shocked expression he wore in his response, although in an instant the mask is pulled off and a more mellow face takes its place, frowning as regardless of his attempts to interact casually there was still an unshakable discomfort in this new life he has been thrusted into.

He glances back at the window, then towards the door he exited from, and finally back at his leading friend. He lets out a sigh before finally stepping forward, strolling up the hallway, for he had already lagged behind.

Quickly Meditat closes the gap between himself and Dana, slowing down to follow her pace down the white corridor as the two continue to walk, beginning a new day both delayed.

Later than what would have been expected for the both of them.

But the best they could do is pick up as naturally as possible, and keep moving.

Even if each of them was an anomaly to the other.