Think with your heart, not with your head.
Arnon D’Bvaym
THE TRUNK AND Zed shifted impatiently further down the hallway while 64Bit inspected Kayla. The wound on her head was bloody, but superficial. 64Bit cleaned it with some water from the waterskin he had on him and pressed one of his few remaining bandages against the cut until it stopped bleeding. Kayla, conscious but stunned, stared lazily into the darkness as 64Bit worked, occasionally asking who turned out the lights. It took a few minutes, but she returned to full lucidity with a headache and a fuzzy recollection of the conversation with Zed. Westley filled her in on the details, with clarifications from 64Bit.
Kayla glared at Zed for a while, before eventually saying, “I accept the rozie’s offer. But only because we can’t kill the bastard if we die before it does.”
“I’m still here,” Zed said. The trunk clacked in response. Zed was sitting on the trunk and looking back at them, ready to leave. “And I didn’t kill him, whoever it was. I know because it has been a long time since I have killed anyone.”
The trunk clacked.
“I am being honest. That was at least two months ago, and he was half dead anyway.”
Kayla spat at the rozie, then said, “I stabbed out your eye and it did nothing, monster. Is there anything you really fear from me?”
“I had to replace the broken eye, so you actually annoyed me rather than doing nothing.”
Kayla growled but didn’t respond. 64Bit patted her head dry and then stood, ready to go. He checked the metal door again but found no way through, leaving the original corridor they branched off of as the only way forward.
Zed made 64Bit lead the way down the hallway, stating that 64Bit had the longest vision, and then placed himself and the trunk between 64Bit and his companions. 64Bit felt nervous as he crawled over the trunk to get past it—he feared that at any moment the thing would snap open and gobble him up, revealing this entire situation to be a cruel lie from the unpredictable rozie. But 64Bit stepped down, alive, on the other side of the trunk and began walking. Separated from Westley and Kayla, with a rozie and pseudotech trunk in between, 64Bit felt completely alone.
The rhythmic clacking of the trunk’s metal legs against the stone floor, the occasional scrape of its side against the wall, were constants as 64Bit walked through claustrophobic, dusty corridors, always sloping down. He felt the need to turn his head occasionally to remind himself that he wasn’t being followed by an enormous, metallic spider, but when 64Bit turned around, he still felt trapped in some giant web, and that any thrashing only entangled him further.
The corridor eventually bent right, and then right again, spiraling ever downward. As 64Bit grew numb to the sounds of the trunk, he found himself alone with his thoughts. He wondered if Zed was lying about the boulder trapping them down here, about being unable to shift it himself, but at the same time, he knew he had no reason to disbelieve. Unlike Kayla, he trusted that Zed hated Id and wasn’t allied with her—every word the rozie said in reference to Id dripped with venom. But even if Zed were lying, it’s not like 64Bit had any other choice. He had his staff, but he didn’t dare test it on Zed just in case Zed wasn’t bluffing when he said the trunk was immune to the staff.
The Lady. Zed referred to it like it was a person, not a highly sophisticated, even arcane, machine. 64Bit shook his head. The rozie truly was insane.
At least every step, in theory, took 64Bit closer to his master. 64Bit hoped that making Zed the captor of the both of them would be at least marginally better than leaving the master in the hands of Id. And maybe the master would understand a hidden meaning behind Zed’s request, to live again. As much as 64Bit racked his brain—and he had plenty of time for it—he couldn’t figure out how to literally, or metaphorically, fulfill Zed’s request, or even where to start.
Thinking about this pulled to mind the feelings he’d had when he was immersed in the memories of the scouting rozie. It was like the feeling he had from his missing little finger, phantom pain, a constant awareness of loss, but over his entire body. It was a connection 64Bit had made before, but making the connection to Zed as well made 64Bit wonder how the rozie maintained any semblance of sanity in the first place.
“He’s lost everything—probably more than I have,” 64Bit whispered. “They all wallow in loss and pain. No wonder they become monsters.” No one willingly became a rozie, which made 64Bit feel even more sick as he continued to walk, and walk, and walk.
Whenever 64Bit slowed to give his aching legs and feet a respite, the trunk bumped into his heels, which was sufficient motivation to make 64Bit hurry up again.
Just as 64Bit was ready to give up and demand a rest, the tunnel began to lighten. First the black shadows bled into gray, then the brown stone of the wall gained its own color, as well as the light gray dust that covered the wall and the floor—which was also much thinner here. 64Bit felt a spike of energy at this change and glanced back to catch a glimpse of Kayla and Westley. They were blinking uncomfortably, their fleshy eyes taking time to get used to the light.
“I wonder where the source is,” 64Bit muttered. Soft light didn’t travel indefinitely, and certainly not around multiple corners. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t tell where the ambient light emanated from.
“Keep your staff ready,” Zed said, grabbing 64Bit’s attention. “We’re probably going to run into more of the damned soon. Or, rozies, I guess.” Zed scratched his chin and chuckled darkly. “It feels nice to have an audience. I could give a sermon again. It’s been . . . God, it’s been decades, hasn’t it?”
64Bit glanced back at Zed and didn’t miss Kayla’s fiery glare into his back. Her jaw clenched and unclenched as they walked forward. 64Bit looked up at Zed. “You know where we are? You’ve been here before?”
Zed’s lips twitched downward. His relatively high-pitched voice didn’t grow deeper as he grew sullen, but it felt deeper, as if there were more of it. “I’ve been here once before. I don’t know how much things have changed since then. A forced visit, you could say. She tried to destroy my mind, but ultimately I shattered her spine and made my exit. I’m impressed she’s still alive . . .” Zed gestured around the dust-filled tunnel. “Anyway, like any paranoid dark technomancer, this place was riddled with secret entrances and exits, and this one may be forgotten— or she just hasn’t had a reason to use it in a while. She chased me up one while the Lady and I were making our getaway. Nearly got me, too. I should have ensured she was dead, but I thought I did my job well. Didn’t find out till later that the witch was still kicking.” Zed laughed, the harsh sound echoing long. “Kicking! And I broke her back. With my foot.”
64Bit wasn’t certain if Zed was attempting to be familiar, or if his comments were just the crazy speaking, but 64Bit decided to try to humor the rozie for the sake of personal health. 64Bit forced himself to smile but couldn’t bring himself to fake laughter.
Mood restored, Zed smiled widely with his bloodstained lips and focused his attention forward. “It’ll get funnier to you as you learn how the real world works.”
At this point, 64Bit had been looking backward enough that he wished he could just walk backward down these unfamiliar tunnels without risking tripping, but he didn’t want to risk it on a floor that was growing increasingly uneven. He noticed Kayla and Westley whispering to each other. He wished he were speaking to them, helping formulate secret plans to stop Zed. He also hoped that whatever they were planning wasn’t too brash or stupid.
“Time to get a bit more serious, though. Wherever we are, no point in being spotted.” Zed sighed and hopped off the trunk. He smiled warmly and rubbed its surface, and the trunk leaned into his hand. Zed then looked at 64Bit and began matching strides. “It’s hard to tell how deep we actually are, but I would guess that Id has added another level or two to this place, and it doesn’t seem that she’s put in as much polish as the upper layers; I haven’t seen a hint of metal plating yet.”
“What should we expect?” 64Bit asked, trying to keep his voice level. Walking next to the rozie as if they were companions made his skin crawl.
“When I last met Id, she was cruel, but not sadistic. I don’t expect to see the torture devices that might grace the hallways of a different factory—probably just lab equipment, rozies, something to make rozies with. The basics.” Zed said this as if he expected 64Bit to have a deep knowledge of the “typical” dark technomancer factory. Once he finished speaking, Zed held up a finger to his lips: unnecessary, since 64Bit had a hard time hearing Zed’s final words over a growing grinding noise. Zed stalked ahead of 64Bit, who slowed, happy to give Zed some space, but the trunk bumped into him and forced 64Bit to keep up.
Zed reached the end of the hallway, peeked around the corner, then waved 64Bit over. 64Bit moved slowly, still distrusting how friendly Zed had become, and nervous about what he would see. Despite Zed’s words, when 64Bit imagined the factories of dark technomancers, he imagined darkness, bloodstains, torture devices, and bones scattered about—which he knew was very dramatized, but it was what he knew. When he poked his head around the corner—Zed repositioned 64Bit’s head to prevent him from revealing too much of himself—instead of those things, 64Bit saw a large, rough-hewn stone room. Against a far wall stood two large, boxy machines with conveyor belts extending from them. Three rozies, one with a malformed leg, stood before the conveyor belts, standing as silent observers.
“I’ll take one, the Lady will take the other. You hold the last one in place until one of us are able to attack it,” Zed whispered into 64Bit’s ear.
“That’s a bad—” 64Bit began, then yelped as Zed pushed him into the room. He stumbled but managed to keep his feet, then looked up and around the room as his heart galloped. The three rozies were missing so much synthetic skin that they looked like metal skeletons with macabre leather adornments. Standing in front of the conveyor belts, they each looked at him, mouths agape, as if surprised to find someone else down here. Then one, eyes opened disturbingly wide by a lack of eyelids, took a step toward 64Bit and moaned.
“Empty,” the rozie groaned.
Zed pounced on it and wrestled it into the ground. The rozie thrashed mightily, but in a matter of moments Zed had its arms pinned with his legs and began squeezing the sides of its head. Meanwhile, the trunk rushed another rozie and scooped the rozie into itself. The trunk then tucked its legs under its body and settled down. Thumping and the muffled sound of sawblades on metal emanated from the trunk, and there was a brief scream.
64Bit blinked and realized that the rozie with the malformed leg was running away, nearing a large, open entry to the room on the other side. Zed and the trunk had moved so quickly that 64Bit forgot his part. He gulped and ran forward as the rozie disappeared into the darkness that lay beyond. Every step felt like it covered less and less distance as 64Bit ran toward the entry. He felt his heart beating faster and his breath coming shorter. What if there were more rozies on the other side? What if this rozie was already activating some alarm? There was nowhere to escape, nowhere to run to.
But as 64Bit reached the entry, he realized he could still see the rozie. It was running down a short, dark hallway, heading toward a set of stairs and leaning awkwardly on its bent leg. 64Bit leveled his staff and concentrated, focusing on pulling the rozie to him.
The lame rozie slowed to a halt, turned, and began running back toward 64Bit, arms outstretched. Its wide, maddened eyes rolled in its head as it lurched forward.
“I really hope Zed and that trunk get to you quickly,” 64Bit muttered. He backed into the rough-hewn room and leveled his staff just in time to set the repelling beam on the rozie, stumbling it to a halt mere feet away from him. The rozie growled and twitched, then began retreating again. 64Bit breathed a sigh of relief and cycled the attractor and repelling beams, effectively freezing the rozie in place. Doing so on one rozie didn’t take much focus, although 64Bit felt a minuscule headache coming on. He glanced around to ensure he wouldn’t be surprised by another one—even just two rozies, coming from different directions, might foil his one tool.
Kayla and Westley were inspecting the room, peeking down corridors that 64Bit hadn’t noticed in his forced entry; he hoped that there were no rozies that had noticed them from the shadows and taken flight to raise an alarm. The trunk unfolded its legs and shook itself while Zed ripped the head off his rozie and slammed it into the floor once. The head crumpled and a grayish liquid with red streaks burst out of the head’s eye sockets. Disgusted, 64Bit turned away from the gruesome sight and fixed his attention on the machines set against the wall. His heart skipped a beat. Synthesizers. He hadn’t realized it earlier, but what else could they be? The nuclear strength he felt emanating from them—the raw material they were pushing out as he watched—it could be nothing else. For a moment, he forgot where he was and stared in awe at the beautiful, powerful technology ahead of him.
“These ones were built sturdy!” Zed exclaimed. “Lady, why don’t you take care of what’s left?” Then, to Kayla and Westley, he said, “Notice any stragglers?”
Kayla glared at Zed and didn’t deign to respond, but Westley shook his head.
The trunk ambled over to 64Bit’s rozie and swallowed it up, then dropped to the floor and began making grinding noises again. 64Bit watched in horrified fascination, forgetting for a few moments to stop cycling his staff ’s beams. The trunk was unaffected by his staff anyway.
“Good thing this room is already pretty loud,” Zed said; his voice carried over the hum of the synthesizers easily even though he didn’t sound like he was yelling. He walked over to the exit that the lame rozie had attempted to escape through and peeked down it.
“Are we going to check the other hallways?” Kayla asked, although her tone made it sound like a challenge rather than a question.
“Your people won’t be down here,” Zed said. “Id has no reason to store her cattle far away from her butcher’s shop, and the last time I was here that was on the first or second floor. This floor is entirely new,” Zed added, looking around. “Perhaps she just expands this place as those machines eat away the earth. She’s had enough time to add several new levels, if that’s the case.”
Kayla’s expression made it clear that she distrusted everything the rozie said, and she took another look down an open corridor.
“Did Id create you?” Westley asked.
64Bit tensed, expecting the rozie to become angry again; instead, Zed shook his head with a chuckle. “No! Ugh, no. I was made by a savant, a true artist, for better or for worse. That didn’t stop him from mewling when I finally freed myself and killed him. That was decades ago.”
After looking down several corridors, Kayla tensed and then forced herself toward Zed and the large doorway, followed by Westley. 64Bit joined them, keeping several feet between himself and the trunk just in case it decided to nibble at him as well.
“Lady’s chewing is far too noisy for the rest of this place, so we don’t want to rely on her unless we have to,” Zed said. “I hope you all are good at sneaking around.”
Without a word, Kayla began stalking down the corridor. She kept close to the walls, where shadows seemed to pool the thickest in the strange, ambient light of the factory. Her small frame coupled with smooth, silent movement nearly made Kayla seem to melt into the darkness.
Zed raised an eyebrow and looked at 64Bit. “How much of a lead should we give her?”
“What?”
“I don’t know how well that one can skulk around,” Zed said, pointing to Kayla. “She looks good right now, but will she freak out and attack the next thing she sees? I want to know if we should just wait here until she kills herself or if following her is a good idea—which increases our chances of getting out of here?”
64Bit looked at Westley, who appeared just as concerned as 64Bit felt. They both trusted Kayla’s ability to go unnoticed, but neither trusted her restraint right now. But 64Bit knew he couldn’t share that with Zed, as it appeared the rozie was fully ready to abandon her if he saw her as a liability. He turned back to Zed and said, “Kayla can take care of herself, but we don’t want anyone to get left behind. Let’s give her a little lead and then follow.” He hoped that Kayla wouldn’t draw any attention that would put the rest of them in danger.
They remained at the corridor entrance for a few moments, then began walking down after Kayla. 64Bit focused on breathing slowly and controlling his footsteps, hoping that he was stepping softly enough. To his ears, it seemed that his clunky boots sounded a small alarm with every step—he wished he had his slippers in his backpack.
The backpack Westley was still carrying, 64Bit realized. But he decided now wasn’t the time to redistribute gear and kept his eye screens forward.
There was no sign of Kayla at the end of the corridor, nor anything else moving. The corridor ended with a metal stairwell that twisted clockwise as it rose, leaving enough open space in the middle to allow 64Bit to stare upward into seemingly unending darkness. 64Bit was amazed at how there was just enough light around them to see, with some effort, despite no obvious light source being present. It made the factory look strange, flat, dreamlike, as if the world were materializing out of the void while they moved forward and dissolving when they moved past—as if nothing existed but what they could immediately see. The effect was disturbing and disorienting, and for a moment 64Bit had to lean against the wall to catch his balance as he stared upward.
A small shadow appeared above them, which revealed itself to be Kayla peering over the railing, once 64Bit’s vision adjusted. She waved them onward and then disappeared again.
Zed took the lead, followed by 64Bit, Westley, and then the trunk close behind. Zed moved carefully up the stairs, testing each step with his foot before moving up. 64Bit wasn’t certain what the rozie was looking for—perhaps just creaky stairs, perhaps some sort of trap. 64Bit didn’t think Zed would find anything that Kayla hadn’t checked for already.
After climbing upward in four full circles, they found Kayla crouched beside a metal door. The stairs continued upward just past her. She looked at them and put a finger over her lips. When 64Bit, Zed, and Westley grew closer she whispered, “I heard something farther up.”
“We need to keep going up to get out,” Zed said. “Up is the most direct path.”
“And you said we needed to be quiet, which won’t happen if you or the trunk have to kill something above us. We can duck in here and keep an eye out—I looked inside and it seemed empty. We can peek around, see if there’s another way up, have someone keep an eye on these stairs and see if they clear up. Besides, we ought to spend some time searching for the guardian technomancer as well—and other survivors. Looking around helps with all of our goals.”
64Bit watched her, amazed. After Richard dying, after the trunk surviving the particle battery explosion in Fort, after being stalked by Zed and the trunk for who knows how long, and after being struck senseless by the rozie, Kayla could still challenge it. Little barbarian indeed.
These thoughts put a strange question for Zed in 64Bit’s mind. “You were following us, on the surface, but you never got close enough to stop us from entering Id’s factory. Why?”
Zed looked annoyed. “I was killing rozies—what else? Releasing some steam before I spoke with you again, among other things, and keeping you three from getting killed before I was ready to allow it.” Zed smiled, all teeth and no mirth, and turned back to Kayla. “I bet we could quietly take the damned above us.” He looked thoughtful as he said it, but Kayla was already opening the door next to her and slipping through. 64Bit decided to follow her, figuring that would force Zed into following. Westley entered next, and Zed and the trunk didn’t enter until after the door had sat shut for a few breathless moments.
“Some of the damned walking up the stairs—walk like their feet are made of lead. Maybe they are. Didn’t seem bothered about anything—doubt we were noticed,” Zed grunted.
64Bit looked around and found that, other than the door and wall to one side, they were in a large and dark space. Shadowy shapes were visible at the edges of his vision, just barely more substantial than the literal shadows that surrounded him.
The trunk clicked forward, Zed sitting on its surface again. “Well, let’s see what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Girl, keep an eye on the stairs in case they open up again.” He disappeared into the dark.
Kayla glared in Zed’s direction but didn’t respond. She turned to the door, opened it slightly, and peered outside, then stuck her ear to the crack. Westley sat next to her and offered company, but she waved him off. He looked around, then walked to 64Bit, offering a shaky smile as he approached. “I’m just looking for someone to stay close to. This place is—well, I am definitely feeling more than a little scared. And . . . dark. It’s like a wet quilt has been tossed on my soul.”
64Bit thought that Westley’s description was apt—he hadn’t even been in Id’s factory for an hour, yet he felt like a crust of icy darkness was forming around his heart, weighing him down.
“I hope that we’re safe enough to move around,” 64Bit whispered. “Safe enough to investigate, a little bit at least, see what we can find. I hope my master is near.”
Westley nodded. 64Bit took a deep breath before stepping forward, approaching the shadowy shapes ahead. As they got close enough to pick out details in the dim light, shadows grew slowly from nightmares to mannish figures, then to rozie skeletons that had been dismantled to various degrees. Rows of rozies, each with its synthetic skin peeled back, were displayed on racks or spread out on tables. Disturbingly realistic—yet sightless—eyes stared flatly from silvery or gray skulls. 64Bit felt like he had wandered into a butcher’s shop for rozies.
“. . . Eerie. And interesting,” Westley breathed out.
Uncertain that the bodies wouldn’t wake up when he approached, 64Bit approached a rozie on a table, morbidly curious. He chose this one because the rozie’s legs and arms appeared to be detached, although up close he could see wires connecting the ends of the steel bones, leaving limb and torso sort of in one piece. The rozie remained motionless as 64Bit hovered over it.
“It’s like it’s on an operating table,” 64Bit said. He examined the rozie and noted that it had motors on the outside of its bone structure, unlike the rozie from the surface. 64Bit looked at a rozie on a nearby rack and guessed from the different colors between the two rozies’ metal bones that they were made of different alloys. The racked rozie appeared to have motors outside of its bones as well, but they were placed in different areas and were shaped strangely. 64Bit stepped forward, eye screens taking in the dozens of rozies in sight, and saw that each was uniquely built in some way.
Understanding dawned on 64Bit. This room was for study—or perhaps experimentation. Rozie factories existed to produce rozies, many dark technomancers preferring quick and cheap, so, likely each iteration was a new attempt to make it possible to build rozies as efficiently as possible, without sacrificing the danger they posed.
64Bit put a hand over his heart, his fear giving him words for prayer. “Creator,” he whispered, “we have descended into the depths of hell. This room is for designing demons.”
“Bit of a dramatic way to put it,” Zed said, appearing out of the dark. He wore a sardonic smile. 64Bit jumped.
“These dark technomancers . . . they experiment?” Westley asked. “I guess I’ve lived with the idea for so long that rozies just exist that I thought they just . . . were.” His hand hesitated in the air, then he reached out and touched a metal femur.
Zed shook his head. “I see the work of several dark technomancers in here. If you see a rozie with an external particle battery, it’s likely the work of Zhinth or a surviving acolyte. Not nearly as durable as some rozies, but I think he cared more about the explosion they made if they were hit hard enough by something. Last I checked, his work outlived him. It seems that Id has been studying the competition, maybe stealing designs or trying to make improvements.”
64Bit suddenly found it hard to breathe. He needed fresh air but would be forced to settle for distance between himself and the macabre row of rozie shells; 64Bit turned away from Zed, Westley, Kayla, and the many rozies and began to walk out into the large, dark, empty space that was the rest of the room. He heard Westley following him—Westley’s footsteps had a natural thump to them, so unlike the metallic clinking of the trunk’s spider legs. It didn’t take long for 64Bit to reach a wall; he placed a hand against it and leaned over, breathing slowly.
Westley, to his credit, just stood there, something 64Bit was grateful for when he finally stood upright. “You don’t need to be here.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Westley said, sounding disturbed himself.
64Bit stared in the direction of the rozie bodies, his mind churning. Memories and thoughts coalesced from the dark, hopeless corners of his soul: every lie he told that led to the destruction of Fort; Zed’s desire to live again, coupled with 64Bit’s unbelief that such a thing was possible; the aching misery that rozies lived with every moment; the constant misfortunes and tragedies that decent people like Westley just had to shoulder or be crushed beneath. “I—I have to wonder. Is this world worth salvation?” he whispered.
At that, Westley looked surprised. “Why would it be?”
“So much is so far gone. It’s like . . . the world was shattered, then those shattered pieces were broken, then those pieces broken again, and then again, leaving them far too gone to ever be put back together. What are we even doing here? Fort will never be restored. We can’t return the dead back to life. And evil—some evil, maybe, is too strong to destroy. I feel that, here.” 64Bit touched his chest. He felt blasphemous as the words slipped from his mouth like oiled snakes. The darkness seemed to be pressing in, giving him a sense of claustrophobia. 64Bit sat on the ground and pulled his knees to his chin, wishing he could disappear.
Westley sat next to him, the distance of silence between them. Then Westley put an arm over 64Bit’s shoulder and sighed. “Bit, you believe in God, right?”
64Bit blinked. Of course he did. What kind of question was that? And how was it relevant? “Yes. The Creator guides me; I’ve known about Him since I could remember.”
Westley shook his head. “No, I’m not asking if you remember what you’ve been taught. I think what people have learned is important, but I’m asking if you believe in God. Not if you believe the people who taught you, or the books you read, or if you believe that they believed—I’m asking about you and Him.”
64Bit tensed. He wasn’t certain where Westley was going, but 64Bit wasn’t interested in making a theological defense at the moment. “It’s never been a question for me. I have evidence—a vision, among other things.”
“Was any of it personal?”
“I don’t know why you are asking any of this.” 64Bit pushed away Westley’s arm and huddled further into himself, sniffing as he did so.
Another moment of silence, then Westley spoke. “I believe in God, too, Bit. I’m not trying to destroy your faith right now. I’m just trying to help you remember your personal connection with God. You’re right, everything is broken. We are broken. The world is broken. And sometimes, it seems like things are getting exclusively worse. But if you believe in God, directly, it’s easier to feel that He has everything in hand, no matter what happens. I’m still scared—and sometimes I have a hard time feeling my faith, too. I think that’s part of the process. I hope it is. Otherwise I’m lost.”
64Bit felt like he was sitting in the middle of a small egg, just him and Westley, just a thin shell between them and a sea of darkness. He thought back on his early youth, how eagerly he had wanted to please the master, to excel at his studies and projects. He’d prayed, following the master . . . He’d studied faith and science, following the master . . . But 64Bit couldn’t say that, right now at least, he remembered a time where he’d been acting just as himself, rather than as an appendage to something he saw as greater. He wasn’t trying to live his own life; he was trying to be a little reflection of the master. 64Bit shivered and wiped his nose. Who was he?
“There you two are.”
Feeling strangely still, 64Bit wasn’t startled by the sudden appearance of Kayla out of the darkness. As had become her default, her face was pinched into an expression of displeasure as she waved Westley and 64Bit toward her. “C’mon. The stairs are clear. No more time to waste around here.”
Westley stood and offered 64Bit a hand, which 64Bit took. As they followed Kayla, skirting around the tables of rozie shells, 64Bit wasn’t certain how to process what he felt. He didn’t feel the despair that had paralyzed him earlier, but he wouldn’t say he felt happy or hopeful either. If anything, he finally recognized how hollow he was. And yet, something quiet within him whispered that things were a little better now than they were before his short talk with Westley. It was the same sort of hope that he felt when placing a seed in the ground, covering it with earth, and watering it.
Kayla opened the door to the stairwell, and, as he passed through, 64Bit placed a hand on his chest.
“Creator—God—I hope you can hear me down here,” he began in a silent whisper.
Copyright © 2023 by David Ludlow
Boo Ludlow 