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a sequel. A NOVEL BY SHUANG LIANG DISCLAIMERS & WARNINGS: ⚠️You are not allowed to take and use this story without permission. Also do not copy (in these terms, ‘copy’ means to be heavily inspired) this book.⚠️ TABLE OF CONTENTS Ch. 1: 𝟚𝟘𝟙𝟘 ➟ Ch. 2: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝟙𝟛𝕥𝕙 𝔸𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝟚𝟘𝟙𝟘 ➟ ...If Scrappy had not been human, maybe things would've been better. Her parents had accidentally named her after the nature she was born in. They had been working their jobs at a facility in Antarctica, a cold, metal walled place, not noticing her existence in the womb up until the moment she was born. Scrappy, like all of the persons to ever live on Earth, did not remember her birth, nor the two years afterward; however this is what her mother told her: She came unexpectedly into life in the middle of a toast-and-eggs breakfast. A low table served as her first bed, and she wailed and wailed and wailed. She did not shut up, so her father had to prod her with a spoon. Immediately the baby clamped onto it with her toothless mouth and threw a fit when it was heavy and sank her head to the side. Then she promptly rolled off the table and let out a bloodcurdling shriek upon impact with the ground; One of her parent's coworkers had to place a paper towel on the table. "That's one scrappy baby," her father observed. Her mother glanced sleepily up from the chair-bed which she was laying in. "Scrappy?" And so, before anyone could protest much, the baby was proclaimed 'Scrappy.' No wonder why she watched so much Scooby-Doo when she was five. Two months after her birth, her parents arranged a flight back to the USA. It wasn't easy. They had been in the midst of a project, which made it all the more slower. After the aggressive struggles of returning, they settled Scrappy in what would be her bed for the next few years. She underwent the very normal processes of walking, basic speech, and comprehension. Scrappy's first (official) day of school was chaotic. There were so many strangers she was grouped with, in a confined space, expected to sit all day long in a chair and listen with minimal breaks. The patience of a kindergartner is often strained, and she was no exception. Furthermore was the issue of naps. In preschool, you were free to nap in regulated hours; but now napping could unfortunately be punished with a scolding and/or call back to your parents. Such was the degradation that would plague the present for 12 more years. And that wasn't all. Elementary school is a haven compared to the upper grades, but not everyone was eager to be friendly, if not even in a treacherous or self-interested way. There were bullies, rude kids, annoying kids, that nearly outnumbered the good. A quick preview, this was, and altogether an unwelcome experience, especially when everyone teased her after she announced she was Antarcticanian (a person whose birthplace is Antarctica, of course.) Scrappy was glad to be back after school. Her house was a completely normal, average one, painted gray on the outside. Black rails acted as a safeguard even though Scrappy could climb over them with some effort; she often did this for fun, but never when her parents were around. Some—oddly—teal succulents, black tipped at the ends, were wonderfully suspended from the overhang. The backyard was a vain green, the grass neatly cropped. Two trees surrounded this whole property, their leaves waving teasingly in the air, as if to say: 'You're it, now try catching me up here!' Just as Scrappy was about to sprint up the walkway and fling herself into the house, the sprinklers came on, drenching both her and the grateful, thirsty grass. Luckily her mother stepped outside and beckoned to the backdoor, unlocking it to let her inside. "How was your first day of school? Was it fun?" Scrappy's mom asked, taking one of her hands and spinning her around the living room, which made her giggle. "It was okay, mama, we did at least get to take rests," she replied. "Did you make any new friends?" her parent inquired, setting her down on the couch. Scrappy thought for a moment. "Only Mercedes was there," she finally answered. They both looked out the window, locking their eyes on the slightly-larger blue house next door. Providence and Mercedes' house was a navy blue, with a big screen door in the front. Half the backyard grass had been replaced with a garden planted in sand, a stepping-stone path cutting through it to the actual house. A hose seemed permanently coiled up in the small cement patio. The hum of the big generator was oddly comforting in the midst of birdcalls and silence. This was the presence that greeted Scrappy the times she had come over. The trio's relationship had gone way before they were born, when her parents had become friends with their coworkers, the said P&M; however, unlike Scrappy's, P&M's parents knew they were coming, and booked a flight in advance. 'Parents' refers to a single set, and they were indeed born of one father, however of different mothers, rendering them half-brothers. Perhaps the meager differences of blood affected them more dearly than expected, for Providence was snappish and unsettling, and Mercedes was often timid. Their names, however, were one thing that amusingly brought them together. Scrappy sometimes wondered if they had at first been offended when discovering the feminine nature of their names, but she couldn't do anything about that, and so she did not care. Besides, Mercedes being miffed at sharing a title with a car brand and Providence with a holy figure didn't mean Scrappy wasn't either at sharing with a rapper and fictional character. The days always passed quickly when she was playing with them. Most of the time they would end up play fighting, Providence nipping at Mercedes' heels. "Let's play tag," the former said. "Scrappyyoureit—" he was gone. Scrappy skipped over the cement and tapped Mercedes lightly on the shoulder, then turned around to bolt, but got tagged back first. She let out a playful cry and pounced, making them both fall face-first into—luckily—the grass. He struggled to get up, ripping out the grass, showering the two of them in soil and greenery. Then finally Mercedes managed to get his legs out, stood up, brushed against her arm, and took off. All the while Providence had been watching, laughing for once, in a small tree. Once he saw his friends coming he swung his feet out from under and dropped onto all fours, getting up immediately afterward. Mercedes and Scrappy barreled towards him, resulting in Providence escaping from the other two, not knowing who was it and playing it safe. This was quite reasonable due to the fact that the others were tripping over each other constantly. Eventually Providence got tired from running and fell against a tree. He didn't see his friends coming in from the left. A couple of seconds later the entire trio was entangled in a mass ball, fighting each other and wrestling. Scrappy kicked Providence to the side. Mercedes accidentally slapped Scrappy hard in the face, leading to her yelping and regrouping to the right. Providence got up and leaped onto Mercedes. The latter startled and threw his brother off. Scrappy then proceeded to push everyone by force into the same tree Providence had been resting on. Leaves showered onto them, making it difficult to see and getting into their mouths. Mercedes spat out a morsel of leaf; they took some time to catch their breath. "That was epic." Providence hissed. "Don't do that again, can you not?" he muttered, but his eyes were shining. On different days they fully teamed up and competed against other kids in the same neighborhood. Providence announced that since they were Antarcticanian, who were a new people consisting of only three, they had to show the rest of the world they were as good as them. Internally Scrappy sometimes thought of herself as the only true one, as the others hadn't actually been born in Antarctica, but kept it to herself. And so the trio accepted boisterous, and sometimes dangerous, challenges. Climb a tall tree! Do a backflip! Steal each other's bicycles! Run a mile in four minutes! Cartwheel on the cement! C h e c k . They had all been nine back then. Elementary school, including the first part of Scrappy's life, had passed strangely quickly. The first day of middle school had been a little like the first, except people started to whisper instead of laugh when she insisted she was Antarcticanian. What made it worse was that this time, neither of her friends were in her class, so Scrappy had to take on 32 other students, for the next nine months, all alone. As long as there wasn't drama, she would be fine, but knowing the social structure of the education system, there was bound to be some one way or another. Normally she would rebuke the class, but truth is, Scrappy was afraid of the majority. Truth is, that's common sense, and anyways, it would probably broadcast the drama to the rest of the school. So she decided to keep quiet and see if any more fell from their mouths. The introductions were almost funny: When one person got up from their table, the people they had been gossiping with changed gears as rapidly to gossip about them, and afterwards the person would continue the cycle when one of their circle members went up. But it drove Scrappy crazy, this feeling of tension, and her eyes nervously darted around the room, spinning from the whiteboard to the too-bright lights, back to the wooden desks, and then to the wallpaper; all the while fidgeting. Her table stared at each other and then at her, mildly concerned for themselves. The fit passed and Scrappy stared blankly at the wall, trying to remember what had caused the stir, and afterwards feeling like she had been overdramatic. She temporarily snapped back to her senses and looked around. The teacher was giving everyone a tour while they sat in their seats, showing them around the classroom. Scrappy had missed an estimated 50% of the information conveyed, and she started to worry. The teacher, Ms. Sanchez, spun around, brown hair whipping around stormily. "...And this is the posting board. You will be sharing your ideas here, when you receive the homework." Scrappy gulped and neatly sat, crossing her legs over each other. Just then, the bell rang. Its shrill, nasally voice ripped and ricocheted off the walls, but to Scrappy and many of her classmates it sounded like angel harps. The door was shut, but the crowd rushing through opened it by sheer body weight alone. "Have a good break and don't hurt each other!" Sanchez yelled after the swiftly disappearing mass. Just then, 40% of the entire middle school was almost quite literally stampeding towards the exit. Scrappy was forced to move her legs, keeping up with random kids that seemed like good landmarks, and overall trying to actually survive in the trampling, life-threatening mob. One time she actually got hoisted a foot or two off the ground, and from then on avoided people shorter than her or Naruto-running. "Oh!" she hissed as her backpack fell to the ground after being repeatedly pushed around. Without thinking, she swooped to pick it back up, cringing at the excited collection of students rushing towards her for their hard-earned break. A leg kicked her in the shoulder, and Scrappy was thrown off course, the backpack also spinning across the tiles. She grinded her teeth in frustration. Her back was starting to ache, her hands stung, and her shoulder was in shock, still recovering from its harsh reprimand. She thought about curling up like in a tornado drill and just waiting the entire thing out, which couldn't last much longer. And so Scrappy folded over and pressed her face against her arms, shutting out the stampede. Approximately a minute later, even the very last stragglers of the crowd had departed, leaving the pocket lint, dust, and hair strands of exactly 266 students, whose ignorance Scrappy had braved. Warily she stood at the double doors, picking her way through the neatly tended fern plants, being careful even not to trip over the black irrigation tubes. Outlined against the horizon, a splayed out blacktop was smattered against the field, its yellow dividers shining reflectively in the sunlight. There was also a "main square", the school's mascot carved cleanly into the circle of stone. More plants, in pots this time, lined the sides. And—this was special—there was a gray maze off to the side, its walls of varying heights. About a quarter of the population currently in sight was either inspecting it or trying it. It was extremely loud, full of kids calling to each other to determine their locations. Scrappy planned to avoid it, at least until things calmed down; The previous panic had taught her that. The rest of the areas were occupied with relaxed, chatting groups. She fished in an entire conversation about what kind of tree was most planted on campus, as well a few mouthfuls of gossip. Nothing very interesting. As for the field, barely anyone had spoken a word of discussion, all too preoccupied with playing sports or games. Scrappy desperately searched for P&M, not having seen a hair of them since yesterday, when they were digging a hole in a yard. Then her eyes lit up as they fell on Providence, who was trying to climb a tree as Mercedes watched. At that moment, due to her condemned luck, the bell rang. She quite literally sped to her friends, trying to talk before they were sent to separate classrooms. "Hi," Scrappy said breathlessly. "You're finally here! What class are you in?" Providence asked excitedly. He fidgeted with a blade of grass, dropping it and picking it back up. It fluttered into Mercedes's face, making him sneeze and blink. "Ms. Sanchez's, down the hall, room 31," she replied. "We were looking for you in the crowd," Mercedes added, snatching the fragment and batting it away. "I thought you would come in the break, but y'know, recess lasts barely 15 minutes," he finished, irritated. Scrappy grunted in agreement. "Is your teacher-" The trio's back-and-forth was interrupted once again as Ms. Sanchez stuck herself out the door and beckoned to Scrappy. She made off, only tossing a backwards glance as a goodbye. At first the day seemed to be proceeding normally, with sneak peeks of homework and the curriculum, information on class rules, disclaimers, and assigned desks. Scrappy inwardly groaned as she was notified of her new permanent location between two kids, the first one annoying and the second ignorant. Moreover in the hallways some sort of switch flipped, and the very first class fight broke out. From what she could tell it was about a girl stealing another girl's phone, and the class was divided; half leaping eagerly into the fray without a care in the world and the other metaphorically straining backwards, losing their purchase on the slippery material of peace, doing their best not to be pulled into the hole of war whom their peers had already descended into. Multiple teachers were trying to stop the brawl which had already amassed 16 people, but in vain during all the chaos and hatred. Fists flew. Lockers were dented. Even teeth flashed, and there were several visible bite marks on some participants afterwards. One kid even had a metal pole he had allegedly found thrown down on the street; Scrappy silently questioned how he had managed to hide it during class, or how he made the time to casually run from the conflict and grab it, and even how he had known it was there in the first place, but now was not a good time to ask. A couple of her classmates were recording with their phones, but based on the camera angle, they were probably aiming at the wrong thing. Scrappy thought about asking if they had YouTube channels and watching the uploads later, however due to the nature of the universe they would probably be in 144p anyway, so she kept quiet. Finally the struggle started to dissolve, its fighters tiring and/or the desire for conflict dying down. One by one people jumped up and wove between the bystanders, heading to the main lobbies. Eventually there was nothing left except a few scrapes on the lockers and floor and a few stunned teachers. The audience murmured among themselves and dispersed, hanging onto their phones much tighter than before the fight. One day Scrappy looked in the mirror and noticed something was different. This had not happened before: it was the same blond-ish hair, brown eyes, short-sleeved collared shirt with the shoulder sleeves turned up, blue thin jacket, olive skin, long ebony jeans, short boots—the whole attire, with the outfit varying of course—but something was changed in her face, nearly thirteen years older than the very first day. But according to how young she was, she was bound not to think anything of it, and so she didn't. Perhaps, at 27, Scrappy would get a flashback of this one moment and start to miss the old days, however, this incident was still to come. Some things were still the same; when Scrappy had her mood firmly beat into neutral her face predictably remained impassive, sometimes with a slight frown or smile when thinking about anything else except the present. When she was miffed, her eyes were more closed than usual, resembling the drowsy appearance of a person who has caught the idea of sleep by the hair and whipped it around until it became a long lost memory. As soon as she became angry she normally slapped or verbally started piling the abuse onto the other person, and would've probably outright attacked if the law of humanity had permitted her, but the population of eight billion, including Scrappy, at heart was driven away at the idea of blood. This law had also come into the justice system long ago, and she had been taught to respect her elders—so the heavily restrained one hundred and seventeen pounds of rage lay idle, temper bottling up and then draining away after around an hour. It was in this fashion that Scrappy perceived her sudden changes, and it was ignored. She trotted into the living room, looking much like it did when they had first arrived in the USA, the only few differences were that now there were thick coatings of dust up on the top of the bookshelf, and a new vanilla carpet splayed out onto the floor. She vaguely remembered the day she had begged her parents to give the entire room a glow-up, tired of everything, just tired of waking up and having to cross this ‘abomination’, even accepting the idea of switching it out entirely or boarding the space up. Now it just felt nostalgic and warm, and she always felt a pat on the head from reminiscence whenever sitting down on the lovely couch—the very same way she had done all those years ago in kindergarten. Scrappy was just zoning off, staring into the sea of books, running her fingers absentmindedly across the bold, printed titles, arranging the ones that had their pages facing out, occasionally grabbing and flipping through the volumes— "Scrappy, we have a surprise for you," her dad said, appearing out of nowhere and smiling. He leaned against the bookshelf and continued. "I know this is sudden, but this will make why we go away for work in Antarctica so much more make sense, okay?" She blinked. "I don't follow- okay, go on-" "Me and your mother have been thinking, we haven't gone for a vacation in a while, and the Airlines offered us a 50% discount for redeeming air miles." "What? Really, Dad!? W-where are we going?" she started, standing up, eyes shining in excitement. Her father beamed. "Guess. You have three chances. I'll give you a hint: It's part of the U.S." She looked down, thinking for a moment. "Ummm, Alaska?" "Try again. More to the south." "...New York?" He shook his head. "Hold on, is it in the sea?" "Yes. You've got it now, right?" he raised his eyebrow. "Hawaii?" It came out as a question. "Yep! You'll get the window seat, don't worry," he added, voice laced with amusement. She bounced up and down, eyes doing half the communicating for her. "Oh my God, really? Thanks, Dad!" Scrappy went in little circles around the rug, then broke off and hugged him. After a few seconds she bolted for her mother's room, squealing all the way. A couple of minutes later she was still smiling, but looking a little disappointed and lost in thought. Her father approached her again. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I can't see my friends on a vacation," was the reply. "Can I at least get their e-mails before we go?" she swung her legs off the couch, eyes pleading. Her dad looked up, thinking, then quietly went out the door. Scrappy was puzzled by this sudden behavior, and wondered if he was going to ask P&M's parents for the information she requested; but she guessed he would want it to do it herself like an adult, so she threw that theory out the window and waited. About 30 minutes later she was in the middle of reading a novel when her parent returned. He sat down beside her. "It's done," he announced. She blinked. "Whaaaa-?" "I heard your friends, President and what's-his-name-" "Providence and Mercedes." "Yes, them—while you three were hanging out a week ago I talked with their dad, and he mentioned they were already going to a pre-booked camp in Hawaii around this time. I came back to their house and asked if they would be up for a double-family vacation, and they said they probably could. We might be able to do it, if the airline allows us to change it in time." Scrappy stared at him for a few seconds, not sure if he was joking. When she finally degreed he wasn't she opened her mouth and let out a joyful cry, too surprised and happy to say anything; she hugged him again, tighter than ever, and heavenly music seemed to be playing as she almost floated off the ground. That night Scrappy went to bed hyperventilating. Her head was full of thoughts, and some of them were protesting about the party on the other side. She was going to Hawaii! She was going to Hawaii with her family! She. Was. Going. To. Hawaii. With. Her. Family. And. Friends! She couldn't even close her eyes, much less sleep a wink. Instead, Scrappy quietly got up and out of bed, creeping towards the door, which creaked on its hinges, making her wince. She checked to make sure the soft snoring in her parents' bedroom hadn't stopped, then made her way out to the living room, trying to see through the darkness. All of a sudden, like most kids her age, she felt uneasy. The house was ink-black, and a flashlight would have a hard time breaking down the barriers of void. However, her will persisted stubbornly, and so she defensively proceeded to the nearest window. The transparent, clean glass reflected her, and she half stared out, half stared at herself. A cloud drifted over the crescent moon, giving the impression of it coughing. The stars were knitted into the sky, confidently shining. A coyote's howl flashed through the air, and she shivered slightly. More yips were heard in the distance, and she thought she heard paws stirring through the grass. Scrappy began to feel sleepy as well as bored, and so with a whisk of breath she was gone, starting to her room. The next few days seemed endless. They were leaving in a week, and yet it felt more like a millennium. As soon as she could the next day Scrappy rushed over to her friends and asked if their parents had told them what was going on. "Yeah, I know, we both know," Mercedes replied, eyes shining with excitement. He could hardly stand in a fixed set of coordinates, pacing and pawing at the ground. "We'd better be going to a hotel," Providence muttered. Scrappy blinked at him. "Umm, what's wrong with a motel?" He shrugged, not bothering to voice his inner thoughts. "Anyway, we're still going to Hawaii!" Mercedes said excitedly, changing the subject. "The camp's spots were full," he added crossly. Scrappy huffed. "Welp, I bet you don't even learn anything there, no offense. Actually, what do you do there? I heard camps in Hawaii are all about foraging and stuff-" "Number one, depends on who you ask, and that 'who' apparently isn't you. Number two, I don't know. Me and Mercedes tried finding out. Google didn't care. My mom said it was a surprise," Providence called from a tree, hanging catlike. He rolled over on his back—even more like a feline—and stretched, almost slipping but catching himself in time. "Wait. So both your moms are going?" Scrappy asked, curious. Mercedes started up another tree, just barely hanging onto the grooves in the bark. "Yeah," he replied offhandedly, still trying to get to a comfortable spot in the branches. She wrinkled her nose as leaves showered down from above, some fragments even getting into her eyes. Immediately they started watering, and she wiped them as best she could. Silently she thought about how awkward that situation must feel. She really hoped they wouldn't start a fight or argument, or at least treat each other acceptably. "Well, anyways, what's your camp even called?" she questioned. "Just told you, we don't know," Providence threw back, annoyed. "We'll find out when we get to Hawaii." And so she waited— 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝟙𝟛𝕥𝕙 𝔸𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕒𝕣𝕪 —The landscape was flashing before her eyes, millions of years rocketing by. At least, that's what Scrappy liked to imagine it as, the sparse desert shrubbery and burnt yellow grass. The bushes were squat, pastel green bushes dotting the landscape, the rest half-dead short cropped vegetation just barely hanging onto the ground; Scrappy sometimes thought of these parts of the Earth as a gigantic, golden short-furred dog. P&M were sitting beside her in the very back seat, Providence sleeping and Mercedes playing a video game—on mute of course. It was somewhat cramped with about a hand's width between their seats, but nobody seemed to mind as long as their neighbor didn't lay down. Everyone was traveling in a huge, and, to some extent, old SUV Providence's parents had revived from the garage. The temperature had skyrocketed as soon as the last of the eight passengers had gotten in, and so they were forced to keep the air conditioner at max. Now it was hot again, and she considered rolling down the window but was afraid some foreign object would whip in; besides, she also worried she would somehow push the wrong button or accidentally drop something down the empty space, and didn't want to cause damage to someone else's car. With that, Scrappy was forced to move her face towards the right gap separating the walls and seats of the row in front of her and hope some stray drafts would catch. The person's seatbelt was sort of unconformably chafed against her cheek. Through the gap she was looking directly at Mercedes's mom's head. The adults took turns driving, even though the airport was only an hour and a half away. Currently her friends' dad was behind the wheel. Her own parents were occupying the row in front of hers, and—luckily—the drivers' was the only section that had two seats, so Providence's mom was grouped with Scrappy's and not her technically ex. Scrappy yawned. Noise had been kept at a moderate-to-low level the entire time so Providence wouldn't wake up every six seconds. She reached down and rummaged through her bag, pushing hand sanitizer, her kindle and passport, then finally some snacks before actually getting to her iPhone, plugging a pair of earbuds in and opening Spotify. Mercedes saw what she was doing and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. "Hey," he whispered. "Can I have that?" At that moment the car hit a bump, signaling they were probably entering the highway. His remaining hand dropped the tablet, and he grumbled while dashing to pick it back up. Scrappy laughed in her head, then resumed a song, making the most out of the seconds before her friend would try negotiating the earbuds away again. All of a sudden the road looped in a circle, and Scrappy was bent to the right, smacking her nose on the window. She huffed and turned away, struggling to keep hold of her phone. The vehicle made one more turn, then slowed down and pulled up to a big complex. They passed many signs and sections, finally stopping at a lane. Without a second to waste the adults flew out of the car, even leaving the engine on. Scrappy heard the trunk being opened behind her and had no choice but to move along with the others. Mercedes had already woken up Providence and put his tablet away. She did the same for her device and opened the door, wrinkling her nose at the smell of gas. Her parents were already loading the luggage out of the car. P&M's were grabbing them as soon as they touched the ground and rolling them towards the airport. Scrappy had overheard their schedule: Everyone would spend the day at the airport motel. Her family would stay in one room, her friends' in the other. On the day of the flight everything would proceed normally. She would sit with P&M. Then they would arrive at the—again—motel to avoid spending $600 per night. She wasn't informed of whatever happened after that. The loud rolling of wheels against gaps in the cement told her it was time to go. Mercedes's mom drove away towards the car storage nearby. Upon turning around and noticing she was getting left behind, Scrappy ran towards the airport entrance. The inside was loud and crowded. The floor was made of clean, scrubbed white tiles, an employee sweeping them as she looked on. The ceiling was beige and arched high above like the sky. Above the check-in desk, which was barely visible behind the waiting line's heads, showed the flight times. She located theirs. HAWAII - 9:30 AM DEPARTURE TOMORROW "C—-o-n" Providence called. "What?" she yelled, trying to find where his voice came from. "Come on!" he shouted back, ahead with everyone else. "Oop," she murmured, swerving through the crowd. "Scrappy, don't get distracted," her mother said, raising both eyebrows. "I won't," she replied, jogging. The group turned right, Mercedes struggling to keep his bag. There was an escalator they luckily boarded before it got too crowded. Still, it was noisy, and she struggled to keep down her irritation when two baby twins burst into sobs at the same time. Instead she plugged her ears and almost got sucked into the top of the machine when she wasn't looking. Embarrassed, Scrappy went with the flow. They were walking up a ramp with many mini-restaurants splayed out on either side, each, once again, overfilled. "Maybe we could get a McDonalds," Providence suggested, padding up to his mom. She glared back. "Let's put off diabetes until death, shall we?" He groaned and moved on sluggishly. Scrappy looked around, noticing it wasn't just food. Multiple unrelated businesses took their place among the left side, half being travel supplies but the other being very diverse. She peeked curiously at a Jimmy Chu next door to an optical store. It could be funny at times. The black railing on the sides bordering the stores was very familiar to her house. For a moment she felt homesickness creeping in as an aliment, but shook it off; it was far too early for that, and besides, if she could get deterred by something as small as this she wouldn't last a mile from home. Finally they reached their destination. P&M's parents continued to the check-in desk while everyone else split off into the small waiting-room. Portraits decorated the walls, and she could identify a few of them; however this quickly lost its amusement, and she sank down into a vanilla chair. The humming of electricity turned on and off, and the lights always dimmed when the latter was so. She didn't feel like using her phone and briefly considered napping, but assured herself that they wouldn't take long, eventually just ending up staring at the wall fidgeting. "What's that?" She blinked. Mercedes was staring down a black dot in the middle of the wall. Providence shrugged. "Prob a fly." "It looks more like a beetle." "If this place has beetles I'll pay one of you to watch the bathroom for cockroaches tonight," Providence muttered. "All three of us aren't staying in the same room," Scrappy pointed out. "Mercedes, then," he replied. "$0.00/hour. Take it or take it." "Dis-take it," was the return. The trio's chit-chat was interrupted by the three parents. They handed a card to her own mom and dad. Scrappy's father checked his phone's time. "It's still too early to split up," he declared. "If you have time, we could have dinner together." Mercedes's mother smiled. "That would be wonderful, thank you. The clerk told us there's a free dining room down the hall. Hopefully it's empty." Disappointingly, it was occupied after all. Everyone probably shouldn't have expected so much from a free service. "Well, no worries. Our room has space; we can eat there," P&M's father assured them. "Oh, I wouldn't want to cause a mess-" "No, really, it's okay," Providence's mom replied. "We'd love to have you over, come on." "Thank you so much!" Scrappy's family followed down the hall, turned right, and stopped at door 74. She wondered what it was like inside and if P&M had gone in already. Then she remembered Providence's job concerning cockroaches, and really hoped he hadn't learned that from experience. She heard a small beep and click, and the door was unlocked. "Welcome in!" Mercedes's mother opened the door and let everyone file inside before shutting it. Scrappy looked around taking everything in. There was the faint smell of a space that only had occupants once in a while, as well as the buzzing of the blinking lamp in the far left corner. A dark turquoise seating, embroidered with patterns was skirted right next to it, creating a cozy scene. There were three beds, one of them double and the others single. They took up a fourth of the semi-crowded suite and were covered with snowdrift-colored pillows, sheets, and blankets. The beige walls were decorated with paintings of landscapes and horses. "It's lovely," her mother declared. "I'm ordering takeout, does anyone want teriyaki?" Her friends' dad asked while tapping away on his phone, much to the dismay of all three moms. When they had placed their orders Scrappy sat down on the floor and yawned. A second seemed a minute long, and after about ten minutes of staring at the paintings, she checked her phone only to realize it had actually been three minutes. She silently groaned and opened YouTube. "Okay, now can I have those?" Mercedes asked, pointing to her earbuds. "Fine," she murmured, preparing to hand them over but noticing they had gotten tangled up. She struggled to free the knot without damaging the wires. Finally an earbud got free, and she continued to untie it. "Try untangling that part first," Mercedes suggested, leaning over. She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, if only you could actually help." At that moment, there were three knocks at the door. She perked up as Mercedes's mom rushed over and opened it. "Here's your order-" "Thank you!" She took the white takeout bag and gently closed the door, putting it down on the bed as soon as it touched the frame. Scrappy barely restrained herself from pouncing on the heavenly gift, following her dad's every move as he untied the knot and opened it, letting the aroma of food waft out. Everyone gathered around the meal, him still unloading the boxes and checking them. Finally he opened one, took a peek, reclosed the lid, and slid it over to Scrappy. "This one's yours," he said while handing her a pair of chopsticks. She murmured a thank you and eagerly tore open the paper holder and pried them apart, taking care not to get splinters. From somewhere in the distance she saw her friends as well as everyone else getting their food, and mechanically registered Providence's "Scootch over, please?" Her stomach felt like a small void as she flipped the styrofoam lid open and lifted the container to a more comfortable position on her knees, digging in once it was so. In around 20 minutes she had already devoured half the takeout. "Woah there, don't eat too fast," her father said. "I'll be fine," she responded as her stomach started flipping. Quickly the rest of the evening passed with her talking to her friends and going online. The craziest stuff had apparently been happening on the news, judging by the nuclear level of notifications she got from Press apps; but again, she was barely a teenager, and people of that age check what's actually serious internationally once in 37 millennia. Occasionally she remembered this at random times when she spotted her parents worriedly checking their phones, and asking what was going on, but they always responded with a 'it's fine, dear,' and then she forgot to check it herself. Besides, with the matter of young people don't care already discussed, it's no mystery as to what would happen if she had remembered. And so the families parted with good-byes. Scrappy's left room 74 and went down the hall, all the way to 122. Her mom fumbled with finding the card, but finally unlocked the door with a single stroke. The indicator showed green, and there was an audible unlocking. At first the door was stiff in opening, but then her father finally pushed it open, and all of them entered. The layout was similar to 74, except with patterned pillows and a couple of desks. This time, the walls were painted dark blue and the paintings of people and trees. There was the classic woman-in-a-chair-with-no-expression, as well as wonderful simple strokes of brush, which truly felt like a piece of art. She had thought about drawing or painting before, but wanted to do so cheaply and couldn't find a good drawing app. They all either required payment, as traditional art did, or had some nasty surprise lurking in the depths of the features; she even once saw a review section full of people typing in caps, saying that apparently one app forced you to watch an ad, then infested your device with malware when you tried to close it. Scrappy heard the bathroom door slam and jumped. She had gotten off topic; it didn't make sense for her to be standing around thinking of how to do digital art when she had to shower. She waited for her mom to stop checking the bathroom for bugs—she could be extra-sanitary at times—grabbed her nightwear, and entered. In the midst of a nice shower she heard a ping from her phone. Strangely, she didn't remember bringing it in, nor putting it on the sink counter. Scrappy must've been more tired than she thought. She quickly dried her hands with the nearby towel on the rack, then reached for the electronic. Leaning out of the stall, she scrolled down from the lock screen's notification center and found yet another breaking news story. "The Project's Almost Started: Controversial Experiment in Last Year of Preparation" Scrappy felt an uneasy feeling, but ignored it. Trees were controversial. Social media was controversial. The experiment itself probably had nothing to do with normal people. Besides, her parents told her to not put too much faith in anything online, and she agreed with them. Soon after, she brushed her teeth and went to bed. Happily the room only had queen-sized mattresses, so she had double the space for herself. Eventually she fell asleep, head full of thoughts, every one of them fixed on the trip ahead. The next morning she opened her eyes to find the alarm going off. She checked the time on the clock: they had woken a little earlier than usual, 5:40 AM. The mood was thick with anticipation; she quickly swung her legs off the bed and onto the ground. The bathroom was already occupied by one of her parents, presumably dad considering mom was missing. She had probably gone to get breakfast. Scrappy waited for her dad to come out. "Good morning, dad," she said as she walked past him to change. After they had finished their morning routine, mom came back. "There's a few restaurants down the hall and up the escalator. They only accept credit," she said, noticing her daughter. "Good morning, dear. Pack in your things from yesterday." "Okay, mom," she responded, obediently going to the bed and desk. Her head had switched to be full of excited thoughts as she collected her clothes, kindle, and phone. She tossed the electronics in the backpack and the wear into her luggage. It was hard to zip up, being crowded with other belongings of hers, but finally she did it, wincing at the weight of the thing when lowering it onto the floor. We're really going to Hawaii! Eagerly she double-checked to make sure everything was in, bouncing impatiently while waiting for her parents to finish as well. "Did you bring the sweaters?" Her mother asked while still busy packing her own luggage. "I believe I..." Scrappy's dad paused to check the inside of his case, then looked back up. "Yes, I did." "What about the flight plans? I called in yesterday evening, and they said they would double check, then never got back to me-" "Didn't they ask for your email?" "No, they asked for my phone number. I gave it to them." "Well, I received a voicemail saying that everything was worked out. It'll be fine-" Scrappy's mother huffed, interrupting. "Companies always say that! The consumers..." "Wait, wait." Her father tilted his head. "What restaurants do they have?" "Just the ones from before, Starbucks, the Asian food place, and a dumpling place as well." "Which one's the closest?" "Starbucks." "Didn't the prices go up? Well, a coffee used to be-" "Yes, yes. The cheapest one is also the furthest away." Her dad sighed. "Then it's going to get complicated." Finally Scrappy couldn't bear to listen a moment longer. "Hey, mom, dad, can I go see my friends? Please? It's only down the hall," she begged. Her parents looked at each other. A silent agreement was made between them, and then her father spoke. "Okay, hon, but if nobody answers, don't bother them any further." The light in her eyes fired up a little more. "Thank you!" she turned around and was unsure what to do with her luggage, finally just pushing it to the sides of a bed and bouncing out. Scrappy sprinted down the hallway and stopped so fast it was almost comical. She rapped three times on the door and waited excitedly. A curious Mercedes opened it, and hugged her when he saw her. "I really can't believe we gotta get up this early...I hope Hawaii...Yea, Providence is inside...He's getting ready..." After Providence was done with his morning routine—which felt like several eternities—the trio chatted together. They talked about the vacation, why their parents were taking so long, where the beetle from yesterday went, etc. etc. Eventually they ran out of topics, and luckily their parents came out at that exact moment. "Hello! It's nice to see you again," Mercedes's mom said, nodding to Scrappy's. The rest, except for the kids, greeted each other in a similar fashion. Then her friends' dad checked the clock. "We'd better get going." And so they set off at a brisk pace, politely saying good-bye to the registration clerk on their way out. The airport was a little less crowded due to their early timing, but Scrappy felt it would fill up just as quickly. They boarded the escalator leading down to the lower level, Providence's luggage wheels nearly getting caught in them. "Watch out," his mom reminded him, prior to a roll of her son's eyes. A few minutes later they arrived back at the restaurant square, but contrary to Scrappy's expectations they passed it and continued on. Then she remembered everyone still had to drop off their bags. The group took a shortcut and took a couple of left turns, passing an elevator with a small crowd pooling around it. Finally they reached the lobby and check-in area, moving to the right and joining the queue which was already growing. Scrappy was puzzled about how just a few seconds made a difference when she turned around and saw the succession already stretching beyond the line dividers. It turned into an almost-fear when she spotted half the people that had gathered at the elevator riding the escalator down towards them. The row moved forwards slowly, and Scrappy found herself fidgeting impatiently as multiple holdups occurred. However, eventually they reached the front, and the clerk greeted them with a slightly-tired smile. "Hello, welcome to our airlines, how may I help you?" Her mother spoke up. "Hi, we're here to drop off our bags, we already checked in." The clerk looked over at her computer, then back up. "Okay. May I please have your ticket?" The rest of the details faded into nothingness as Scrappy once again felt herself getting bored. She glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was already 6:30. The elevator mass had quickly accumulated at the front desk and was approaching their area. She sighed, knowing it would definitely be another crowded day. Furthermore, there was a small holdup as the worker had trouble locating their registration. Providence muttered several words under his breath, probably complaints. Scrappy wished she could do the same. Finally after several eternities the clerk finished tagging the bags and gave them a receipt. "Thank you, and have a great day," she said, waving them off and nodding to acknowledge the next person. One last look back got Scrappy a glimpse of Mercedes's bag, the last one, disappearing through the chute. Then their group crossed the lobby, turned right, and were back again at the restaurant center. They covered the area, stopping briefly around a small garden in a square pot with benches connected to use the restroom. Frankly, Scrappy was relieved. She sat down on a bench to wait for the others, groaning when she opened her phone and realized just how slow the WI-FI was. After a couple of failed attempts to load YouTube, she gave up and just stared at the plants behind her. Scrappy heard one of the hand dryers stop in the men's room, and Mercedes came out. He sat down beside her. "Hey, do you know what the news is talking abo-" He was cut short as the adults exited seemingly in succession, as well as Providence a few seconds later. His dad came up to them. "Come on now, no dawdling. We still have security to go through." Scrappy quickly stuffed her phone back into her bag, shot her friend a sympathetic glance, and followed. The group was led back across the lobby, heading to the main part of the airport. There were a couple of signs stating the direction they were going, one reading Security. Once they arrived, they went and took their places in the queue. There was a metal, white screen blocking the line from the actual security check, which luckily went fast, but Scrappy still silently thanked the adults for taking precautions. After a few minutes it was their turn, and they stepped in. There were a couple of scanners as well as a conveyor belt loaded with bags; security guards ushered people through the checks. "Hello, take off your shoes, any bags, and bags inside of other bags," a blonde guard directed them, leaving almost before she finished her sentence to help a man with his things. Everyone grabbed trays from the side of the row and started throwing in the items as told. Scrappy unslung her backpack, removed her sneakers, then placed the container on the belt. Then she went up to the kids scanner, where another guard promptly gestured for her to go through and passed with no problems. All of a sudden she heard a beep from behind her. Several people came over to Providence, who had accidentally left a granola bar in his pocket. They seemed to be arguing, when at last he gave up the food. After he came through, Scrappy sidled up to him. "That was close," she whispered. Her friend was busy glaring over his shoulder. Afterwards his parents scolded him, and he had to admit his wrong; but other than the little incident there was no trouble, and the airport let them go ahead. "It's already eight o'clock," Mercedes said in surprise, catching up to the two. She realized he was right and was about to reply when they came upon an escalator and were forced to board, seeing that the adults were already halfway down. Once they had arrived, everyone closely watched the gate numbers, looking for 32, which was what she had heard from the grown-ups. They took a false turn, regrouped, went back the way they came, and finally located the 30's, finding their gate quickly. There was an assortment of blue seats, most of them already taken. They circled again and again just to find an opening with 8 seats in a row, which they then had to prevent from being stolen while Scrappy's dad was at the phone charging station. In the meantime they had an hour and a half between them and the flight, so they set off for breakfast, which they hadn't had a chance to eat since waking up. It was hours past the usual time, and everyone's pace decreased the longer the effects of hunger tagged along. Luckily the Starbucks wasn't too far, and they entered it a few minutes after leaving. The area surrounding it was a sort of viewing space, with big glass windows to watch takeoffs and also a resting one. There was a big fish tank located in the center of the entire area, its animals of pretty colors; Providence spent his time after eating watching them. Coming up to the Starbucks, they wondered what to eat. In the end all the kids had oatmeal and croissants, while the adults ordered sandwiches. Scrappy devoured hers and snuck a peak over at Mercedes, who was delicately eating his food one at a time and still had a bit of pastry left. He glared at her, and she went away at last, joining Providence in admiring the fish. She didn't know what kind most of them were, although some resembled beta fish she saw in her local PetSmart. A couple were of exquisite colors, and she tapped the glass; they darted away instantly, making her smile, and warily approached again. Before long the adults were finished with breakfast, and they got up, forcing the kids to follow them. The group backtracked to the gate area, and Scrappy fell into her chair. She watched the clock; the hands moved an actual minute for every twenty minutes in her mind. She opened her bag and took out her phone, tapping impatiently on her armrest as it failed to start up. Strangely, the moment she finally managed to load YouTube, the plane was announced, and the gates opened. Immediately the entire seated crowd got up and unconsciously formed the line as they struggled to get through the aisles. Her group joined, ending up somewhere in the middle of the queue as more people filed through behind them. Scrappy felt the familiar excitement start up again in her throat as they grew closer and closer to the register. Up ahead she spotted the announcer collecting other passengers' tickets, directing them to the jetway once they were handed over. Finally they reached the front. Providence's and Mercedes's dad gave the clerk the slips of paper, and she looked them over, eyes squinting for a moment, then collected them for good and tossed them into a container. "Thank you," she said, waving them through. Scrappy was elated at truly beginning the journey, and bounced into the air bridge. It shook slightly under her feet and she paused, then walked speedily towards the plane entrance, stopping to adjust her bag once or twice. "Scrappy, wait," her mother called after her, and she finally slowed down somewhere in the middle between the terminal and Boeing. However, P&M were right on her heels, and the trio proceeded without further hesitation. They nearly crashed into a couple of people thrice, and were obliged to stop at the very end, at the doorway. When the adults—who were running—managed to catch up, they once again scolded the three, who were silently laughing. Finally they were allowed to enter. The flight attendant greeted them at the door with a 'Welcome' and they stepped in. It was quite crowded and there was a line stretching ahead, some aisles temporarily inaccessible due to people loading the overhead luggage compartments, but it was alright, and the wait wasn't too long. She knew the plan: her parents had said she would be sitting with her friends, they would be with her friends' dad, and P&M's mothers would be together, along with a stranger. Then they arrived at the Economy section, and they all filed to their accorded locations; it was a bit cramped for three kids who had practically no prior knowledge of airplane layouts, but they managed, and quickly everyone was buckled up. Mercedes grabbed a guide on what to do if the plane crashed from the organizer in front of him, while Providence stared past her, trying to get a glimpse of the runway. Scrappy wondered when they were going to take off. She turned over to ask the parents, but they were busy packing the ceiling compartments. At that moment Mercedes pointed to a passage in his brochure and read out loud, "Oxygen masks will automatically drop from above in these conditions..." "What about it?" Providence murmured absently, still attempting his quest. "I heard they only have ten minutes of breathable air in them." "So, basically, we get...16 minutes of life at most if we gotta use them?" Scrappy inquired, jumping in. He shrugged in response. "Pretty much...I think." Providence leaned over from the middle seat to the aisle one, where his brother was. He tapped on the third paragraph. "Your safety means everything to us—" He snorted. "No, of course you want to keep the production cost down." His sibling blinked. "Maybe 10 is the limit." "In this era? Don't think so." "Okay, you have a good point," Scrappy muttered. Suddenly the dark screens embedded into the seats in front of them started up, and a video began to play. Looking across the walkway, she could see it also on other passengers'. It was a safety video, apparently, which was ironic considering what they had just been discussing. "Welcome to our Airlines! We're so happy you chose us, and we want to make your experience on our aircraft the best possible. To do this, please remember and abide by the following safety allegations, which may assist you in the future, and will give you and fellow passengers an enjoyable flight. Thank you, and here is the video." Upbeat background music began to play. "First off, to secure your seatbelt, connect the metal body to the buckle and pull the strap to tighten. To unlock, lift the top of the buckle. A reminder: seatbelts should be fastened when the overhead light turns red, and please refrain from putting personal items into empty seats, which should be slid under the seat in front of you." "When the flight begins, please set all your devices, as well as smartwatches, to airplane mode. This will help the plane features function...Smoking and E-vaping is banned in the aircraft, including in the restrooms. Please also keep them clean, and be respectful to fellow passengers…” It went on and on. She missed the rest of the footage fidgeting and staring out the window, wondering when it was going to be over. Finally it ended with another 'Thank you' and she adjusted her position. The speaker crackled, then sputtered to life. "Hello, this is your pilot speaking. Um, we're about to takeoff. Please buckle your seatbelt and make sure all overhead compartments are properly secured, as well as your belongings. Thank you for your cooperation." The announcement ended, and everyone complied. Scrappy felt a slight stirring of the engines below her, and slowly but surely the feeling increased. A couple of flight attendants went around checking everything, and the plane stayed dormant until they went back. She opened up her phone and kindle, hastily setting both to airplane mode. Providence was still digging around in his bag, when Mercedes pulled something out from under him. "This what you're looking for?" His brother grabbed it, then made a few taps and shoved it back into his carrier. "Don't take my stuff next time." "I didn't. It must've fallen out or something." He merely shot a suspicious glance back as a response. Right afterwards the plane rumbled, then began to move, at first at a slow crawl, then speeding up. Scrappy's mom looked over at them. "Are all three of you buckled up?" "Yes," the trio said offhandedly as they all were looking out the window. It had quickly reached around 60 miles per hour, and the landscape blurred as they rocketed down the runway. The engines fired up until it was too loud to talk at a regular level. Scrappy felt a support drop from underneath her as the plane began to tilt upwards. At first they were merely as high as the treetops, then as the buildings, and finally above the mountains, giving a perfect view of the Earth below. She felt a slightly dizzy sensation and had to look away for a few seconds, right when they flew into a cloud and a fluffy white sea was all that was visible of the world. They were awed, all three of them, and kept their eyes on the window for a long time. Finally Scrappy looked away and focused on the screen instead, tapping on it a few times to activate the main screen. She checked the flight map, which showed they were at the very beginning of their journey, and clicked Flight Duration. She was sent an error a couple of times saying there were too many requests, but eventually it showed. They had already traveled approximately 1/15th of their route, or 20-ish minutes. She closed the page and navigated back to the Home Screen. There was an assortment of shows, movies, and games. She selected Games; it showed a platformer, which she played for about 40 minutes before stopping. She checked Flight Duration again—they were passing over a wide expanse of sea. Scrappy yawned and looked over at her friends. Mercedes was napping while Providence seemed to be listening to a few downloaded songs with the complimentary airport earbuds. She began to feel sleepy herself, seeing about a quarter of her night had been spent thinking of the vacation. She rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She awoke from a sort of disturbed doze about half an hour later. The window was closed. She tried to open it, but the glass seemed to be covered in a dark film. Scrappy looked around and realized it was the same for everyone else, so left it that way. She hesitated, wondering what to do, before simply reaching down and retrieving her kindle. She read Robinson Crusoe for a bit, eventually closing it and looking up. Her mom was sleeping while her dad was missing, presumably for the restroom; she couldn't see the rest of the adults from her angle. A hush was over the plane. The only needle that dared pierce the blanket of silence was the occasional soft crying of an infant. Perhaps it was common courtesy, or maybe the effect of being airborne. Either way, Scrappy had never felt anything quite like it before. She blinked at the window outside again. The film had disappeared, but suddenly there was a muted ding coming from above. The seatbelt symbol had turned on as well. They were confined to their seats. She sighed. She had never had a chance to get up, and she stretched, feeling uncertain. But still! They would arrive in Hawaii in a few hours! The thought boosted her spirits again, and she lay back. Mercedes seemed to have been knocked out completely: he was still fast asleep, despite being in this state for already an hour. Providence was reading a paperback he had brought with him into the plane. Suddenly there was a rattling coming from behind, possibly the flight attendant or some other service. She struggled to see past P&M. Indeed there was the lunch cart coming down the aisle, passing servings out to passengers who were still awake. She felt sort of hungry, and hoped the woman wouldn't ignore them just because they were kids. “Excuse me, ma’am,” she said quietly in order to not disturb her friend. “May I please have a pizza?” The attendant looked at her, surprised, but handed her the container. “Would you like any drinks or refreshments?” “Um, just ice cold water. Thank you.” The lady nodded and gave her a glass. “You’re welcome!” She moved onto the next row. Providence looked up from his book. “Hey, did they already serve…can we split that thing up? Please?” Scrappy suppressed a laugh and handed him a third of the food. The airplane utensils were annoying to work with, and somehow his slice was smaller than the other already-divided-up portions. “Wait,” she muttered, giving him a small square to make up for it. She ate her own section slowly. It had a frozen taste; who knows how long ago it was made, but it wasn’t like they had a choice. It was gone in a few minutes, and she thought about waking up Mercedes before the rest got cold, but eventually just decided to let him rest. Instead she gazed out the window, still impressed by the endless ocean ahead of them, its waves reflecting the sunlight like the opalescent scales of a fish. 70 percent of Earth, a single grain in the sands of the universe, was water. The society under this majority was filled with excellent sponges, corals, fish, and other life; it was truly more mesmerizing than their own life on land, and she aspired to someday see it. Of course, nearly everything associated with underseas was expensive, as her parents said, so she was often stuck in a classroom answering questions that their teacher had covered. Still, this had not dampened her hopes: she still thought the seas were beautiful, even though nobody around her shared quite the same interest, they said, ‘...in some water.’ At that moment Mercedes stirred and groggily opened his eyes. “Did we just land?” “No,” Providence responded. “I can’t see anything coming up either.” His brother leaned over, trying to see through the window. Eventually he retreated, shaking his head. “How long was I out for?” Providence opened up his screen. “An hour and 15 minutes.” His brother didn’t respond, distracted by the pizza. “Who gave that to you?” “The flight attendant. They served lunch while you were asleep.” “Oh…can I have some?” “Yeah, sure.” She threw the entire container over. He caught it and opened it up, prodding at it. “Pizza? Well, that’s good for economy meals, at least.” “Is ‘economy meal’ even a real term?” “Don’t know. Honestly, don’t care either,” he replied over a mouthful. Providence shrugged. “Okay, yeah.” The seatbelt icon then disappeared, signaling they were free to move. Scrappy unbuckled hers and got up, squeezing through the aisle until she got to the restroom. It was vacant, and she finished up. She started back to her seat, waving at her parents as she went by. Astonishingly both her friends had flown to the window space, presumably as soon as she had gone. She leaned over. There was a small dark spot in the middle of the rippling waves, barely visible at first, but growing steadily closer. “Is that Hawaii?” she breathed. “Of course it’s Hawaii,” Mercedes murmured, not even looking in her direction. “See, it has that outline, and I think I can see buildings…no, crap, nevermind.” Providence pointed to the spot, his finger covering it entirely. “Is that another plane?” “I told you, it’s still too far away to tell.” “Anyways, when do we get there?” Providence squealed. Scrappy shrugged. “Soon, telling by how fast these things travel. Can you please move over? Thanks…No, like, return to your own seat. I still don’t have any room…” Indeed, an announcement quickly came over the intercom. “Passengers, this is your pilot speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts, as we are about to land. Thank you for your cooperation.” The speaker crackled once more, then died. Scrappy swiftly obeyed and returned to watching the window, making sure to zip up her bag as well and holding onto it. They were quickly gaining on the island, and their altitude began to descend. Eventually they were as low as to get a few blurry glimpses of treetops. Scrappy held her breath as slowly but surely the plane tilted, first by a bit but soon falling back to land like a comet. The ground rapidly came up before them, closer and closer, and finally with one big shudder the aircraft touched down; first streaming down the runway, then slowing down, and finally stopping with a last burst of the engines. Immediately afterwards the silence was broken, people minded their own business, and at once it was as noisy as a crowded restaurant. Scrappy could only hear the words of her friends, who unbuckled their seatbelts and stood up, waiting for directions from the adults, who were already unloading the luggage from the overhead compartments. A line was already forming in the aisle, blocking them from the other rows. “Wait,” her friends’ dad shouted from behind. She turned around but still couldn’t pinpoint exactly where his voice was. Neither of the brothers were looking at her, too busy rescuing their bags from underneath the seats. She reached down and did the same, dropping it once and bending over to pick it up again. “Come on,” Mercedes said, tapping her on the shoulder. The queue was moving ahead quickly, jamming randomly, but now they had enough space to step into the walkway. Scrappy squeezed through the seats, wincing when her elbow bruised against the armrest. The adults were already in line and waiting for them to join. They were off at once, speedily walking down the aisle and making it to the exit. “Thank you for flying with us, and have a great day,” the flight attendant stationed at the door murmured, ushering them out. They stepped onto the air bridge that led to the terminal. They were finally in Hawaii. The airport was a relatively cozy place, with polished wooden supports, beams, and vanilla tiled floors; it was also almost as crowded as the one back home. None of the kids attempted a conversation. They were all too excited for their two-week adventure up ahead. The group took the escalator and crossed a few more floors before reaching the baggage claim area, which was lined with passengers Scrappy recognized from the trip. It was already distributing Flight 32 luggage, and the two families anxiously watched for their own. A couple of bags passed similar to theirs, but the numbers didn't match up to what the clerk had given them, and so they were forced to let them go; other people happily took off with their belongings while they were waiting; the system seemed to be passing out every property except theirs. After 30 minutes they were playing with the idea of contacting the Airlines, when finally Mercedes startled a little and raced forward to lift an ebony-colored bag from the belt. His father dashed over and helped him, and it was swiftly retrieved. (After that they almost always kept Mercedes on the watch if they had lost something.) It took quite a while, but they eventually had their assortment of bags back again, with the help of Mercedes. They continued on their route, crossing a small plaza, some booths, before stopping at the elevator; Providence’s mom repeatedly smacked the ‘come back’ button, nearly breaking it, and eventually her technical ex had to restrain her to save them from being fined for property damage. In a few minutes the people already in the elevator came down, forcing the group to move to the right as they filed out. The two families entered, and after making sure nobody was coming promptly closed the doors. “Which floor?” Scrappy’s father murmured as he bent over the control panel. “2,” her friends’ dad responded. The former complied, and the elevator shortly arrived at the agreed upon level. They wheeled their luggage out and made for the escalator, which led straight down to the exit they were to take. At that moment the clock showed 7:48, and Scrappy briefly wondered why it was two hours later than the usual time, but the theory of timezone change came to her, and she ceased to ask. The doors automatically opened for them, and they set foot outside. Scrappy glanced around, her friends doing the same. Far off, a serene beach laid, its waves shimmering wonderfully diamond-like, the snow-white foam breaking on the shores, its friendly sun-shrouded palm trees flowing in the wind, its sand like amber crystals, a magnificent beauty of nature; elegant buildings stretched out before them, golden and proud, standing stately with their mini-islands and pools and hotels and merry rich people laughing and talking, their eyes shining like gemstones without a care in the world, delicately sipping champagne or striding in the pool; the setting sun blinking at them, bathing the world in its dying rays; the happy hills rolling before them; the earth bright and exquisite. This was Hawaii. All of it smelled expensive but pretty, and she wanted to explore it right away as all the other kids did, but her mother halted her with a look. Just as she was about to protest a fat droplet landed on her nose. “Ah...!” More followed, and soon the sky was spited, sprinkling in a matter of minutes. Scrappy guessed this wasn’t going to be its limit right then, and so she reluctantly obeyed, jogging after the grown-ups. P&M treaded on her heels. They fled down the road and took a right. They passed a parking lot and she guessed it was their motel’s, although she couldn’t be quite sure. Her heart sank when they had gained another block and the building still didn’t show up, signaling it wasn’t and they probably had a long way to go. The group broke off from the main path and went left, which branched into a smaller road leading through a different collection of buildings. Scrappy shoved her hood up and hoped for the best, hugging herself as well. They passed a bike rack, a fancy hotel, an outlet to the beach, and sprinted another mile before finally coming to a two-story building, its colors already darkening because of the rain. P&M’s dad opened the door and hurried them all in before entering himself. The door slammed behind him. The receptionist looked surprised but didn’t comment, as he had specifically been trained to control his first thoughts. “Hello, how may I help you?” “Hi, um, we have a reservation...” He typed something on his computer, then asked for their names, which they gave him. He messed around on the device a little more and then spoke. “Okay, may I please see your phone with our app open?” “Oh—here it is.” Mercedes’s mom held out her device to him, and he scanned it. “Alright, thank you ma’am.” He opened a drawer in the desk, then slid two room cards across the surface. “Your rooms are ready.” “Thank you!” She took them, then led the group down the hallway. Suddenly P&M’s dad halted. “The eighties are here...” They moved down the proper hallway, checking for the numbers that synced with the card. Finally they arrived at an elegant polished wood-paneled door, its keypad neutral. Her friends’ family moved to the door right beside it, unlocking it in their turn. “Come on, come on...it’s not working,” her mother finished. Just then, there was a happy little beep, and the pad glowed green. “Ah,” she murmured as the door swung inwards. It revealed polished, bronze-colored wooden floors, complete with polite carpeting, with unique patterns of palms on them, and a sun in the very middle of the square. The suite was arranged so the living room had a modest view of the scenery below and above, made possible by a very large window, but unfortunately did not include a balcony. The furniture had a chilly, but simultaneously warm theme to it; the chairs and couch were dyed vanilla, blue, and black. On the opposite side of the living room there was a desk, completely empty in all its drawers and on its surface except for a little slip of paper and a pen. Behind the furniture was a wall, which had two doors, one leading to the restroom and the other to the bedroom, which furnished two beds and a nightstand. Overall, it was cozy, and Scrappy enjoyed it. They said their temporary goodbyes to the other family and stayed in the room. The rest of the day flew by. Scrappy longed to explore this new place, but the weather didn’t agree: it started and stopped raining about every five minutes or so, and even then it could be heavy or light rain. The sun never showed. Hopefully it would be better the next day, but it didn’t seem quite as likely. She began to feel slightly tired at 5 o’clock. At that time they had microwaved dinner, which was slightly stringy, but she forced it down her throat. Disappointed, she went to bed at ten. Scrappy stirred awake after a restless night. For a moment she felt puzzled; this wasn’t her house, and this wasn’t the airport. But as soon as her mind rested on the airport, she remembered it all, and excitement rose up inside of her once again. She leaped out of bed, her parents already missing, and got ready. She brushed her teeth in the restroom—which luckily didn’t have cockroaches—and hurriedly sprinted over to the door. The living room was the same as before, with the exception that the slip had already been signed, by her mother no doubt, telling by the signature. There was another note lying on the same desk. Scrappy, I’m getting breakfast. I’ll be back in 10 minutes. -Dad That was quite all. At that moment, there was a click, and the door opened, her mother entering. “Good morning, honey. Your father’s getting pancakes from the dining area. I looked around and there are some activities in the hotel. If it keeps raining, you can try those out.” “Good morning, mom, and okay,” Scrappy answered, still praying the weather wouldn’t be upset. Suddenly she thought of her friends. “Did, um, Providence and Mercedes’s parents text you about anything?” “No, I think they still might be sleeping...yesterday was a long day.” “Yes,” Scrappy admitted. Afterwards she received another stream of annoying notifications from the news app on her phone. She groaned and unlocked it, trying in vain to uninstall the app, failing every time. Apparently, it was one of the phone’s ‘essentials.’ Eventually Scrappy gave up and simply stared out the window, taking in the swaying beachside trees and buildings, all that was visible from their angle. The clouds whipped stormily on the horizon, but did not break. Hope swelled in her chest. At that moment the door opened, and her father came in. He was holding a case with said pancakes, which he set down on the desk. “Hello, honey. It’s hot and ready to eat. I already ate downstairs. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.” “Thanks, Dad,” she replied as she sat down. “Where’s mom—nevermind.” “Also, don’t forget you still have online assignments!” he yelled back after her. She groaned and settled down. They were delicious, with the exception of the maple syrup, which was way too sweet. Scrappy spat it out immediately as if it were poison and distanced herself from the little cup, making sure to put it on the very edge of the table. She ate half the pancakes, saving the other three for her mother. When she had finished, she put the lid back on and trashed the disposable fork and knife. She placed the second set beside the plate and sunk into the couch, wondering what to do. She read a novel for about 20 minutes before looking back up and realizing it was a perfectly sunny day. Scrappy joyfully bounced off the cushions and ran to the door to the right of the wall, flinging it open to find her father typing on a laptop. “Dad,” she panted, “Can we go out now?” After her mom finished breakfast, they left the suite. Scrappy had wanted her friends to come with them, but guessed they were busy and didn’t want to unnecessarily disturb them. Hawaii was a truly beautiful state. They hassled down the block to the car rental, where they had a long negotiation with the clerk stationed there. Finally they had the logistics worked out and received a shining silver Toyota Camry, looking as if brand new, which they immediately took off with. The inside of the car had 5 seats and was quite clean, which they made sure to keep. Scrappy’s family cruised to the closest beach, which luckily wasn’t very crowded. The waves were turquoise and translucent and danced against the shore, which could’ve been made out of pure gold; the palm trees welcomed them back. She hopped out of the car before her parents turned the engine off and sank into the sand, which nearly burned her feet when she took her shoes off, but she didn’t mind. She crept down to the very edge of shore and plunged her hand into the water. It felt tolerably cold but still had a reasonable warmth to it. Without further thinking, since she was wearing a swimsuit, she dove in. Suddenly the water temperature seemed to rocket down by degrees, and it felt icy. Water splashed up her nose and into her mouth. She crawled back onto dry land, shivering, nearly blinded. Her parents were still picking their way over the sand. In the meantime she sat by the sea, letting herself adjust before daring to dive in again. This time it felt normal, and only when she got out did it feel cold. She floated neutrally in the rippling pale waves, which were nothing like the color or fierceness she was used to. She cupped a small load in her hands and watched it drop like a mini waterfall. Afterwards she pulled down her goggles and dove under for the third time, admiring the coolness of the flowing water, and thought about how many miles it must’ve traveled. After a few minutes considering these magnificent journeys, over bank, sand, rock and mountain, she trailed deeper underwater and instinctively supported herself with an idle float. Her foot accidentally kicked the bottom, and sand floated up to sea level. She quickly paddled away from that patch and instead rested in a shallower spot. “Scrappy, we have to go,” her mother’s voice sounded to her right from underneath a palm tree. She was awoken from her half-reverie and shot out of the water. “What....really? It’s been, like, 20 minutes...” Her father checked his phone. “An hour,” he corrected. “We’re going to see the rest of Hawaii!” At this she immediately perked up and climbed onto the sand, still streaming water. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.” She took one last regretful look back at the ocean, then came up to them. Her mother unslung a white towel from her shoulder and handed it to her. Despite having it wrapped around herself in a matter of seconds, she still shivered from the cold breeze which just an hour ago she had welcomed. She hurried back to the car faster than usual and waited impatiently for her parents to catch up. When they unlocked it, she sprung inside and waited, refusing to take off the towel. The car doors slammed shut. “We’ll find a restroom for you to change,” her dad murmured as the GPS app re-routed. They toured the entire area, stopping once or twice to get food, which was twice as expensive than back home, and marveled at all the landscape features. She went to bed still excited for the next day, and the next, and the next. Each day there was something new and wonderful, incredible feats of both humanoids and nature—always scraping skies, or plundering the earth, or a part of the earth itself, and stormed with amazement—that was in a little bit of everything, somehow, from sky to space, and all the way to the end of the known galaxy, especially the natural ones; it was cuff and fang, anger and bite, put into these magnificent small blotchy decorations to the sea, to the dictionary is known as island, but also brittleness and tolerance, and even luv...she was biased based on her fascination of the sea, she was not to be trusted with these sort of topics. But Mother Nature had indeed done a good job, with the creation of humans, which burgled but also furnished the Earth, and oceans, and had a good idea in the making of rock formations, additionally also quite gifting to the stunning 24-carat beaches, and the smiling sky, which calm clouds migrated across. Beware that this did all occur on a small island. And soon, they were already halfway through their vacation. Scrappy closed her last online assignment and e-mailed her teacher about the quiz, tiredly closing the laptop and checking the clock. It was 9PM. Her parents should’ve come back five hours earlier. She was used to being left alone at home, but now the absence began to become unsettling. She had already tried calling them twice and sent them voicemails each time after another worriedly ‘the-number-you-dialed-didn’t-pick-up.’ Scrappy got up and paced around the room. A day earlier she had been notified of P&M arriving at their camp, and their parents going on a short trip, so she couldn’t call them to see if they had heard from her parents either— She thought for a moment. Could she? Her spirits rose and she re-opened her computer, going to Google and typing in ‘Ahola! Boot Camp phone policy.’ A few results showed, one titled “Our Terms of Service.” It came from their official website. She clicked on it eagerly. A highlighted section showed up. ‘We do not allow campers to carry phones or any other devices while they are physically attending camp. We will have sources for emergency situations, but campers cannot interact with these unless in the event of a real emergency. Please additionally do not call, text or digitally message campers while they are at camp.’ Her spirit didn’t lower. It died. Now what was she supposed to do? She tried to calm down. They were just a little bit late. She would wait for another two hours, go to bed. If they weren’t there the next morning, she would take action. Yes—she was overreacting. It was just five hours. Her parents had probably gone out on a date. They would be staying at a hotel, where they had gotten stuck due to a severe gale and rainstorm, in addition to heavy traffic. They couldn’t call because they had no internet. They would be back the next morning. She did her night routine and climbed into bed, listening carefully for the creaking of opening door hinges or the beep of the keypad. Nothing. Sooner or later Scrappy nodded off into blackness and awoke to dead silence. She checked her phone, which read 4AM. She looked over. The other bed was empty and there was no light in the bathroom. She cringed at the darkness swallowing her up and swung her legs over the side of the bed and down, groping for the light switch, half expecting when it came on to find some previously camouflaged monster staring into her soul. Luckily there was no monster, but only emptiness. She opened the door. There was nobody else in the living room. Now Scrappy was truly anxious. She couldn’t wait any longer and anyway she didn’t feel safe staying in a random town alone with a keypad as the only defense. What could she do? Only get to the place they said they were going to. It was a split-second decision, and one she would come to regret later, but she had no other choice and no time to think twice. But what about the transportation? Get a Taxi? She didn’t trust sketchy random people. Besides, her parents had left her with no money. Walk? Impossible and probably even more dangerous than the last option. Bike? No bike. Train? She didn’t know any trains near her, and even if she did, the roads were very complex; she could never navigate all the drop-offs and stops. Ask P&M’s parents to take her there? She had already tried and failed. The more she thought about it, though, she realized she didn’t only try contacting them for a ride—it was also because she needed a companion on her journey, someone she could feel safe with and ask if she was doing the right thing, truly. But she couldn’t currently turn to anyone else, and so she went with the last choice—which later felt crazier than all the others, but in the midst of her hysteria she didn’t think it through clearly. She would drive herself to the place. Scrappy looked for the spare car key she was sure her parents always stashed behind the pillow. It was, by a stroke of luck, still there; she stole it and unlocked the door, which could always be opened from the inside. She crept down the hallway, relieved to see the desk vacant, and shot out the exit. Only then did it occur to her that she couldn’t lock her suite, but it was worth it if she could see her parents again, and the only thing worth a burglar's attention was the school laptop, whose activity was monitored at all times. She nervously checked the road before running to the rental car. She unlocked it and climbed inside to the driver’s seat. She was somewhat familiar with the space; her dad had explained the controls to her before. Scrappy timidly put the key in and started the engine which roared to life. She flipped the turn indicator signal switch, which obeyed. She turned it back and gently backed out of the parking space. Scrappy had chosen the night to drive due to the riskiness of getting pulled up by the police in broad daylight. She didn’t want to be caught driving underage, and was aware that they patrolled at night as well, but was taking every means to conceal her departure. She was at an intersection now, and frequently received horn honks from impatient or irritated people to her side and behind; however she was making good progress, using her phone to navigate. The car’s headlight beams cut through the void. She sped down a straight road, turned left, took a false turn once and had to reroute, then came to a bridge. She flipped the signal indicator and went left again; however the day was slowly dawning, and the rosy pink light pierced the windshield. Upon seeing the daylight her mind began to get confused, slowly realizing what she was actually doing, and intrusive thoughts began to creep in the longer she drove. Scrappy was driving, in a rental car that could track her, to a place 2 hours away, all alone. One false turn, she could end up lost, in a ditch, or in a car crash. She was underage; the police could easily pull her up. And what’s to say her parents weren’t in trouble after all? What had even made her come to that conclusion? All she had needed to do was be patient and wait for them—but no. Instead she had taken bizarre means to get to her parents, who would probably scold her for being so stupid once they saw how she’d gotten there. No, she had to turn back. Her will fought for a little longer; her parents wouldn’t leave their daughter alone, with no contact, for so long. But the doubt grew rapidly, overriding all other thoughts like a weed, and her hands unconsciously turned the steering wheel. Immediately she felt a strange bump and a scream-yelp. Confused, she tried to back up, but there was a thud and something stuck under the front wheels. There was a person. Their face was full of anguish when they turned around and rapidly vanished, disappearing into the darkness. Scrappy leaned back in horror. She knew! She had just run over a person. And the other one was the only witness. ℂ𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 Terrified, she sped back home, not even caring to check the intersections for other oncoming cars. It was a miracle both she and it made it back in one piece; she parked and rushed with superhuman speed into the hotel and up the stairs. Somehow nobody had broken into the home, at least visibly, and nothing had been taken. Normally she would breathe a sigh of relief, but instead she flopped onto her bed and silently screamed. Scrappy. Killed. A. Person. “13-year old girl takes parent’s car, runs over person.” “Body found on remote road in Hawaii confirmed to be hit by car.” Scrappy felt guilty for the life lost, but she was more worried for herself. If caught, she would be charged for manslaughter and sent to juvie, or worse, full-on-jail. Maybe they would go easier on her since she was a minor, but she would be deprived of her freedom, and what would her friends and family think? That the kid they had grown up with was a murderer? She knew juveniles couldn’t get executed, but she didn’t exactly trust the law right now. What would happen if the witness suddenly appeared out of nowhere and testified against her, she didn’t know. The witness! She cringed. Scrappy had almost forgotten; she had just received a free ticket behind bars unless something were to happen to them. Something... No. Not today. She rolled over, and without even bothering to check what time it was, slept with tears in her eyes. She very nearly died in her sleep, or at least she thought so. Maybe she would’ve, if her negative emotions had been even stronger. Mental health could kill. She bleakly checked her phone, which was currently blowing up with notifications. Her mood lifted to neutral when she saw her parents had responded: They had just been stuck in a string of car accidents that happened to delivery trucks. Their car had a few dents from being stuck in traffic through the night and backing into a lamplight. They were fine. Of course she had killed that person for nothing and almost their companion too. The rest of the vacation was wasted for her. She neither paid attention nor had fun with any of the small trips they made out into the city, even when she had a chance to see P&M again. They probably suspected something was wrong, but failed to get an answer out of her. In her freetime Scrappy was hooked on the news, looking for the article where a witness reported a car accident. Nothing. What had happened? Admittedly she didn’t want to find out. The week flew by, and she was overjoyed on the day they headed back. In a few hours they docked again back on the mainland. Life returned to normal, and she could almost forget everything that happened that one fateful day. Went to school. Did homework. Slept. Repeat. More and more her friends tried wrestling something out of her, but she kept her mouth superglued no matter their methods. Even classmates started noticing something was up, and whenever the phrase “it’s like you killed someone,” came up, she jumped. The news article about the accident had come out months ago right after they flew back from Hawaii. It covered everything, but stated the body had been found by someone looking over the bridge days later and gave no mention of a direct eyewitness right when it happened. At first Scrappy had suspected they were just giving anonymous information to the police and press and probably requested the events be altered to conceal the fact there was ever a testifier, but as the months went on, she had reckoned something had indeed stopped the witness. It was a concerning yet relieving thought. Eventually she pushed it to the back of her mind, though she could never get rid of it completely. She might spend long nights or evenings having strong flashbacks. And this was happening one day on the couch, as she was suddenly seized with the moment when she felt the body underneath the tires. They haunted her in her sleep and came as weird nightmares. She could never have peace, and she slowly became not only more fearful but also more hostile of her surroundings, got irritated easily and threw abuse onto her classmates. “COME HERE!” she roared as she sprung at a random kid after he swore at her. He sidestepped and bolted into a classroom, making sure to block the door with a nearby chair. “Where’s the teacher?” Later Scrappy got detention, but she forever had beef with that guy, so it was worth it. At home she had the occasional mental breakdown or startle. Both usually resulted in her re-checking the news obsessively for updates on the ‘Hawaiian Car Murder’. Her parents often shot each other worried looks and tried to enroll her in a therapy program, but she refused to come after a week. P&M didn’t dare to go into her room anymore. Unhappily she lived this life in constant fear, hatred, and hysteria for an entire year. The more she dwelled on that sole subject, the shorter the days seemed to become. Until one day. Scrappy was prostrating to thin air, wondering what she had really done wrong, when she heard a crashing from downstairs. There was a hiss, then a “Hello?” “What...really...? Tell me about this ‘issue’ first...the tickets are already paid? Please, we need to know why...alright. Are you sure? If it’s for the good of...yes.” The call ended. Her father came upstairs, knocking hesitantly. She didn’t bother to get up. “Scrappy...we’re going back to Hawaii.” What! A nightmare. Yes, it was one of those nightmares again. Nothing to worry about. Soon she would wake up. “I know this is hard,” he continued, “but Scrappy, you need to pack your bags.” She stared. So It wasn’t a dream after all... “Why?” she choked out. “Urgent business. The flight tickets are already paid.” “No! Please!” “It’s going to be okay. It’s just a flight—” Scrappy fell back, panicking. Black spots danced before her eyes, and the temperature in the room seemed to explode by degrees. Fresh sweat beads broke out on her forehead; she thought of the witness declaring a vendetta against her and tracing their location. She tried to get herself back together and wiped the sweat off as best she could, then got up. “Do we really—” “Yes, Scrappy. Don’t worry, we’ll be back in a few days,” her father said shakily. He suspected his daughter was easily prone to homesickness, but there was no way to be completely sure. She sluggishly paced around the room, trying to think of an excuse to somehow back out. “Uh, is this a v-vacation?” Her dad shook his head. “Like I said, urgent situation. It’s just for a little while...” Scrappy turned away. If it was like that, then they could probably get away with it, although she would have to be on the lookout 24/7. She thought back to the witness’s disappearance, which sounded more suspicious than reassuring now. She didn’t have a choice, however, at least none appeared to her currently. The only way was forward and that meant playing along; she would just have to escape sooner or later. All she needed was a little more time to formulate a plan, which she could get by staying docile for the time being. If she still didn’t have something by the time they got back to Hawaii, she would just have to make do by keeping her and her family low profile. However, the police and getting caught were another issue. Scrappy could summarize that the case had gone cold, by news stories about the Hawaiian Car Murder having refused to appear for four months now; but she had two crimes on her back, one driving underage and the other being manslaughter. Would they really just...let that go? “Okay,” she murmured offhandedly. “I’ll go pack.” Her father beamed and left the room. Scrappy absently grabbed an empty suitcase and began tossing her belongings into it. There were numerous clues she had unconsciously left behind that could lead to her. The first was the body in plain sight. The second was the tire tracks that probably made an imprint. The third wasn’t really a clue, but a lead: the car rental company would’ve probably been able to track where the vehicle went. Adding that up with the date and the time, an investigator could determine they were somehow associated with the death. Luckily they had left quickly, though, and nobody had bothered to closely check them. Not a full cover-up, but it was better than nothing. She finished filling the case and slammed the lid. Scrappy trotted down the hallway to the blacktop, instantly breaking out into a run when she saw her friends. Providence was in the tree as usual. Mercedes was surprisingly up high in the very top branches. “Come down,” she yelled. “No thanks.” “Fine, just please don’t make me take an anvil to the head.” He ignored her. “Anyway, guess what? We’re being forced to go back to Hawaii.” Scrappy was stunned. “Pardon?” “Hawaii. Return.” She huffed. “Yeah, well that’s too much of a coincidence.” Providence blinked back at her. “What?” “We’re also gonna go back to—” “Stop it.” “No, like seriously!” Both of them stared her down. “....Huh.” “It isn’t just ‘huh’. It’s weird...what are the odds?” P&M exchanged concerned looks. “I really don’t know. Let me guess, the flight tickets were already paid?” Providence murmured. She nodded. “Exactly.” “Something weird going on,” Mercedes hissed. “But really, what can we do about it? Maybe it really just is some big, arrogant-as-hell corporation lurking around, trying to save money by threatening people’s jobs.” “Again. What are the odds?” “...Nonexistent.” “Spot-on.” “So this thing’s sketchy. And what are we supposed to do about it?” “Um, right...” “It’s probably going to be a big sales gimmick or something. Leave it to the adults.” Providence jumped down from the tree. Before they could say any more, the bell rang. Scrappy sat staring out the big glass window panes. She remembered the moment she had been in that exact spot over a year ago, back then filled with wonder and now with despair. What was she really going to do? It was truly hopeless— The call came to board the flight. Six hours from now and she would be back in Hawaii. Here they came. The flight attendant let them through, and at a last glimpse back at the airport she thought she could see Mercedes’s hair, but her parents hustled her along. Was she really alone? Once they got onto the plane Scrappy looked fitfully for her friends, but there was no sign of them. She must’ve been hallucinating. The plane rapidly took off, but she neither bothered to look out the window nor felt the feeling of excitement. All her senses were now crowded with a dull, throbbing kind of null panic. Her instinct told her to jump off the plane and back to land. I wish this would crash. I’d be better off. No, I’ll pray for it. Every moment she tried to formulate a plan off the torn pieces stuck on the bottom of her brain, but her mind went blank every time just when she needed it most. One time she looked up and realized they would land in an hour. Horror built up inside of her, and her head flew with inaudible thoughts; she desperately looked around as if something could help her. Land was in sight. A few more minutes and they’d be there. Five. Four. Three... Instantly the plane shuddered and stalled in midair. Scrappy was confused, glancing over her shoulder to see if the flight attendants were preparing for some special announcement, but she didn’t see anything, and once she realized what was really happening, she felt she would have a heart attack. The feeling of falling struck her harder than a brick. Her internal senses rapidly sent messages that they were plummeting, down, down, down. Screams pierced the air and people broke free from their seatbelts, invading the cockpit in their haste to find a defense. The plane rocked and for a second it was upside down; all sense of direction was lost. The two feelings threatened to overwhelm her if she didn’t get out of the plane before it crashed. She looked to her side, searching for her parents, but they were nowhere to be seen. She snapped her eyes shut as it did another barrel roll, and the ground underneath her vanished; she slid to the back of the aisle, catching herself on a chair just before it tilted once again. At once when Scrappy finally dared to open them again, the scent of smoke invaded everything: the wings were on fire! Her eyes widened and she used the chairs as ladders, making her way back up to the emergency exit. She grabbed the handlebar and frantically pushed the door open as the haze grew stronger, even starting to rush into the insides of the plane. Smoke covered everything and for a second she couldn’t breathe, then stuck her head out the opening. Hawaii was a black speck rotating wildly in the middle of the ocean. Scrappy only had a few moments to thrust her hand to the sides of the door, searching for a parachute. People were diving off the plane midair without protection—she only hoped it wasn’t because the parachutes had run out. She couldn’t believe it when she felt a pack in one of the compartments, which she promptly snatched and hung onto the wall for dear life. But now there was another problem: she didn’t have time to put it on. She cringed. Everyone was also running out of time before the fire—she suspected it was because they had fallen too fast—spread to the left aisle. The chairs would offer absolutely no protection. She had to get out, and fast. But as soon as she set her gaze back on the sea, which was growing ever closer, terror iced her insides. She had void experience with skydiving. This would be about a thousand times more dangerous. The fear of falling also weighed on Scrappy, but she had no other choice: plummeting into the water along with the plane could cause tidal waves, drowning, death by shock, or death by water pressure. That wasn’t to mention what dangerous marine animals’ homes they would be invading. She released the parachute as best she could and leaped. The falling sensation shocked her. She was horrified and remained frozen. The parachute did a little to slow her down, but she hadn’t inflated it properly— The sea came up to greet her— Scrappy hit the ocean. The waves enveloped her and she went under, fighting to the surface. Everything was a blur of chaos and salt water. She broke sea level, gasping for air, and saw the plane coming down in a death spiral about three quarters of a mile away. Scrappy ducked underwater again as the impact sent off a wave, taking away any remaining survivors still on the surface. She herself was blown about a few feet to the left, but once she came up again she glimpsed Hawaii. Scrappy took a deep breath, gathered up all her energy, and started to swim. She only did so when there were no obstacles coming; whirlpools she also avoided. Each stroke seemed to take a few years off her lifespan, and salt water streamed freely into her mouth, but little by little she came closer. Her eyes stung the longer she did so and occasionally she had to float to rest. Each time, however, the waves forced her to get a move on, torturing her and never leaving her alone. All it would take was one blow and she could be carried back to her starting point. Further on she used the parachute as a small inflator, relying on it combined with her will. It made poor floatation, but it was better than nothing and this way she could come up for more breath. The black speck came closer and closer as time seemed to stretch on. It was now past midday, and approaching afternoon, which would follow up by evening and then night. The darkness would be her worst enemy. It was already a miracle some shark hadn’t spotted her and took a ‘sample bite’, especially since she didn’t have any weapons other than her fists. She would also lose her sense of direction in the void. But then Scrappy broke the surface again, and the shores seemed ever closer; she summoned the last of her courage and washed up on the beach. Exhaustion, hurt, and fury were already burned into her bones, and she passed out. Scrappy woke up in a sort of cage. She blearily got up, only to be forced down a moment later when the ground jumped. The cage rattled, and she woke up to the full reality of the strange situation she was in. Looking around, she could tell she was in a vehicle; probably a van. She seemed to be alone. The crate was unsurprisingly locked and could only be opened from the outside, telling by the bolt. What kind of place was this? Her left wrist stung. She looked down, only to be confronted by a set of emboldened letters: PROPERTY OF ORGANIZATION RETURN IF NEEDED Scrappy blinked. She didn’t remember getting that tattoo, and a sense of dread filled her. ‘Property’? If this was a dream, it was certainly one of the worst fashion. The van went over another bump, and she tried to get up, but at once had an irresistible urge to sleep. She fought it for a little while, but eventually her eyes closed, and she knew no more. The wind whipped cruelly against her face. Everything stopped moving, and at first she sat up, then thought better of it, lay down, and watched through nearly closed eye-slits. She would finally learn about this strange scenario and how she had gotten here. There was a faint rattling, then a groan. Scrappy wasn’t alone after all. Another cage came into view with a kid inside it. She couldn’t see their face, but she had a metallic taste in her mouth. This wasn’t good. The other person was unloaded from the van, then pushed somewhere out of sight. One by one—she was originally fifth in line—they were moved away to the left. When it was her turn, she let her arm fall back on her face just in time, blocking anyone from telling what she had seen. Whoever these people were, she certainly didn’t trust them. Who kidnapped a girl they found lying unconscious on a beach? Just that: kidnappers. She had to escape, fast, and find out what happened to the plane and her family. Scrappy felt herself being lifted then set down. She heard the grind of rocks and earth. Finally there was the door slam, the engine starting, and the van driving away, away, away. She removed her arm and looked around; they were on a mountain plateau with sparse greenery and a cold biting wind. They certainly had a high elevation—she had a perfect view of the steep valley below, where more vegetation was found—but she still couldn’t exactly pinpoint their location. They could be in Hawaii, obviously, but she wasn’t really sure. Additionally, they were surrounded by mountains: no sea was visible, or it was blocked. There was more creaking. Before she had a chance to survey her fellow captives in general the cages’ bolts clicked simultaneously, and the metal doors easily swung open, making marks in the dirt as they did so. Astonished as she was, Scrappy didn’t hesitate, swiftly crawling out and standing up. At once everyone else among the main crowd followed, and a flood of different, other kids ran out from behind the mountains in a large single mass, piling defensively around the main circle. They circled unsettlingly near, and she thought she could see weapon-sheaths attached to their belts, eyes spiking with uncertainty and hostility. Scrappy thought she saw one nearly unsheathe and cross their daggers at a bold prisoner close to the edges of their confinement; but immediately she recognized Providence and let a joyful cry slip. She instantly regretted it and expected to be struck by one of the other horde, but strangely no sound came out. She tried again. Nothing—her voice refused to act. She cleared her throat, tried everything, but she was utterly silent. There was not a single un-bewildered individual among the detainees. “Hello.” Scrappy flinched. On the bare circle, a speaker had sounded. She wasn’t sure if it was live or just a recording. “Do not panic. You have been assigned to work for the Organization.” Ah. So that cleared up all of it with the tattoo. “You will serve under us in the time being and ordered into groups. Your group will be like a typical circle, called a team. The others in your group will become your teammates, and you are expected to cooperate with them under dire circumstances. However, violence amongst you is tolerated, and you may do as you please with your teammates: befriend them or behead them.” The captive eyed each other with confusion, worry, and suspicion. The speaker had categorically ignored the fact most of them probably didn’t know how they had gotten here, judging by their looks. There was a faint pause in the speech. “This begins....now.” On cue the other kids lunged, three of them snapping at a group of around 12 captives each. Scrappy was herded along, galloping along the paths carved into the cliff while the razor-sharp daggers laced her from behind. She cringed and kept tightly to the rock face, side eyeing the jagged drop below. Scrappy felt like crying out, but what good would it do? Anyhow she was apparently mute anyway. They went down the sloping road to a small U-shaped crater. A little bit of lake showed, its rippling blue waters curiously glittering at them, but the rest of it extended out of sight to the horizon. Pine trees bordered the shore, waving in the wind. The air was sharp with the calm scent of resin and untouched landscape. There was a small clearing by the shore with a campfire in the middle. Aside from the facts she didn't know where she was, how she had gotten here, what happened to her family and friends, she was a prisoner, and that she was potentially dealing with kidnappers, it was almost cozy. It even had logs to sit on like a real campsite. “Please. Have a seat.” Scrappy recoiled at the voice behind her. It came from one of the guard-kids, the one with {Insert description here.} She once again opened her mouth to speak, but there was a following silence. The guard simply left without another word. I didn’t know they could talk. Out of a vanilla-colored teepee her eyes had refused to notice there came a brunette-haired woman wearing a lab coat. Scrappy squinted as she flashed a faint smile in their direction, looking as if to actually acknowledge them, and vanished back into the small tent. She had been wearing a nametag, but her condemned sight had failed once again from such a long distance. This was terrifying. Some of her fellow captives appeared from out of the bushes. They had probably been looking for a way out, as their defeated expressions read, but had been retrieved by the sentries. Amazingly Scrappy spotted P&M, covered in dirt, whom she felt like she had never seen in forever. Her mind sprang full of questions that never made it out, and yet her eyes brimming with emotion were enough to communicate everything. She rushed to their sides with a quick glance as a greeting, paranoid that the kidnappers would notice and interfere if she addressed them more openly. Strangely, Providence snapped his head up high and trotted away, while Mercedes startled and fled. Neither one gave any sign they were putting on a show to avoid the discipline of the guards. They seemed to purposely avoid chatting. She tried to follow after them, but was stopped after a few steps with a fiery glare from Mercedes. Clearly there was something going on here. Scrappy retreated, giving up and shaking her head; perhaps they could talk later. After such a shock—she had a lucid feeling they had also been on the same plane—she didn’t want to press anybody. She also didn’t want to unintentionally appear aggressive, fearing that would permanently end their friendship in such a rural situation. Instead she backed away and ran right into another individual. She blinked and took a step behind her. It was the witness. She could recognize that face anywhere, no matter how briefly or how many times it had appeared in her life. This wasn’t a good thing, since it also applied for the other person—a girl; her gaze also hardened. Scrappy blenched, half expecting her to strike her right then or there. It would’ve been justified. Instead one of the garrisons broke in between them, keeping silent but also keeping a hand on their weapon-sheath. That alone was enough to scatter the two, although the witness fired a venomous look at her that screeched this isn’t over before turning around and nonchalantly cantering to a black tent nearby which was almost invisible in the darkness. Scrappy bolted, relieved but still scared and wondering how she had gotten away so easily. Then the night dawned and she realized she would have to sleep somewhere. Looking around, she noticed the clearing was empty and made for the nearest teepee, which seemed like the only type of place in the area suitable for rest. Inside she found another person, but they were already asleep and in the darkness she couldn’t tell who they were. There were two sleeping bags, one of which was empty. Seemingly as soon as Scrappy set eyes on it, all the trauma of the day hit her with more force than an anvil. First the plane had crashed and she had survived by only a fragment of luck. She didn’t know where her family was, and the chances of all of them making it out had pretty much been plunging into the negatives in the first place. Then Scrappy had gotten kidnapped by ‘The Organization’, whom she didn’t know intentions. They were being held prisoner at a weird mountain that was probably in the middle of nowhere by strange people and even other kids. She had met her friends, who blatantly ignored her and refused to interact. And finally, the witness had appeared, was seeking revenge on her, and was part of the same ‘team’ by the looks of it. Scrappy felt beyond exhausted and everything hurt. She stumbled into the bag, closed her eyes, and was unconscious in a few moments. Scrappy groggily propped herself up on her elbow. The sound of a struggle had woken her up, and she lifted her gaze to see a blade innocently gleaming in the morning sunlight. It blinded her for a moment and she had to look away, straight at another kid—the one from the previous night, she guessed—glaring furiously at the weapon. They were nursing their limp arm. Scrappy absently approached the dagger. Before she knew what she was doing she had reached out her arm and tapped it lightly. Instantly she was struck heavily by mental pangs of rue, but contrary to her expectations, it didn’t trigger any sort of trap. The jagged edge glimmered restlessly; she involuntarily opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then she swallowed and remembered the day before: she was deprived of her voice. Something unfortunate that needed investigating later, but for now, nearly all her thoughts were focused on the dagger. Why was it here? Then she noticed a tag attached to the handle. SCRAPPY DOGGREASU Scrappy narrowed her eyes at it. Really? Were they that eager to encourage breaking up the peace in teams? Anyhow, it would make a decent defense. She shrugged and unloaded it from the rack. She turned around to leave, only to find the other kid—gray eyes, streaked hair—staring agape at her. She turned away, not wanting to interact with her ‘teammate’ so soon, and exited, assuming they had gotten punished when trying to steal the weapon. The ‘Rendezvous’, she had heard one of the guards call it—her senses felt enhanced after the near-death scenario the day before—was already packed. The small clearing’s teepees and tents were being taken down; she guessed they were going someplace and tensed. In the circle stood the witness and she instinctively backtracked. Unluckily for her, the other girl had picked her out too and immediately set in her direction. She gained on Scrappy quickly, and for a moment they stood staring suspiciously at each other. Then the testifier promptly lunged, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a hot glare. She was so close that Scrappy could make out the written label on her blade. ROSA CANINA Scrappy braced herself for a second reprimand, but instead Rosa flicked her wrist and set off. She was glued to her spot, relieved at being spared but still on guard if Rosa decided to return. Prospectly she realized Rosa’s full name happened to also be the scientific name of a certain flower, Dog Rose, and so Scrappy couldn’t help Scrappy couldn’t help relabeling her that. Now she knew her enemy. She left the cliff where she had been cornered and re-entered the main clearing. P&M were busy filling sacks that they hoisted onto their shoulders or waists and left without a glance at her. Scrappy guessed they were departing and grabbed an empty container of her own, dully glaring at a teammate when she tried swiping the article and unsheathing her dagger, although it was more of a warning than an actual move. Scrappy was uncomfortably aware of how the bag was virtually weightless, surveyed the area around her and glimpsed a tent still remaining that had a first-aid kit outside the flap. She hypothesized its use correctly and cantered towards it, ducking in to find barrels of supplies. There was one for each type: bandages, food, water, and even medkits like the display. She snatched the items like a thief when they hear footsteps; but the bag, she suspected, was intentionally designed to have an incredibly limited amount of space, and she could only fit 15 max. Frustrated, Scrappy packed only five strips of dehydrated meals, seven bottles of water and three first-aids. She didn’t know if they would have to hunt or encounter more food supplements along...wherever they were going, but precautions were always better. At that moment a group of guards came, presumably to take down the tent. Scrappy quickly quit the space and started for the path they had come through yesterday, where everyone else was already moving ahead—casting one last look back at the clearing as she went—when she was briefly stopped by a single lone sentry, who caught her by the arm. For a few moments her vision seemed to shut down; she didn’t even have time to panic before it returned. Scrappy was puzzled and continued on the path, looking for the guard on the way, but they had disappeared. She dismissed it and ran ahead to her friends, who were at the back of the group. Dog-Rose was glaring at her from ahead, and she cringed; they always gave her chills. She would never forget that one fateful night, and the witness certainly wasn’t helping—Scrappy had enough reminders already. But, turning away, she greeted P&M, running up to them while staying a hesitant distance away. Providence glanced once or twice at her but always shook his head and went on to join the main team bulk. He never explicitly reached or gestured at his weapon, but his gaze was full of warning that was enough to make her stay at her current cautiousness. Instead Scrappy dropped behind and tried again with Mercedes, padding along shoulder to shoulder in hopes he would be more friendly. The air felt ruffled, and she perceived the tension all too late. Mercedes whirled, swiftly unsheathing his blade. He slashed out with the ferociousness of a supercharged being and scored her arm, leaving a river of blood. Scrappy startled, jumping and instinctively grabbing at her own knife. She leaped ahead, afraid of this sudden hostility, only to nearly collide again with Dog-Rose, who glanced at her wound but remained indifferent; she neither showed smugness nor attempted to give her a second one right then and there. Scrappy didn’t feel safe with her and shied away, running up ahead to the very front of the concession. She trod humbly upon the ground, keeping her head low in fear and shock. The blood had clotted quickly and was now going down in a long gash; it threw muted bolts of pain through her body. She hesitated to use up precious resources so early in their journey when she didn’t know when it would end, and it was clear these people weren’t going to give her any more for the time being. Scrappy tolerated it a little longer, nursing it and avoiding the sharpest spikes of the rock cliff. She found ways around small ditches, not trusting her arms to catch her if she fell. Soon they encountered a steep cliff, with a narrower path than the one they had been using up to that point. The guards—for they and the woman with the lab coat were the only ones ahead of her by now—didn’t stop, instead going straight through a barely visible cave in the rock face. Scrappy stood back at first, but when the rest of the team began to show their impatience and barge past her, she had no choice but to follow; at least a little in part to avoid Mercedes. She took two ginger steps forward and was immediately plunged into swift darkness, the entrance behind her shining like a lighthouse. Panicking, she kept on going further, looking for the burst of light that would greet her at the end. She crept blindly along the corridors until a small speck of open earth shone into the void, which spurred her on even faster. The crunching of gravel underneath her feet grew ever louder as she sped up and finally reached the sun, stunned for a moment at the brightness. Scrappy’s eyes quickly adjusted and she padded on, wary of the cliff. Rocks frequently crumbled and smashed into the valley, shrinking the path over the years, and now the group was forced to go in single-file; She didn’t dare look behind her in fear of making eye contact with Mercedes. Unfortunately for Scrappy, one of the guards had turned around and, seeing her pace, promptly shoved their dagger handle into her stomach. She snapped along quicker and pushed it away from her. The guard simply switched the ends around, and she stopped dead, the entire line being forced to brake and crash into one another during the process. Angry glares followed, then turned to curiosity when they saw the staredown. Scrappy remained still, barely daring to breathe, and involuntarily reached for her own dagger while simultaneously backing up. There was no way she could fight with only a single valid arm. Contrary to her own circumstances, a boy—she guessed he had taken the chance for an escape attempt—sprung out from behind her and maneuvered around the sentries. He barged past the woman in the lab coat with another swift stride and kept on further down the path, quickly reaching a dead end. Everyone, in their shocked senses, perceived he was done for; but he, backtracking, climbed a tall rock formation that overlooked the entire area. It let out onto the roof of the cave they had previously entered, which additionally had a view of the trees below. The boy crossed the roof and, with little hesitation, prepared to throw himself off the cliff onto the canopy when one of the garrisons jumped him from behind. It took him by surprise, and he teetered; both of them nearly dropped. The guard, panting heavily in their both silent and fierce attack, lunged at him. The boy ripped out his dagger just in time to clash with his opponent’s. The two of them stood on the cliff roof, one desperate, the other determined. And indeed, the more motivated of them won, for they swiftly caught the boy from behind and raised their weapon as if to stab him, then kicked him off the edge. The treetops did nothing to break his fall, and even from all the way across the area they could hear the crash of his body. The rest of the team grimly stood there. Scrappy cringed at all of this unnecessary violence conducted by teenagers no less. But in spite of herself, she broke out in a fit of silent, unappreciative laughter. She could suddenly feel Mercedes’s gaze burning into the back of her head, but didn’t dare turn around. What was so funny? She didn’t really know. The guard, sweating and seething, came down to them and nonchalantly proceeded along with the rest of the team. Scrappy looked around and followed along on their heels, as if the boy was still by their side. The trees’ leaves, red-tinged as if with blood, flew in the wind. Some were scattered across the limestone path; some were running with the breeze, making perfect material for birds’ nests; nothing changed that Fall was coming on, and Winter would soon follow. Pretty much all of the captives had secretly been looking for a chance to escape—preferably before the first snow, that was common sense—but not like the boy did. She was pondering an escape plan when they finally arrived at their destination. They descended below the mountains to a grassland, the middle of which was a bare circle. The team was led to the circled clearing and set up the tents. Scrappy had pushed her past life to the back of her mind seeing she had never a moment to spare. But now when she was thinking of running away the question came up: even if she succeeded, who and where would she go to? Her family? She struggled not to have a mental breakdown right there and then. Was her family still even alive? Where had they gone after the crash, and did they even survive the crash? Did the fire get them? Did they drown in the ocean? Were they stuck in a lifeboat right now, with limited supplies, wondering where their daughter went? If they were alive, how would she let them know? Even if they didn’t die, she would’ve probably been declared dead by now. The situation was quite hopeless. One of the guards barged past her. The woman in the lab coat, halfway across the clearing, was calling. “LRoyals!” Scrappy turned around, surprised. Then she realized it wasn’t a personal name; all the guards swarmed towards the woman. They huddled and listened to what she had to say, which was too far for Scrappy to hear. The ‘LRoyals’ quickly departed, forcing her to act busy again. She grabbed one of the tent stakes and stamped it into the ground with her foot, repeating the action again and again until all of them were fixed into the ground. Her teammates—they had quickly learned that it was better to cooperate when projects were at hand—came over and finished the job, raising the tent. The tents were replenished with supplies, which quickly diminished as the entire team flocked into them and started hoarding. Scrappy, alarmed, hesitated at first, but quickly realized she would be in immediate danger if the resources ran out and nobody bothered to restock them. Unless she could steal without being caught—unlikely—or fight without losing—unsure—she would perish. Besides, it was better to have a little trouble now than to have long lasting beef with her own teammates. She barged past a few kids, who glared at her but quickly turned back to depleting the reservoirs, and jumped into the thicket. Barrels similar to the ones from the morning were placed there, some tumbling on the ground, some empty. The few remaining were swiftly disappearing. A tide, which at that moment seemed much more than 12 people, was enveloping these lifelines, making it difficult to see. Luckily Scrappy was reminiscent of the school-break-time incident in 6th grade, and so she ducked down, scrambling on the dirt, and slyly made her way over, swiping three or four articles. A hand slapped hers, and she felt a slight anger surge up inside her, but had barely touched her dagger-sheath when she thought better of it and ignored the sting. She crawled more over to the right and leaped up like a shark, snatching two more before playing it safe and retreating out of the tent with little trouble. Scrappy stole away with her prizes and stuffed them into her jacket, double checking nobody was watching her. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Mercedes and gave a cold, involuntary shudder. He seemed to be heading her direction; she scowled and silently crawled away, not in the mood to get betrayed again. She stayed there for a few heartbeats, then realized he really was coming up to her and leaped up, striding towards the tents. Scrappy managed to lose sight of him temporarily while leafing through the crowd and breathed an inner sigh of relief, which stopped short once he reappeared just a few steps from her. Scrappy wiggled past more of her teammates and casually lifted her pack from her shoulders to block the view of her head, then, seeing nowhere else to go, went to the main clearing. It was a mistake, seeing that he was right on her heels, and once they both had sight of each other, staring from across the bare circle. He lifted his hand up in the manner of a dog, and paced around, avoiding the easy shortcut, instead picking his way carefully along the edges. Scrappy instinctively took a step back and then two forwards, so her right foot was on the circle. She unsheathed her blade and bared it menacingly. It was evening, and the dying sun glinted off the jagged blade as Mercedes stopped, broadcasting a second staredown. Finally he took two bold strides forward and they were standing right in front of each other. Scrappy raised the dagger, preparing to stab, when Mercedes produced a dehydrated, cooked fish from his sack and held it out to her. She blinked, puzzled, and her blade came down anyway, slashing him on the arm. He winced but didn’t cry out nor took back the salmon. A quiet, trickling stream of blood spilled onto the soil as Scrappy glared at him sternly. She turned away and trotted towards the tent area, where the rest of the team was. Mercedes persisted, following after her like a wounded puppy, which he was, while she navigated the place, trying to find the deepest, darkest corner where she could lose him without having to fight. Eventually, having little success—he caught up after every turn—she gave up, facing him again. Mercedes re-offered her the fish, which she promptly pushed away. Scrappy hoped he would finally leave her alone after that, but he held it out once again, and this time she hesitated, then warily accepted it. She wasn’t going to eat or save it; in fact she had a suspicion he was trying to finish her off with poison, but if this wouldn’t shake him off, she didn’t know what would. Instead Mercedes reacted in a calmly friendly manner, sticking by her side but at a safe distance. She gave a silent groan and separated themselves with such a distance so nobody could tell they were associated. Scrappy didn’t know what he was planning now, but if he was so willing to duel the day before, she certainly wasn’t going to trust him now. Nothing happened for the rest of the day, and it was dawn before they knew it. Her personal alarm clocks—the ‘LRoyals’, heaved the entire tent she was sleeping in up, and she was forced to move, grudgingly exiting with her sleeping bag under her arm. Mercedes greeted her in a warm fashion, while Providence was nowhere to be seen. Scrappy had lay awake a quarter of the night debating whether his apology was genuine or not. Eventually she had determined it was at least in part well-intentioned—if he had wanted to kill her, there were no large barriers preventing it from happening outright—but she should still be cautious just in case; she simply nodded to acknowledge him and stuck by his side. The rest of the team was up and running in no time, streaming out from the tents and helping to dismantle them, and together the mass followed the woman in the lab coat. Telling by the looks of it, nobody except the woman and the guards knew where they were actually heading, but there was no choice but to follow the herd; and that was the reason why they temporarily obeyed the strange organization, even though they all knew they were prisoners. Scrappy thought it quite disturbing at first but then perceived she was doing the exact same thing, and pushed it to the back of her mind for a bit. The group left the grassland and went back the way they had come before, except split off into a road she hadn’t seen before. The path was once again rocky and narrow, forcing everyone to stick to the rock face. Boulders tumbled down before them, and Scrappy was always anxious someone would slip and make the trail fall away, broadcasting a chain reaction. Their situation depended on themselves, who didn’t seem too trustworthy at the moment. Eventually the track sloped, and they were blanketed in darkness as there was a stone overhead. Luckily the tunnel wasn’t very long and Scrappy could make out the pale sky on the other side, which was patterned with white, thin clouds. When the last stragglers had exited as well, they were greeted by a picturesque scene, with towering pines, steep cliffs, and a valley down below, which seemed to be occupied by multiple someones or somethings. The lab coat woman proceeded down a hidden passageway shaded by a few grand trees, which stood superiorly above them. Scrappy only had a few moments to admire them before she too was forced down the footpath, giving a silent sigh at being separated from sunlight again. The trail was steep and bumpy, giving quite an unpleasant experience. By the time they had reached the base of the hills Scrappy’s knees were hurting, and everything ached all over. Her hands were chilled from the mountain winds and her eyes stung as well. But then she perceived a packed space and the noise of a busy crowd; she looked up. Nearby there was a large community of stands, posts, and tents, all jammed with kids, some whom she recognized from the captive crowd before they had been herded into teams. They were all equipped with daggers or blades and each had a form of...identification, she guessed, since the keychains on them had to have some purpose. She looked down and was surprised to see herself also wearing a keychain, which was attached with metal chains to her belt. Scrappy tried moving it, only to find out it was extendable. She looked up. The rest of the team was already moving forward to join the community. She ran to catch up and was plunged into a whirlwind of colors and sounds, all of them resembling the average rush-hour street in a huge city. The first stand she set eyes on was operated by a kid—a LRoyal, speculatively—with a long line of individuals lining up to them. Scrappy thought about investigating, but didn’t want to seem as if she was trying to steal whatever they were holding in their hands; furs, she guessed. She moved on, losing her sense of direction in the crowd. She thought, vaguely, that this would be a good chance to escape into the wilderness, but a few things quickly pushed it back: 1) There were LRoyals monitoring from the sides, 2) She had no plan and wasn’t very confident in her ability to survive after her supplies ran out and 3), she would be leaving her friends behind and had no way to find them in time if she was going to escape. Scrappy shook her head and moved on. She had never seen such a big mass of people since they had all been brought to the mountains, and it was sort of reassuring; there were kids going through the exact same thing as her. Nobody knew who the Organization was, what they wanted, and what their future would be composed of, but they were indeed all going through this, weren’t they? Scrappy trekked through the post, encountering a few hostile kids, from different teams telling by their keychains. Her own was ebony black with gold outlines of two trees on the left and right side with three bold letters in between them: BFT. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint what they stood for, but it probably was something associated with her team; it wasn’t her main concern for now. In the road there were some squabbles that she promptly avoided. She didn’t want to be involved in a long-term war, and definitely not ones she had no business in. Scrappy only fended off the ones that had directly provoked her; they could lunge or bluff all they wanted, she wasn’t going to give in. She trotted with her head held up high and radiating an air of slight aggressiveness, which was enough to warn any potential opponents. Frequently she was confronted by waves of other teams as a whole, looking to slash anyone who wasn’t part of them. She faced these invaders with steely calm, having already learned panicking was the shortcut to a grave. They stayed for a little more while, pacing and unsheathing their weapons, eyeing her closely, and then decided she wasn’t worth it. They departed almost at once and Scrappy found herself in the midst of the post again. She ended up crushing a few bones of those who were looking for a fight, but she herself didn’t come out with anything serious. She aptly noticed most of these one-on-one opponents were all from different teams and wondered how many kids really were captured by the Organization, but it was definitely more than a few hundred, a couple thousand speculatively. She wondered if anyone had managed to already escape during the short timespan they had been thrown into this artificial society. If they could cooperate, maybe it would get everyone a decent ending, but that didn’t seem likely; that just wasn’t how people survived. Anyhow, what was she supposed to do when someone attacked her? Refuse to defend herself? Impossible. From out of nowhere Mercedes approached her. He had caught her by surprise, and Scrappy whirled, then calmed down once she saw him. He led her out of the post and into an array of tents, navigating through them before reaching one that had her keychain’s icon on a sign. It read Black Forest Team. She went in, seeing as it was getting dark, and found only one available sleeping bag; there were other tents that belonged to the team. Mercedes disappeared through the tent flap, and she sat down. In a matter of moments her eyes closed. It was dawn when she woke up. There was a brisk chill in the air that once again reminded her of the coming frost. Scrappy yawned and got up, realizing the tent was already empty—whoever else had been with her had been early risers. She checked to make sure nothing had fallen out from her bag, then got up and exited. The LRoyals were busy reprimanding kids that had neglected breakfast while simultaneously dismantling a different tent. Scrappy sat down, pulled out a cooked potato from her sack, and ate, savoring the plain but better-than-nothing flavor. With a little food in her stomach, she helped them knock down the second tent, earning herself a mostly neutral but positive glance. As soon as the entire team was pulled away from the post and gathered in a circle, they set off, the woman in the lab coat leading as usual. The LRoyals obeyed her, and Scrappy suspected she was a member of the Organization or a supervisor, likely both; but until she had a plan, she could do nothing. The team proceeded away from the post. They didn’t go up the mountains again; rather they headed away from it and over a wide prairie. The landscape transformed as they headed away from the almost-civilization since their past world. Trees and greenery vanished rapidly. The sun worsened, striking them with its powerful lashing rays. Luckily for the team there was still a strong breeze running, cooling them off and setting their eyes forward. The wind whistled through the few feeble trees remaining, chasing leaves across the ground like excited dogs. They were already crimson-red, contrasting to the yellow from only a few days ago; adding up to the migrating geese that could sometimes be seen slicing through the sky. On ground level, there was nothing but sparse cliffs and low-lying grasses. Scrappy feared snakes but forced herself onward, not wanting to seem weak or a nuisance. Most of the team followed behind her, spanning out into an upside down “Y” formation. The LRoyals swiftly broke it off, coiling defensively around the woman in the lab coat and occasionally whirling to face them. Barely anyone challenged them after the failed escape attempt by the boy whom nobody had known. Anyway it would be fruitless unless they had a detailed plan, which wasn’t likely telling by descending civil tension. Her thoughts were interrupted when over a canyon ridge there appeared a faint speck, growing soundly bigger as they drew nearer. At first Scrappy thought they had took a wrong turn and were going back in the direction of the post, which was proved false when she realized it stretched, from left to right, over the mountains and out of sight. It was essentially blocking their way and she wondered how the woman along with the LRoyals would get through it this time; then she wondered if it was a part of the Organization. It was likely—if they had the power to swipe thousands of kids seemingly by force and get away with it, they certainly had the power to construct a barrier. But why? Scrappy’s question was answered when they finally reached the wall. A long line of other kids were waiting before the...inspection station of some sort. They were sitting in groups of about 12 each, suggesting they were sticking to their own teams. Apparently nobody liked interacting with people from other teams, probably due to the artificial “we versus them” feeling. Most of them didn’t know their teammates any better, and violence amongst them was common, yet there was still a faint sense of unity, contrary to foreign groups. What were they all doing here? Scrappy looked around, scanning for the answer. Above them, there was a banner hung on the top of the wall that read “RED FLEET.” A flag rippled in the distance, but it was too far away to make out its details. There seemed to be no difference between the land they were standing on right then and the land on the other side, telling by the glimpses she could catch of it. Was this a border crossing, then? Of whom and whom? Did a ‘fleet’ contain teams too? Was it the equivalent of a different country of kids the Organization had also kidnapped? So many questions swirled without answers. If the woman was planning to lead them to the other side, and Scrappy’s assumptions were correct, then they would practically be foreigners. Another thought came to her: Why would the woman want to bring them here in the first place? She’d just have to wait and see. Scrappy jerked back awake. Her team was already moving ahead and they were almost to the front of the line. She ran to catch up, and when she did, she heard the woman’s voice for the first time. “Sydney Queueson, Black Forest Team. Not from Red Fleet.” It was crunchy but smooth-going at the same time, its ends lifted up. Still, Scrappy instinctively disliked it—these were her kidnappers. If she got too tangled in their qualities, she was afraid she would willingly obey them. The thought and what events it might broadcast next scared her, and so she pushed it away. Then she was dimly aware of her teammates being called to pass, and looked up. Scrappy hadn’t paid attention at all to them—excluding P&M of course, and so she was curious. “Copycat Merle.” Scrappy couldn’t see who was speaking, but she wondered if they had misread the name. A boy, the same one who had been in the same tent the day she received her dagger, stepped up and waited for the gate to lift, then took two strides forward. Instantly he was on the other side and he turned around to face them with striking gray eyes. Scrappy couldn’t keep back an inner snort, but then again, she wasn’t any John—or Jane—Smith either, so who was she to laugh? “Sphinx Realm.” Scrappy raised an eyebrow. A girl stepped up with a faint, mysterious smile. Her brunette hair seemed to be permanently up in a bun/ponytail, and her eyes matched with a slightly darker almond color. “Butter.” ‘Butter’? Just ‘Butter’? She would’ve expected a last name too, but okay...a boy crossed, his hand on his dagger. Scrappy instinctively shuffled backward only to bump into someone else, who thankfully ignored it. The boy had jet-black ruffled hair and she couldn’t tell his age. His green eyes blinked innocently and calmly back at them from behind the gate. “Providence Toronto. Mercedes Toronto.” “Scrappy Doggreasu.” She ducked her head and went after the others, stepping cleanly on the other side. There were about five kids still waiting for their turn. “Renee Keisha.” A boy with an emotionless face and cascading pupils joined them on cue. Scrappy recognized him as a LRoyal and shrunk back. “De Miram.” Another girl with stiffly cut hair and sharp eyes padded across. “Obsidian Mint.” The LRoyal girl followed after De Miram, her locks course black. “Pearle.” A boy with eyes as clear as the sky came bounding to his teammates. Scrappy shook her head. Again with the lack of last names. He was another LRoyal. “Tamaskan Sketch.” The individual—she couldn’t tell whether they were male or female—finally shot under the gate towards them, their blue gaze simultaneously burning into all of them at once. That was all. Everyone was gathered on the other side of the fortress, next to another team who had happened to make it through at the same time. The two groups peered at one another, both curious and hostile at the same time. Butter nearly bounded straight towards them, but seemed to think better of it and stopped, simply cocking his head at them. For some reason an opposing girl thought of this as threatening and glared daggers back. Butter stayed where he was, refusing to back down or move at all. The woman in the lab coat—Queueson—didn’t even glance back before continuing on the path. The rest of the team had no choice but to follow her as Renee, Pearle, and Obsidian snapped at their heels, following their duties a little too strictly than Scrappy would’ve liked. They galloped up a steep hill and straight into another inspection center. Before she even had time to look around, everything went black. When she woke up, the others were sitting around the same room. There were no LRoyals and Queueson was missing. Luckily before she had time to fully turn on, Queueson slammed open the door and smiled. “Good. All of you, follow me.” She didn’t offer any explanation or elaboration, just exited the room. She was quiet as all of them went single-file and trotted down the hallway. Scrappy had a queasy feeling in her stomach and considered running, but common sense told her it was impossible. When they reached the end, glass doors opened automatically for them to reveal more mountains sloping away to make a path for them, a brisk chill in the air. Scrappy shivered and unslung her sack from her shoulder, rummaging to see if she could find a cover. It seemed to have been rearranged entirely: there was a warm fur coat, some more foodstuffs, although they were different from the ones she had packed last time, and eight bottles of water. She was reaching for the coat when Tamaskan came out of nowhere and snatched a bottle, invoking an angry glance from Scrappy. She leaped to her feet and unsheathed her dagger, but the thief was already sprinting to catch up to the team. She glared after them, hoisted her backpack, and set off. When they docked at an empty Rendezvous Site, Queueson sat down, stared at them thoughtfully, and began to speak. “Now, all of you have a new job.” Scrappy casted an uneasy glance over at P&M, who were blinking at Queueson. The woman scanned her eyes around the circle, eventually singling out Butter, who gazed defiantly back at her. She stood up and gestured for him to follow, which he did grudgingly. She left the Rendezvous and went over out of sight down a path. At once when she was gone the team started, but the LRoyals kept them in check; a single warning look was enough to keep them all seated. A few moments later, a shot rang out, and Scrappy heard the startled rustling of boots on the ground. Instantly all heads turned towards where the bang had sounded, only to look behind them as Queueson came back up with Butter. He was tapping a rifle impatiently while Pearle rushed forward and helped them drag in a deer carcass the size of a small car. The team got up, all discipline forgotten, and piled around it. Telling by the lack of antlers, it was probably a doe. There was much excitement, and some were inspecting it with their fingers; the LRoyals quickly shooed them away. Then they were escorted to a single tent, where they remained until the scent of cooking meat flooded the space. De Miram was quietly struggling with something near a stake, which she finally managed to yank out shortly afterwards. Instantly the tent collapsed on them, which didn’t hurt much but spurred them lightning-fast out of the tent. Again everyone crowded around the now smoking select slices of deer, many of whom, including Scrappy, hadn’t tasted ever in their lives. Sphinx was snapping at choice pieces, which remained stubbornly out of reach above the campfire. The skin was hanging on a metal pole that resembled one of the tent supporters; Copycat was eyeing it, but Renee saw what he was doing and was suddenly tense, glaring menacingly. Afterwards small shares of fresh meat were passed out, and much thievery was circulating. Once or twice even the LRoyals’ meals went missing, and the Rendezvous Site was pulled up in the fury. Obsidian was running around the entire circle swearing that if she didn’t catch the rouge she would line up everyone and slash them one by one; there were no more attempts to steal from them after that. Eventually they unearthed the thief: Providence. It was the first time Scrappy had really payed attention to him since Mercedes’s make-up, and she still felt pangs of pity when she saw him cringing beneath Obsidian’s blows. Sphinx, at this time, took the chance to snatch the last unclaimed strip of meat hanging above the charred wood. Tamaskan also clearly saw this as a time for benefit, because they picked up a stick lying on the dirt and proceeded to shove it above the last flickering flames, lighting a torch; but in a flash all three LRoyals were on them, seizing the handle and flinging it over a cliff. Later new burn scars appeared on their arms, but Scrappy secretly thought they deserved it for stealing from her. The team was swiftly rounded up and sent to their tents. Scrappy fell asleep quickly, feeling quite tired from the squabbles that had occured during the afternoon. She awoke several times during the night feeling like something was different, but never quite being able to pinpoint what. Eventually around four intervals she finally slept for the remainder of the night, getttng up at dawn. The day was foggy and it was colder than usual. Barely anyone was outside, all huddling inside the tents for the last few precious moments until they were forced to quit the spaces. Scrappy was absently looking towards the horizon, watching the early sun dazzle the landscape, when Providence came up from behind. She was surprised and didn’t make any attempts to communicate; he didn’t try either, just giving a glance that could mean an infinite number of things. The two stood for a little while longer until Providence turned and left, making for the tents. She didn’t go after him, instead casting long looks at the vanishing point, desperately searching for any landmark—the sea, an island, some plane—but found nothing. For all Scrappy knew she could be in the local forest next to her house or halfway across the world. Wherever they were, it seemed she wasn’t going to find out anytime soon. The team was gathered and herded away on a remote path. Surprisingly they were split into even smaller groups of about three each. The LRoyals followed most, with Queueson supervising the last one. Scrappy was with Providence and De Miram, Obsidian monitoring closely. The trio was escorted to a small clearing much like their current Rendezvous Site, except quite shrunk. Three guns were lying on the ground. Scrappy glanced up, surprised, and Obsidian made no gesture of warning or reprimand. She kneeled down. The LRoyal did nothing. She checked around herself one last time before gingerly stretching out a hand and tapping the wooden butt, withdrawing it almost immediately. There was no punishment. Finally she picked it up and examined it, checking to see if it was loaded. It was, and at last she decided they had been intentionally there for them. De Miram had been watching the entire time and weighed her own; Providence, first hesitantly and then boldly, followed. When she saw they all had their weapons ready, Obsidian turned around in silence and walked away. Scrappy instinctively went after the only authority in eyesight and the others did the same. The sound of rushing water grew louder as they slowed down. Quietly they stopped at a grove of trees that blocked some sight of what lay beyond, but she guessed it was a full-fledged forest or a waterfall; probably both. Northeast of their location was a herd of deer drinking something that also seemed to lead behind the trees, but Obsidian ignored them. Instead she stared intently at an area of shrubs which rustled and danced unusually much for the wind, which had settled to a dull whisper. The crashing of paws was soon heard and out burst a majestic gray wolf, his coat sprinkled with pine needles. ​​About three or four swiftly followed, most gray or white in color with a single jet-black pack member. They covered distance fast and arrived to meet the deer, most of who had paused drinking to stare at their predators. Some were already fleeing at the sight, especially the does with fawns. The wolves did’t attempt to go after them, just calmly closed in on the ones who remained. Obsidian’s eyes were fixed on the pack. The closest to Scrappy was a slightly smaller, white wolf circling around the biggest buck. “Fire!” She was so startled she actually pulled the trigger, and a storm of light and bullets followed. A few hit the deer, but most scored the wolves, tearing through their pelts and earning yelps of shock and injury. About half fell right then and there; the others scrambled to the trees, their fur stained with blood. It was as if they had created artificial thunder as sound shook the earth. The pure black wolf limped away into safety unnoticed; De Miram had missed him by about a foot. It all happened so fast Scrappy stood there dumbly for a few seconds until the echoes died away. A last, mooning call sounded from the large deer as he collapsed into a heap and went still. The bullets stopped and everything was dead silent. There was no trace of the lively pack remaining except for the corpses and a few matted tufts of fur caught on the shrubbery near the grove. Red decorated the prairie grass and seeped away into the river, dyeing it crimson. At last Obsidian trotted up to the small white wolf and slung a harness over it, turning away and dragging the corpse back towards the direction of the Rendezvous. She looked back once to study the other dead bodies with expectation, but gave no directions and stayed silent. Scrappy followed after her empty-handed and confused, then realized what she was supposed to do and picked up the pack alpha—-the gray wolf they had seen earlier. It was extraordinarily heavy; but the Site was closer than it had seemed at first, and she trotted about a half painstaking mile back to the clearing, where she ingloriously deposited the animal into a heap. De Miram followed half carrying half dragging a creamy brown wolf, and Providence was last not with a wolf but with the big buck that had died along with the pack. She wondered if they had run out of dead wolves to bring. They were the only subgroup that was at the clearing. Scrappy guessed the others were hunting as well; then she questioned what they were actually planning to do with the wolves. She got her answer soon enough when she spotted Obsidian teaching De Miram how to skin her wolf. Later she was forced to copy their movements, and a few minutes afterward she trotted to the bushes and vomited. Her dagger was covered in blood and something that looked like wolf meat. Scrappy promptly sprang to the river and remained for about half an hour trying to wash off the mess, only partially succeeding. Finally she retreated back to the Rendezvous and painfully removed the pelt, swinging it over a tanning structure the LRoyals had set up. Everyone gathered around as select parts of the deer were taken and roasted over another campfire; nobody had dared to try wolf meat. Some bits were saved for the others when they came back. Shortly afterwards the hides went missing. At first everyone thought they had been stolen, but Obsidian didn’t seem worried and so the Site settled down. Then the rest of the team came back. They were carrying elk, moose and coyotes. Scrappy even thought one of them might’ve had a fox, but it vanished in the excitement.