Some endless hours, maybe days later, his shop door opened with a jingle. Charlie entered, not seeing Suatre at first, then leaning over the couch and spotting him. Suatre had been somewhere between awake and asleep, but he played asleep now.

Charlie shook his shoulder lightly. “Suatre,” he said.

“Mmmph.”

“Sorry to wake you up. How are you? I hadn’t seen the lights on in here in a while and I wanted to see if you...if you needed anything.”

“...I’m okay, thanks for worrying.,” he said, turning and pushing himself into the sitting position.

“You don’t really look okay,” Charlie said.

“I just get like this sometimes, I guess. Someone told me I was bipolar once but I dunno. I get to thinking and it fucks me up…”

“Do you have like, a care provider?”

“Like a doctor? No.” Suatre shrugged his skinny shoulders.

“Hmm..” Charlie rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Want me to help you get one?”

Suatre shrugged again.

Charlie gave him a half smile. “I’ll look into it for you, ok?”

“Ok.” Suatre looked up at Charlie, his silver hair shining like a halo around his head. “Thanks, man… I feel bad for the hassle.”

“No hassle. Just...caring about my neighbor, you know?”

“Hah, yeah…”

“I’ve got some time. You want to go now?”

He didn’t. He didn’t want to go out anywhere, into the rain. Was it still raining?

“Well, um,” he said. “I um. I don’t have, like, any ID.”

Charlie looked at him, thinking and running his hand back through his hair, which was free of the ponytail today. The silver waves framed his face, some loose bits springing back over his forehead. He looked around at the silent shop. He looked at the beer bottles and food packaging on the floor. Suatre did too. He didn’t remember going to the grocery.

“A Karadas Center, then, I suppose,” Charlie said. “I’ll take you. It’s not far but the weather’s gross.”

Reluctantly, but grateful for Charlie’s presence, Suatre got up, pulled his hoodie on. While he tried to tame his own hair in the mirror, he saw Charlie pull up a screen briefly.

Then he followed Charlie out to the street, where a blue vehicle sat waiting.

Reminiscent of a carriage or a car, or a weird mix of them both. Kind of round and bubbled out towards the back and tapered to the front, where a driver should have sat. It looked a bit like a cartoon teardrop, on it’s side. They got inside and sat in the back next to each other. The front was empty of any drivers. A control panel was set there instead, and Charlie punched some info in and off they went.

Suatre would have asked about the weird autopilot car if he’d been feeling better. As it was he was starting to feel like a sullen teenager being driven to therapy. Yeah, he’d been there. But Charlie wasn’t his dad, and he wasn’t being forced. He still felt like it. He supposed he was forcing himself. He was an adult now after all, wasn’t he? He could only blame himself.

They were taken leisurely through the city. Suatre had noticed a lack of cars in town but he’d only walked around a few blocks in either direction. He usually saw people walking or on bikes. But they came out to a larger road heading further into the city. There were cars now, with plenty of the teardrop shaped vehicles mixed into the traffic.

Next to Charlie in the car thing, Suatre wished he could lean on him. Imagined his arm around his shoulders. Big, solid, friendly, sexy Charlie. Just Suatre’s type. The kind of guy he always liked but never managed to get with. He didn’t deserve a decent man.

Somehow they sat in silence without feeling awkward.

The Karadas center was big, geometric, prismatic. The colors on it’s white planed edges shifted like the colors in an oil slick where the light hit. In front of the building there were benches that stood in between plants and trees in the courtyard leading up to the front doors. Suatre followed Charlie apprehensively. What was this place?

Inside was big, like a church or a bank. It was tall and open and bright, a space in the middle like a ballroom surrounded on the far wall with booths. Charlie led them to one.

A holographic person appeared behind the desk. They were similar to the screens everyone had, composition wise. The light shimmered pink. The person was average height, pale skin, long straight orange hair. Suatre couldn’t tell what gender. The person smiled.

“Welcome. I’m Aijeen. What can we do for you today?”

“My friend here,” Charlie gestured to Suatre, “doesn’t have an ID, or an implant. He needs to see a doctor and otherwise participate in society. We wanted to start that process.”

The hologram looked at Suatre, who looked back gloomily. He gave the hologram a halfhearted wave.

“I see. Do you have a local ID?”

“No?” He didn’t have anything in his wallet.

“All right, let me see. Let’s start with your name and date of birth?”

Oh shit, he thought. Well. Let’s see what happens.

“You could try, uh, Chase? Chase Rossdale. My real name.” He mumbled sadly. Of course Suatre wouldn’t exist here.

“I don’t have that name, I’m sorry.”

“Um, so, I go by Suatre….Suatre DeAngeles. That’s S U A T R E,” he said. He always had to spell it out. Well, that dumbass name was his choice too, wasn’t it?

“Hmm”, Aijeen said, accessing some data neither of them could see. “Date of birth?”

Suatre glanced at Charlie, back at the hologram. “October 15th, 1978.”

“Nineteen…” Charlie said, sounding incredulous.

“Why, what year is it now?” Suatre finally asked.

“I...I’ve got a file for you, Ch- Suatre,” the hologram interrupted, flustered.

Weird that anyone would program a hologram to get flustered, he thought.

“One moment.” The hologram’s form flickered. “There’s a box here for you.”

Suatre started. “What?”

“I...I’m not sure. There’s no record of it being delivered. It’s in a storage facility. I’m summoning it now.”

Charlie and Suatre looked at each other.

A small panel on the desk opened, and they all looked down at it as a rectangular box perfectly fitting the dimensions of the panel rose smoothly out of it.

Inside was a plain white paper envelope. On it was written in almost childish handwriting, “Suatre”.

In it was an ID card, from the Union of Pacifica. Suatre DeAngeles. His picture, taken as he stood there with Charlie waiting for the package. His address. His birth date, October 15th, 1978.

Also inside the envelope was a key. It fell out into Suatre’s open palm. He’d never seen it before.

Completely confused, they both looked to the holographic person behind the counter.

“There...seems to have been some...mistake with your records,” they said. “We will look into this and contact you when we find out what happened.” The pink lights around the hologram shimmered. “Would you like a Link implant? You do not appear to have one.”

Suatre shook his head. “Not now.”

Charlie plucked the key from Suatre’s hand and looked at it closely. He pushed his glasses up. “What does this unlock?”

“I don’t know,” said Aijeen. “There’s no note about the item, or...any record of it being entered, at all.” They seemed to sigh. “I’m very sorry about the confusion. As I said, we will contact you.”

Charlie thanked them and the two turned to go, when Aijeen waved him back. “May I speak with you privately?”

Suatre felt a small shock of anxiety but he walked out into the courtyard alone, turning the key over and over in his hand.

What if...what if he’d done something wrong? What if someone was coming to take him away?

Before he’d thought about it, he was walking swiftly away from the building, the rain pelting him with infrequent but large drops.

The blue carriage was still outside, sitting empty. He swiftly slid into it.

“Help. Activate. Do something.” Suatre said.

A polite chiming voice answered. “Voice operations available. What is your destination?”

He laughed. He figured something out. Maybe he should have been trying harder with his printer and tablet and shit.

“Um, Thora and, uh, Beltwood? I don’t know the exact address.”

“Do you mean, Thora and Beechwood?” Asked the voice.

“Yeah, that.”

They sped off. Suatre felt his heart pounding. Guilt swam through him at abandoning Charlie like that, after he’d been so concerned and helpful. But he just...He was scared. He could admit that to himself.

The blue car dropped him off in front of Sorrel’s apartment complex. Suatre knocked on the door.

Sorrel answered the door, shirtless. Did this guy ever wear clothes?

“Hey, uh, are you busy right now?” Suatre asked, hoodie up over his messy hair, hunched into himself to escape the rain and the cold and the unknown authorities he’d been dreading this whole time.

“Usually not,” Sorrel said, stepping back and in and gesturing to Suatre with an open hand.

Suatre hurried in and shut the door behind him. Locked it.

Inside it was...nice. Real nice. The space was set up exactly like his shop/apartment’s layout, but it looked totally different. He wondered if everyone in this neighborhood had the same kind of floor plans. Weird. But Sorrel’s place was nice, normal. Boring in a comfortable way, like an IKEA show room. Suatre stood awkwardly in the door, feeling like if he walked in he’d just track mud and grime all over the place wherever he went.

“Take your shoes off and come in.” Sorrel said. He went to a closet and grabbed a towel. Suatre kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his hoodie. He’d put on a shirt beneath it before he left. The one with the black cloud on it. The shirt stuck to his chest a bit. Oh yeah, the tattoo.

He dried his hair, and checking to make sure he wasn’t actually covered in filth like he’d been imagining, he walked in and sat down. Only now did he feel his hands shaking. He could see his shirt shivering against his chest where his heart beat too quickly. Fuck, he was freaked out.

Sorrel was watching him and making no attempt to hide it. He waited in silence.

“So, uh, hey man,” Suatre said, weakly trying to sound normal. “Mind if I chill here for a bit?”

“That’s fine.” Sorrel’s voice stayed light, but beneath his customary bored looking exterior Suatre could feel he was focusing on him intently. He kept waiting, watching Suatre unnervingly.

“I’m really sorry. I’m kinda freaked out here. Do you have, like...anything to drink? And can I smoke in here?”

Sorrel nodded, went into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water and a can of beer. Suatre took a long drink of each. Sorrel set an ashtray down, a modern rounded square of glass.

As Suatre stood to get his smokes out of his hoodie pocket, Sorrel said, “Don’t smoke that shit. Here.” From his own pocket he produced a joint.

Suatre smelled it. Weed. Actual weed. Holy shit.

He put it in his mouth and Sorrel had a light and lit it for him, leaning in a bit closer than necessary. Suatre’s heart jumped a tiny bit from something other than fear. He breathed deep and it was so nostalgic, the green skunky smell and taste and suddenly he was back in highschool, in the park with his friends, smoking not-so-discretely on the bench, playing guitar in the warm spring weather, singing Blind Melon and Ani Difranco and Placebo to each other.

He exhaled, coughed, tears in his eyes. He kept coughing for a minute, handing the joint back to Sorrel as he did. “Damn,” he said, impressed, as it hit. It was good. Liquid warmth flowed through him, the knot in his chest loosened and fell away from his heart, which suddenly felt strong and steady instead of racing. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned back onto Sorrel’s couch with a sigh. “That’s real fuckin nice. God. I needed that so bad. Thank you.”

Sorrel nodded mildly, taking a long steady hit himself. The long spiky armor tattoos across his chest and down his sides flexed gently as he exhaled. Everything about him was so reserved, but beneath his controlled facade there was something, Suatre knew. No one getting so much ink was truly that chill with themselves.

Sorrel sighed and sat down across from him. Suatre waved aside the offer of the joint again. This stuff felt miraculously not-anxiety-inducing, but he didn’t want to take the chance. Not today.

Sorrel just wasn’t going to ask, it appeared. But he watched Suatre expectantly.

“So, I went to get an ID, because I don’t have one,” Suatre said.

“With the Empire?” Sorrel asked.

“Um, yeah, I think so. They gave me one, but like...there’s some mistake with it or something. I went with my friend and they asked to talk to him alone, and like...I thought...I was in trouble. So I left.” His face was hot. “But also they had this in an envelope for me?” He held his hand out with the key. “Do you have any idea where this goes to?”

Sorrel peered at it. “No. It looks old.”

It looked like a simple house key to Suatre.

Sorrel popped a screen up in front of his face, and images and text scanned by quickly. He saw the image of the key appear on the screen.

“Found it,” Sorrel said. “The address.”

“What! How! That was so fast.” Suatre said, and laughed. What was going on? “Where is it?”

“Not too far, actually. We could get there in an hour.”

“You...you wanna? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll order a car.”

“Okay…” Suatre honestly wished he could just stay here in this show room living room smoking the best weed ever, but he knew he should get moving. If anyone was looking for him, they’d find him here soon. Charlie knew Suatre had a friend at this complex. They needed to leave.

They shrugged on their coats, and Suatre put his hood up, and they hurried out through the rain to the teardrop shaped car that awaited them.