The lights in the library are already on by the time Caihong arrives. The bell clinks as she swings open the door.

"G'mornin', Caihong," Tiffany greets, scribbling a note on the desk.

"Morning."

The calendar on the wall indicates it's September 23, 2101. Was it really a week since that demigod crash incident?

 The whole ordeal only appears to Caihong in flickers since she was fairly drunk at that time. Explosion. Hole on the ground. Sprawled figure with great magic. It getting down the cliff. Dennis standing there like a mannequin with a constant face of horror.

Yeah, only time will tell what's going to happen.

***

At first, the scenery below consists of the forest of spiky trees, but gradually, the woods thin out. A multitude of gray paths and buildings take its place with colorful lights interrupting the monotony.

When the flying machine lands down, a polite automaton with clean clothes stands below instead of the armored ones from before. Although it speaks that alien yet familiar language, Sylvester has the vague idea of it telling him to come with it. The glass door of the building in front slides open as if it were expecting them. He jolts back for a moment then forces himself to follow along.

One of them steps forward and says a jumble of words. Sylvester gapes at him, feeling foolish for not understanding.

After a brief pause, the man points at himself.

"Shirv Holtz."

That's what it sounds like to him anyway. Introductions then?

"Sylvester."

Shirv Holtz says something to the automaton from before, and it comes closer to him. Although it doesn't exude the same mood as the people in black uniforms, he still backs off slightly from it. It begins to say a flurry of things, some sounding noticeably different than others. It's probably doing that to find something he can understand, but Sylvester still wears that same stupid stare of incomprehension. Finally, the automaton settles for simple gestures, leading him to what seems to be a waiting room. It pats his back before going away.

As he sits and waits, passersby in the same black outfits keep glancing at him and exchanging words with themselves. One word he can catch though is "O'Hara." Could his ears be fooling him? His father?

Do these people know him or simply heard of him somewhere? What could they possibly be saying that would be this important? One memory flits in his mind immediately in response to that question. That battle from long ago on Earth. He remembered it being big and dramatic, but it must've been even bigger than he thought. Or maybe the news has become common knowledge since then.

Either these people do things quickly, or time passes too quickly for his thoughts to keep up. Either way, the automaton comes back and gives him neatly folded clothes. Sylvester's eye soon trails down to his unwashed sarong covered in dirt then at his own skin.

As if the automaton read his mind, it taps his shoulder and leads him elsewhere. If leading him around is going to be frequent, it's beginning to get on his nerves. However, he doesn't let a peep of protest out. After all, he did let these strange people and their machines help. A blue light on its wrist flashes and continues to do so as it turns out they're leaving the building.

As they walk, an observation catches his eye. Most of the buildings look eerily the same with blue roofs and white boards, and the blocky building they just walked out of happens to be one of the few exceptions. What if the people inhabiting them look the same? And the people I saw last have the last hint of individuality available? If all that is true, would I turn identical to them and even think like them?

That turned more sinister than he expected. However, it wouldn't be as bad as ... everything before.

It must have been five minutes by the time they stop. One of the houses.

***

REPORT TO BASE:

OBTAINED INFO ON SUBJECT. APPEARS TO BE AN ELEVEN YEARS OLD MALE. IS CURRENTLY ALIVE AND UNDER SUPERVISION IN THE __________ GOVERNMENT FACILITY. FURTHER ANALYSIS OF SUBJECT'S PROPERTIES IS YET TO BE CONDUCTED.