John squeezed through from the driver's seat to the rear, all while Jimbo moved from the back seat to the driver's.

  Crosby doesn't know how to drive.

  They had stopped deep into the darkness of forgotten back roads, the only light emanating from the crimson, clouded skies. And the faint glow of the neopine hills now not far.

  As John locks in his seat belt, Jimbo turns back to him. “Is your leg turned off?”

  “Yes.” John replies, pins and needles replacing the constant itch.

  John grasps the pistol laying on the back seat, inspecting the thing. While the color is unassuming, the texture and detail is a work of art. Real art.

  Handmade in a world full of machinery. And the grip, it almost fits him perfectly. Almost. The thing is clearly tailored to suit the dimensions of its commissioned user. A name engraved on it called “Proteus.”

  “Hey, guys.” John says. “I think I've found the name of that guy with the gold eyes!”

  “Who?” Crosby asks as the car gets moving again.

  John replies as he looks at the weapon. “Proteus. Not a name I've ever heard before.”

  Jimbo comments, his eyes on the road as they approach the hills. Though, he looked back just for a moment. He sounds uncharacteristically wary as he speaks. “Huh… Maybe, it's, a, uh… code name? Maybe?”

  “Maybe. Who knows. We'll share everything once we get back, that's for sure.” John replies, the mood of the car low and drained by this point.

  The car is silent for a couple minutes as the hours of socializing, mixed with heightening burdens, have taken their toll.

  John does not like this— his mind wants to wander to dangerous places in times such as this. “Music?” He asks.

  “Uhh, maybe.” Jimbo replies. “I converted this thing to cassettes a while ago. Did you bring some?” John cracks a needed smile.

  “Of course. I always bring them with me now.”

  “Shit, why didn't you say that earlier?” Jimbo replies, matching his energy. John shoves the mixtape in and lets whatever comes first play.

  The crew are silent as they indulge themselves within the cradles of classical music. Some of the songs, over one hundred years old at this point. It's half the reason they're so common on cassette dispensers— they're now in the public domain.

  The neopine had long-since been passed now. John knows they're in the home stretch of this mission; Hastings sure to appear any moment now. And, as he looks around the vehicle— going slower over the ruined road of Route 34— the desolation almost begins to enchant.

  The carrion skies glowing red, the purple haze of the distance putting a backdrop to the rain. A feeling… a… a new feeling returns to him as the lulls of a certain song begin.

  “Now Playing: I'm Not In Love by 10cc.” The cassette player reads.

  The rain, not a burden but a soothing ambiance. Each thud of the song, reassuring and yearning all at once.

  Lightning pierces the skies, but where it would usually thunder and shock, it simply growls and diminishes. It is almost as if it strikes in slow motion as John witnesses each and every coil manifest. Break off, and spread amongst the clouds.

  The roads grow smoother; more calm as they get closer to Hastings. John moves his vision trance from the unruly skies to the distant horizon. Of Hasting’s outline.

  The globules of what he knows is wreckage pass him by, signaling the outskirts. He knew they were once buildings. They are now unrecognizable clumps.

  They are black because of the lack of light, but even in the headlights, they look burnt. Pummeled by billions of little strikes.

  The clumps grow in frequency as they approach.

  “Hey Jimbo.” John asks. “You said you grew up here a while ago. What were these buildings used for while they were around?”

  “Well, we just passed the old concreting plant.” He replies, pointing his finger forward to an undesirable mass. “That used to be a weather station. How ironic.”

  “What used to be?” Asked John, unable to make out anything.

  “Don't worry about it.” Answers Jimbo. “It's a time since passed now.” Crosby has been quite quiet ever since they swapped seats.

  John decides to take a gander and, oh, he's asleep. Good for him. He must have some thick skin on that forehead of his.

  John senses the sadness of Jimbo. Even if it wasn't sadness, it wasn't anything good. He exhales a deep sigh, looking again into the fields of tar.

  As the song changes its rhythm unexpectedly, he focuses more with his ears than he does his eyes. That familiar, yet unfamiliar feeling persists. As the tempo of the song returns once more, his senses start functioning in unison. As his eyes become fixed to the side of the road ahead, he listens to and takes in the lyrics.

  “I keep your picture up on the wall. It hides a nasty stain that's lying there.”

  “Whose picture? What stain?” John thinks, staring at the incoming road, a fuzzy image of someone familiar coming to mind.

  “So don't you ask me to give it back. I know you know it doesn't mean that much to me.”

  John feels compelled to open his digiphone as the song speaks to him impersonally. He flips open the screen, only to know he can't use it. He stares deep into the black screen, imagining a photo of someone he has saved on there.

  “I'm not in love, no no.” The song assures him in spite of their… her... glaring absence. He's returning early, just like he said he would, even if for the wrong reason.

  He assures himself at the fact that they won't have to wait a long for either; with the rain and the wind and the darkness’s reassurance.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Almost there guys.” Jimbo states calmly.

  “Thank God.” John replies. “I was just starting to feel…” he considers his words for a moment. “...home sick.”

  Jimbo replies, their speed slowing further. The obelisk becomes visible through the downpour as the song begins to come to a conclusion. “You're not the only one.” He says.

  The vehicle parks exactly where it was before they left. Jimbo pulls the handbrake and turns it off. The natural quiet grows to natural nosiness as Jimbo opens his door and gets out.

  It returns once he slams it shut. John contemplates waking Crosby from his sleep, but decides not to. Crosby looks cool in his new hat.

  John gets out, remembering his leg this time and taking a crutch to exit with. He swings himself to the entry door and enters back into the bright box surrounding the museum. The mural of times long gone has a certain charm and a… deeper edge to them.

  But John knows who he must find. And yet, someone finds him first before he even enters the museum.

  “Hey! You must be John! Amy was telling me about you.” He was greeted by an unfamiliar guy in a wheelchair. His legs were both cybernetic, his hair short and blondish gray.

  “Hi, uh, do you know where she is?” John asks. The guy rolls back a little, quite jumpy even in his chair.

  “Huh. No, not right now. Do you need to see her?”

  “You could say that.” John replies. “I've come back much earlier than expected.”

  The guy rolls towards the entrance door but keeps his sight pinned to John. “Oh yeah alright then. It might pay to let Gary know first if that's the case.”

  “He can wait. I'll give him the news after.” John replies, still in place in observance of the as-of-now stranger. The dude replies.

  “Sounds important. Alright then. I'll leave you alone.” He says, rolling into the entrance.

  Just as John gets moving, another voice from behind him brings him to a stop. Crosby barged through the entrance, very confused.

  “Hey! Is that you John— whoa what the fuck?” He asks, looking to the walls. “...what kind of abstract shit is this crap?”

  John beckons him, Crosby closing the door behind him.

  Lighting rings out from outside, not as pleasant as it became before. “John you gonna talk to me or—”

  “Sorry man. Mind is all over the place. But uh… yeah this is the resistance I've kinda stumbled upon. It's a long story to tell you how I got here. I'll introduce you to the big boss.”

  Crosby gives a smile and stands in front of John, putting a hand on his shoulder, seeing something off about his friend. “John, how are you feeling right now?”

  John looks down, unable to articulate his conflictions.

  “To be honest with you Crosby, I'm not too sure how I feel.”

  Crosby looks at him, rather bewildered. “W— What? What do you mean you don't know? Cramps? Sharp pains? Anything broken?”

  “Oh!” John realizes, busted out of his excessive introspection.

  “My whole body aches and my right leg feels numb, but no I'm alright. Thanks man.” He says, tapping his hand on his friend's shoulder.

  Crosby nods with a smile. “Very good. Need a hand getting to that… building? Seriously, what the hell is that?”

  “It's a museum.” John informs. “And no, I don't need a hand, I need a leg.” Crosby chuckles at the lame joke, patting his back as he walks past. “Yeah, slow ass!”

  John trails behind as he enters the museum, not even having left it for more than a day. It is a nice feeling. It feels like home. It actually feels safe, which is nice.

  Crosby seems to have ditched of his own accord. John calls him, his voice echoes in the main hall, but receives no answer. Oh well, it just lets him see who he needs to see earlier.

  He searches around briefly, the place rather quiet. Some people pass by, but they are unfamiliar and unassuming. Yet soon, he finds who he has been looking for. Sitting by the leg of the figure of an ancient man, typing something out on an old tablet.

  As John approaches closer warmly, she notices him, her face turning from focus to excitement. “You’re back!” She yells, putting her tablet on and giving him a big hug.

  “That's right.” John says, sharing some of his warmth, secretly struggling to stay up right. “A lot has happened in the short time I've been gone. But it's good to see you. I'll tell you why I'm early later.”

  “You too.” Amy replies. She let go and backed up a little. “Would you like to see some of the work I've done?”

  John smiles a little, replying even as he is drained. “Oh for sure. I'll sit down with you and you can show me.”

  Amy closes her eyes and does a big smirk, then goes back to where she was sitting, John following.

  “Your clothes are very clean by the way. They smell nice.” John tells her, smelling less like the grease he's used to, and more like some sort of perfume.

  Amy opens her tablet and goes to a few screenshots she's taken as she replies. “I actually got to wash them for once. They have a washing machine here and everything. Even fragrant soap.”

  “Huh.” John comments, her statement not making much sense. “They have soap here? And a running water system?”

  Amy finds the image she's looking for and attempts to bring back the conversation’s focus. “Yeah I guess. Anyway, have a look at this.”

  John remains hooked on the idea of detergent for a moment, but swiftly loses it as he tries to pay attention to what Amy shows him. It is a picture of an old building with design cues from the early century if he had to guess.

  They were overrun and decayed, but this time from rotted wood and green vein-like things. Maybe they were a cousin of trees perhaps? John isn't sure what to make of it.

  “What is it?” John asks. Amy replies. “This used to be a part of Detroit, John. They used to have a problem with people moving out of the place.”

  “That's hard to believe.” John says, tired but trying. “And why are the buildings so small? How many people lived there at that time?”

  “Uhh, it's weird.” Amy tells him. “It says that the city metro only had a population of about four million.”

  John takes the tablet and lies on the ground. “Well… that's small but kinda believable.”

  Amy takes back the tablet and moves to another image.

  “But here's the weird part.” She says, handing a screenshot of an info article to him. “The actual city itself only has a population of six hundred thousand.”

  John locks his eyebrows and leans forward again, reading the article. Bankruptcy? Mass exodus? “What the Hell? Why is that so much smaller than the metro? Isn't Detroit proper over five million now?!”

  “I think so.” Amy answers. “I guess they were just different back then. Maybe people didn't have to live in the actual cities if they didn't want to.”

  John gives back the tablet and shakes his head, staring at his shoes. “That's… hard to believe in all honesty." He looks to her and lies back on the ground. He can't keep taking on new information for today.

  “It's been a long day for me Amy, I'll tell you all about it soon but for now I just need some rest.” He puts his hands behind his head and closes his eyes as Amy replies.

  “Oh. That's okay. I'll save the rest for later. But it's uhh… it's good to have you back.” John feels weird as he doesn't quite know how to process that. “But I haven't been gone for that long?”

  Amy frowns at the replies as she gets up to give him some peace. “Yeah, I just uh, umm… yeah you're right I'm sorry.”

  “No it's okay.” John tries to reassure. But she doesn't say anything, he just hears her step away slowly. Oh well. Sleep time.

  Not a minute too soon.