Not once throughout does he speak or ask a question. He sits and listens, processing everything I said. I don't even think he blinks.
“Okay,” is all 13 says when I’m done.
I sit for a few more moments to see if he wants to add anything more, but I stand when the silence begins to feel uncomfortable, my body stiff from the beating. “There is a scientist, Paz. She's tall and big, and her office is where this hall meets two others. She is working with Farouk and me. Talk to her. She will help you make better sense of this.”
After realizing that he's not going to say anything, I step out and close the door behind me. The walk back to my room takes longer than I would like, and each step adds another layer to the pain. I only make a couple of wrong turns down the mostly empty hallways but find my way back to my corridor. I manage to shut the door behind me as I ease myself into bed.
Over the next few days, I sleep. I only wake to use the bathroom or eat some of the pouches that are replenished in my room. My body yearns for the rest as it recovers from the multitude of injuries. After the fourth day, my body, at last, feels able to carry its weight.
I shower for the first time in what feels like weeks and ingest three pouches before I head out my door. I learned my lesson. With everything going on, I won't know when the next time I'll eat might be. I put a couple in my pocket just in case.
I survey my hallway. There is a group of scientists at one end under the etching I made. With the scientists standing underneath, I see the mistake in what I did. Hoping I'm overlooked, I turn to walk the other way.
“80!” a familiar voice calls out for me. I stop in my tracks and see Farouk push his way through the other scientists and lumber toward me. “Hold up.”
“Am I in trouble?” I inch out. My body may feel better, but the sleep hasn't healed my mental exhaustion. I'm not in the mood for a lashing from Farouk.
“How are you feeling?” His concern is genuine. Before I can answer, he interrupts himself, “Never mind that. I have spoken with 13. You were right. The drones come around when they've been close to death. I had 13 try it out on a couple of other drones. The first one he went too far, and we lost him, but the second we brought back! Paz is…” He trails off.
“What?” I ask.
“I'll let her tell you. Tonight, we'll meet you outside the front of the stadium. I'll tell 13.” His excitement has made him look much younger. Before I can ask any more questions, he walks off with a dance to his step.
I stand idle for a moment, trying to process this information dump. Knowing that there isn't any reason for me to go anywhere else in the stadium, I head back to my room. If I'm going to struggle to process what Farouk said to me, I might as well do it from my bed. I pull the pouches out of my pockets and fall back onto the embracing comfort.
When I drift into my thoughts, the thing that surprises me most is how involved 13 has become. This should take some of the workload I have away. Over the next few hours, I speculate about what it could be that Paz needs to say, but I realize that doing so is a dead end. I won't know until she tells me.
Having enough of my pattern-less ceiling, I opt for a more enticing view and sneak to the stadium's exterior early. The final inches of daylight are disappearing, and the last of the outsiders are heading back into the city with the handful of pouches they earned. I still have a couple of hours left before Farouk, Paz, and 13 join me, so I walk into the city a little ways and take a seat.
It is the first time I have taken in the destruction that ruined what was once a beautiful landscape. Rubble litters the streets that were once clear and open. The tall buildings have collapsed on themselves, reaching only a fraction of the height they once did. What was once adorned with colors has had dust and destruction cover it in brown and gray. It's sad, and it makes me wonder how happy and healthy the people who once walked these streets were. If they only knew what their self-serving attitudes would do to the world they called home. It helps me understand the reasoning behind Dr. Anfang and the other scientists’ plan, but it doesn't make it right. There has to be another way. If we can be changed, if we can be brought back from the dead with a new perspective, a new appreciation for life and beauty, so too can everyone else. Give them a chance to rise from the ashes.
Without warning, a small sting hits the back of my neck. I stand as my hand smacks my neck. When I look back at my hand, there are no signs of a bug or blood. That's when I notice a pebble hit my chest. Instincts kick in, and I raise my fists. Another stone hits my shoulder, but this time I catch an arm in my peripherals.
“Who’s there?” I demand in a firm whisper.
“Are you alone?” a female responds. The voice sounds familiar.
I look around as I step closer. “Yes.”
Behind a small pile of rubble, KJ stands up. “Hi, 80.”
The second she registers, I run toward her, stopping in front of her. She looks up at me, and when she smiles, I take her in my arms
