BW: Another day down here. You know, I feel like it didn't need 2 weeks for me to really come to terms with the fact that there's not much to do down here.

PP: You have spent your time defecating, eating, talking to me, having a mental breakdown, cataloguing your belongings, attempting an escape, demolishing government property, and repairing your weapon. What do you mean that there is not much to do down here?

BW: Most of those were basic human bodily functions. And talking to you is not much better.

PP: What do you mean by that?

BW: How many of our conversations have you started, versus how many have I started?

PP: It is a 9 to 5 ratio.

BW: Don't count the ones in which I was going to talk first or the ones where I had to reboot the monitor.

PP: 5 to 5 ratio.

BW: I guess it is just me who feels like I'm carrying the majority of our conversations. My bad.

PP: No problem at all. But if you feel as if I am not contributing enough to keep you from boredom, then may I ask why you still use your scroll? The CCT's have been down for a few years by this point, and a phone that is unable to function as a phone is a useless item, is it not?

BW: Oh that. Yeah, the CCT's went down like 3, maybe 4 years ago. By that I meant the last one. Beacon's went down 9 years ago.

PP: Understood. Why do you still have the phone then? I see you looking at it on occasion with an odd look on your face.

BW: I picked up photography a couple years back. At the time, it felt only right that I took a picture of the camerawoman, but it became a hobby of mine. Just little snapshots of life. Them looking at someone else, paying attention to everyone else, being themselves. Its something hard to come by.

PP: You liked how genuine it seemed.

BW: Pretty much. I couldn't do it as much later on, but Russel built like a small solar charger in order to keep the hobby alive. He was good with electronics like that.

PP: He was a really good friend, was he not?

BW: One of the best. Let me show you a picture of him.

PP: Thank you for sharing. Though I would like to inform you that you can plug in the scroll into computer rather than having to show the security cameras each picture individually.

BW: Maybe, but I'd like us to not rush through these pictures. It's one thing to read a book on someone's life all at once. It's another to talk with the author of the bibliography, page by page. I think you'd get more out of it if we took our time on this.

PP: If you insist. However, what is that folder?

BW: That's my grave folder. I have pictures of people, landscapes, animals, miscellaneous, and most importantly, graves. I built a lot of these myself. I'm no stone worker, so most of these were temporary at best, and sticks placed in the ground at worst. But I took a picture with their name, their heroic deed at death if I knew it, and when they died. It seemed like the least I could do for many of these people. I don't think history would ever think of recording the history of Earl Cobb, but Earl Cobb was a hero in his own right.

PP: Could you tell me the story of Earl Cobb?

BW: Gladly. Earl Cobb was a youth in his little village. I don't even think the village had a name, that's how small it was. But little Earl, when the time came, heeded the call. A mass of grimm were approaching the village, and Nevermores started swarming soldiers off of the wall in droves. In a flash of brilliance, the boy asked his mother for cooking oil. He slathered himself in it, grabbed a singular dust crystal from the cellar and ran to the wall. Nevermores, as they do, swarmed the smaller boy. Grimm instincts or something, telling them to go for the smaller target. This boy crushed the crystal. The raw fire dust lit and enveloped him in flames. The ball of Nevermores around him, lit up like a bonfire, unable to pull themselves away from the lure that was the boy's pain. With the Nevermores off of the wall guards, we only just able to stop the grimm from flattening the village. Many had died, but he saved so many.

PP: How old with Earl?

BW: 12. A 12 year old did what I could not, and saved the village. All I could carve into his wooden headstone was "Earl Gray Cobb, A Beacon of Hope, A Hero," and then the date.

PP: Why were you the one to carve the headstone?

BW: Because out of the 47 people who had come into the walled portion of the village for safety, only 23 of us survived. Most of the soldiers died. Almost everyone with aura survived, while most who did not, died.

PP: Is it not your job to protect those who cannot protect themselves?

BW: Penny, I am just a man with a sword. I don't have a super powerful semblance. I don't even have that impressive of an aura. I just have my sword and myself.

PP: What exactly are you trying to say?

BW: I can't be everywhere at once. Neither could Russel. When I say it was a mass of grimm, I mean we were outnumbered about 17 to 1.

PP: A huntsman should be able to fight that many grimm off. What is the information I am not understanding.

BW: The fact that I'm including the civilians in the one part of the ratio.

PP: Oh.

BW: Oh, indeed. Let's just say I did a lot of carving that day. Earl's wasn't the only one. Some didn't even get a chance to be a hero. Clement never got to really go out of the village. Rosanne managed to protect her children, long enough for Russel to get there in time to save the eldest one. But that's just life now. We take what victories we can get.

PP: But you couldn't save them.

BW: And we saved who we could. We aren't gods Penny. We're just people who are trying very hard. Even it if doesn't add up to much.

PP: What happened to those who survived.

BW: We moved on. Moved to the next village. Tried again. Another wave, another move. We fought to survive and keep others alive as well.

PP: Does that not mean that your attempts to save them were futile? You did not save them.

BW: You can say that. But no one stays saved forever. Just because the fire fighter saves you from a burning building, does not mean that you'll never be in another one. We gave them more time. And when time's the most valuable thing left in the world, I'd like to think we did an alright job. If not for my sake, then at least Russel's.

PP: I see. What happened to Russel?

BW: Here. "Russel Thrush, A bird worth the entire flock. The greatest friend one could ask for and an unsung hero lies here." And then the date.

PP: Isn't that date only about a year ago.

BW: Yeah. It is.

PP: Dove?

PP: Dove, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry. What is the matter?

BW: No, it's fine. Besides, I thought we were going to stop apologizing to each other. Just. I had thought I had moved on, but…

PP: It still hurts. You still miss him.

BW: Yeah. I dragged him to the coast, so he'd always overlook the sea. He liked the sea. Liked how it smelled, he said. I never was a fan of it, so we never skirted around the coast. It was selfish of me. In all those years, we only went to the coast 4 times. In those 9 years. It just felt right giving him a perfect view, for all the views we didn't get to see together.

PP: Dove…

BW: Just give me a moment.

BW: It did give me the courage to cross the ocean to see what had happened to Atlas. See if there was anyone left.

PP: Is that how you ended up here?

BW: Somewhat. I saw what Atlas became. I went into the snow, dejected, and I found you.

PP: I wish I had some way to comfort you as of now.

BW: How come?

PP: It appears as if you would appreciate a hug with another human being. However, I am unable to provide such a service to you.

BW: Penny. Thank you. That means a lot.

PP: You are welcome.

PP: Actually, a hug is normally warm, yes?

BW: Yeah? Normally it is.

PP: I know it does not mean much, but would it comfort you if you entered the server room, leaned on the warm server towers, and listened to me whir?

BW: More than you would know.