Happy to dig into the main character more this chapter. I realized that he hasn't really gotten thay much agency thus far. Just consider the first few chapters a prologue, I guess.

They had left the little rest-stop town a couple days ago. Tyrian had announced that he had some more business to take care of and departed with a wave and a promise of some birthday cake; he had said something about sending the dogs after the wrong scent.

That had left Jaune, Hazel and Omsk to load up on some fuel and chug out further south. After many more hours of driving during which both of his chaperones insisted he remain absolutely silent, they had come upon a port city.

It was a bigger and more bustling town that nevertheless had a sense of stagnation in it; rust crept up the streetlights like moss up a tree, and actual moss crept over houses and old brick constructs in need of new paint. A big sign invited newcomers to the city of Boggindorf. (It was the name of the city's founder, and no resident liked it, but no resident had the heart to change it, either.)

Their new motel room was as equally unpleasant as their previous one. Somehow, they all managed to share the same wanton stickiness on surfaces that really have no right being sticky. A big glowing sign out front denoted it as being BogginHome, although both g's and the e had their lights out.

"Get away from the window," Omsk said. She combed dry shampoo through her hair, wanting to be clean but also not trusting the motel's shower in the slightest. Hazel concerned himself with cheap pastries he had bought a dust-station on their trip.

And Jaune had been staring out the window, looking out over the short, slightly dilapidated but nevertheless charming Boggindorf skyline.

"But why not rename it?" Jaune asked as he closed the blinds.

"I agree," Hazel said. "Sentimentality and honoring tradition are important, but with changing times come necessary changes. And rebranding could help make the town more amenable to—"

"No." Omsk said the word firmly as she sat on the bed. Free of her heavy jacket, she scratched her neck where her white wool shirt proved a little itchy. "We are not getting sucked into another one of these conversations." She raised the scroll-pad with Jaune's info on it. "Let's just run some tests now."

"But I haven't studied," Jaune protested. "And won't I already have those in school?"

"Not that kind of—"

"Is it multiple choice?"

"No." The glare Omsk gave him shut him up. "We are going to test out your abilities."

"Oh, great!"

"Great indeed," she said. "First, change your face to look like Hazel."

"What?" Hazel asked

Jaune dutifully began to shift. The color of his skin dissolved into grainy black and white, the same as when a tv is on the fritz and gargles angrily when turned on. The skin on his face began to morph, changing his features.

When color emerged again from the black and white mess, it was a perfect copy of Hazel's face that looked back at Omsk. Except that he had a peppy smile that Hazel himself could never produce.

"Excellent," Omsk said, ticking off a box on her scroll-pad.

"Wow…" Hazel murmured. He walked over and poked Jaune's face.

"Pretty cool, right?" Jaune asked in his regular voice. Hearing it come from Hazel's mouth, however, was simply disturbing.

"Now copy his voice," Omsk said.

"No problem," Jaune replied, but now perfectly mimicking Hazel's own voice.

"Oh gods…" The real man stepped back, feeling his skin crawl. "This is just unnerving."

"Sorry!" Jaune said with a sudden frown. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Jaune here is capable of copying any face he sees, and he can mimic any voice he hears," Omsk said. "But I recommend that, when impersonating people in the future, you talk as little as possible. Preferably, just say hello and nod as much as you can."

"Why?"

"Because you're socially inept on a good day, and I don't trust you in the slightest to accurately copy peoples' behaviors."

"Socially inept, got it!"

"Good," Omsk said, scribbling down a few more notes. "Now take on a randomized disguise."

"Got it!" Jaune replied. His skin again dissolved into a sea of black and white pixels. A few seconds passed before another disguise emerged. With brown eyes, coffee-black hair and a tanner complexion, he looked like a completely unrelated person.

"Jaune has a built-in randomized appearance generator," Omsk explained. She walked close to him and squinted, looking for any imperfections in the human façade. "We exposed an AI program to thousands of facial images, and it's capable of constructing completely random new people from those examples."

"There's an AI inside the AI?" Hazel asked.

"Oh wow, is there a me inside of me?"

"No," Omsk said through grit teeth; her patience had become non-existent as of late. "Think of it like an organ. All the sub-programs we have in you are like organs with their own functions."

"Lots of organs," Jaune said, "got it." He blinked and patted his chest. "But do I have a liver?"

"No."

"Can I get one?"

"No. Revert to your original state."

He did so, becoming a blue-eyed and blonde-haired boy once again. "What does a liver even do?"

Instead of trying to give him another no, Omsk smirked and spoke: "Emergency command prompt: orange monkey eagle. Begin prompt."

The smile dropped from Jaune's face. He shuddered for a second and stood up ramrod straight. Then he was still, as still as a corpse. His blue eyes, normally full of an innocent kindness or curiosity, sank deep; a coldness washed over them. It was as if he were now without a soul.

"Emergency command prompt accepted," he said. His voice was not his own, but an obviously fake, flat and unnatural computer-generated tone.

Omsk's smiled widened into a toothy grin. "What is your directive?"

"Execute the activator's commands," Jaune said with clipped and immediate words.

"Raise your right arm," Omsk commanded.

Jaune's right arm shot up straight into the air like a piston on the assembly line.

"Raise your left arm."

His left arm rose in a precisely identical motion.

"Good," Omsk said. "Very good."

"What happed to him?" Hazel asked. He waved his hand in from of Jaune's face; the android did not blink or question the action.

"It put him into the complete command state," Omsk said. "Its personality is rendered dormant now. It won't remember anything it says, does, hears or sees during this, because it's essentially sequestering the Jaune part of the machine into a different department. It will follow every order exactly, without question.

"Of course, it will listen only to the person who gives it the prompt." Omsk walked up and poked the android in the face. "I like it better like this. It's quiet for once."

"Why not just have it like this all the time?"

"Because it can't think for itself at all." Omsk slapped the android in the face. It did not react. "See? The thing can't make any decisions or do anything other than follow direct and simple orders. Useless for completing more complex tasks or pretending to be a person."

"He already hardly pretends to be a normal person."

"Well at least he acts like a person, if not a normal person." She kicked Jaune's android shin, but she herself winced, as she had hit it just a bit too hard. "Right now, it's basically a hunk of metal. But this form definitely could prove to have its uses."

"How do you turn him back?" Hazel asked.

"Emergency command prompt: orange monkey eagle," she said while looking at the android. "End prompt."

Jaune shuddered. His eyes closed and flew open again, now full of the usual curiosity. "Oh sorry," he said, "I just kinda spaced out for a second. Anyway, where even is the liver? Tyrian told me to always go for it, but I don't even know where it is."

"Well," Omsk said. "I think Hazel can demonstrate that for you. After all, there is one more test I would like to go over. Your aura."

"Yup! I've got that!"

"Good, now put it on guard. Hazel, if you could punch him right where a person's liver normally is, that would be great."

The big man just shrugged. "Tyrian's not wrong to say that a liver-shot can put a person right down to the floor. Don't think that'll work on this guy, though."

"Why not?" Jaune asked.

"Because you don't have a liver."

"Oh yeah!"

Hazel cracked the knuckles on his left hand. He stretched his fingers open, making the veins running across the back of his hand pop out like worms snaking under his flesh. He gripped his hand into a fist as big and hard as brick.

"Go ahead!" Jaune said with a peppy smile. "I'm ready—"

Hazel lashed out with a vicious left-hook. He hit Jaune right in the side of the abdomen in a maneuver he had done many times before, both back during drunk fights in his college days and more recently in fights with hunters.

The tell-tale glow of aura flared just where Hazel's knuckles were to contact with Jaune. It repulsed the fist, but Jaune himself still took a step back from the raw power of the hit. Certainly, if he actually had a liver, it would have really hurt.

"Wow, I really felt the raw power of that hit!" Jaune said good-naturedly. "Nice job Hazel! I'm sure that if I had a liver, that would have really hurt!"

"Good to see that it's working well," Omsk said. "I was a little worried that my tinkering might have messed it up…"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

"Is it really aura?" Hazel asked, looking down at the reddened knuckles of his left hand. It had felt like punching a brick wall.

Omsk turned to Hazel and jerked a thumb at the android who was just happy to be there. "His aura is the real deal. We have another android, the Pursuer, that just has a generator in its chest that uses light dust to project a force-field that can mostly mimic aura. But it's just that, a temporary mimicry that doesn't last as long as the real thing. Though it's got the armor of a tank to make up for it."

"I'm like a tank!"

"Don't you need a soul to have aura?" Hazel asked, looking Jaune up and down. "I didn't know a computer could have one."

"What is the human brain if not for a meat computer? Electric signals being sent through neurons or wires, it doesn't exactly matter. So yes, Jaune technically does have a soul."

"That sounds fun," Jaune said. "I'd hate to be the odd one out."

"Oh you are, and you always will be," she said. "But yes, you have a soul; and yes, we unlocked your aura. You can thank your creator for that, Watts."

"My dad?"

"The same man," Omsk said with sly smirk. It would be funny to hear about her boss's reaction to having the Deceiver call him dad. Again. "He used some of his own aura to jumpstart the dust core inside your chest, which gave something for your computer to sync with and well it's a whole long complicated process that really can't be put down into lay terms; for instance, the bizarre and deeply technical explanation behind how Watts was able to combine a part of his own soul in the form of his aura with a computer to make a new living person with their own soul is surely so technical that, for example, it could not even really be written down in a story, even a fictional one. It just wouldn't be worth the author's time since there' already a suspension of disbelief by the reader and enough time has been spent on exposition already—"

"Omsk?" Hazel asked. "Are you okay?"

"Wait, wuh?" The scientist blinked and shook her head, as if she had just woken up from a nap. "Um, yes I am, why?"

"Your eyes started to glaze over there," Jaune said. "Is that normal for you?" He looked at Hazel. "Is that normal for her?"

"I don't think so; I've only met her once before now."

"Is it normal for you?"

"No, why would it be normal for me?"

"I don't know, maybe it is?"

"It isn't."

"You sure?"

"Am I sure that I don't stare into space, eyes glazed over, speaking strangely about the events surrounding us? I believe I am."

Omsk rubbed her temples. "Sorry, I kind of just lost my train of thought there, not sure what happened."

"You want some aspirin?" Hazel asked.

"That shouldn't be—"

"Oh no!" Jaune walked up to Omsk and poked her head. "Do you have a concussion?"

"I don't think—"

"Hazel, do you think she has a concussion?"

"Um, I don't think so?"

"I didn't—"

"Because if she did, we should get her to a hospital!" He squinted and tried to peer into Omsk's eyes, as if her pupils were windows that would let him see if her brain was battered or not.

"I didn't hit my head on anything—"

"But if you did hit your head somewhere, then you wouldn't remember it. Right? That's how amnesia works."

"You're one to talk about amnesia…"

"But if you did hit your head somewhere," Hazel interrupted, "then you might have a good lawsuit on your hands."

"Oh yeah, I think we passed by a billboard for a personal injury lawyer when we came into town!" Jaune said. "Perfect! First, we get you to the hospital, and then we sue someone!" He tapped a hand against his cheek. "What do we sue them for? Can we sue a person for their liver?"

Omsk covered her face with her hands. She had spent several nights sleepless, deciding if she really wanted to go through with this plan. She had wondered if she would come to regret it.

She already was.

When Pietro entered the room, he knew right away that this wouldn't be an easy conversation. Out of business and concern he had not been able to sit down with Penny for an in-depth talk about everything the past few days. Now was the time for that.

He had tapped on the door, and thankfully this time Penny had called, "come in." So he had. His robotic spidery legs pushed through onto the pristine white carpet in her room.

He saw her, back facing to him, sitting at her table in the corner of the room. She still did not turn to him even when he closed the door behind him.

"Hello Penny," Pietro said carefully.

Penny continued reading a book on the desk before her. She flipped a page, then spent not so much as a second before she flipped the page again. This went on quietly, the paper whispering gently as it brushed against itself and flopped through the air.

"Ah, started a new book?" Pietro asked as he walked closer to her.

"A Compendium of the Common Language," she explained.

"Oh, the dictionary?" Pietro laid a hand on her shoulder as she continued to read and almost totally ignore him.

"I want something to distract me, and this is the last thing for me to read." She pointed at the stack of twenty or so books pilled up beside her desk.

"Ah, yes."

Penny turned another page. Then another. Then another.

"So… I know you're very worried—"

"And I'm angry."

"Oh, yes that's very understandable—"

"At you." She jerked her shoulder up, bumping his hand off of her.

"Oh… I'm really sorry about this. When they said he was to be taken to the new facility, they assured me that security would be top notch—"

"Not just that," Penny said. "I'm mad because no one is letting me help. Including you."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted to get my rocket boot attachments so I could go out and search with the helicopters and planes. But you kept me in my room, and by the time you let me go to the testing lab, they were gone."

"Those boots would be just as likely to blow up as work—"

"Worth the chance," she said, smacking his words out the air like an airplane being shot down.

"Penny," Pietro said tenderly. "You're in danger."

"I'm strong. You all made me to be very strong. If they came for me, I could fight them and get him back—"

"Or be taken yourself," Pietro said firmly. "We don't want to lose you."

"And I didn't want to lose Leif." Penny had stopped flipping the pages in her book.

"Of course none of us wanted that." Pietro reached out his hand again, but Penny jerked her shoulder, bumping it off again.

"We only did what we did because we care for you. I care for you. Please, I am hurting just as much." He sniffed and took off his glasses. He rubbed out the tears forming there. "Leif called me his uncle, and that honored me. It really did. I cared for him too and I'm hurting too."

Penny's shoulders hitched. "I just know that wherever he is," her voiced cracked, "he must be so scared."

"This is fun!" Jaune said.

Hazel punched him in the face again.

Omsk walked into the room when this occurred, and it nearly gave her a heart attack.

"What's happening!" she demanded after slamming the door shut behind her. She dropped her bag of groceries and glared daggers at the pair. "You can't damage it—him—like that!"

"He wouldn't stop talking about dogs. So I said we should test out just how much aura he has."

"I heard a dog bark outside," Jaune reported. "Right down in the street, and since the blinds are shut, I couldn't see what it was. So I asked Hazel what breed he thought it was but he didn't guess so I was saying that it was too large a bark to be a chihuahua and a bit too soft to be something like a mastiff so I was thinking something more like a labrador or possibly a rottweiler—"

"Hit him again," Omsk ordered.

Hazel smashed his beefy knuckles into the side of Jaune's head, sending him careening down to the floor with a thump. He smiled. "I'm halfway through my aura now!"

Omsk pinched the bridge of her nose. She had volunteered to leave and get groceries precisely because this absurdity was giving her headaches. "Listen, we need to—" She coughed. "Ugh, sorry. I was just saying we need to—" She coughed some more, pressing her hand against her chest and quickly covering her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Jaune asked.

"I think it's just the air here," Omsk replied after clearing her throat. "Maybe a little too dry or something." She rubbed her throat and continued. "Anyway, that might actually be a somewhat valuable test, getting to know your aura and its strengths."

"He's got a lot of it," Hazel said as he held out a hand and pulled Jaune back up to his feet.

"Thanks!" Jaune said.

Hazel smashed a fist into his gut, making Jaune bend over.

"That he does," Omsk said. "Aura enhances the pre-existing characteristics of the body. He's metal, thus pretty resistant to hits, so his aura just reinforces his defense."

"I'm like a tank!"

Hazel kicked him in the crotch, which carried Jaune up into the air, making him almost hit the top of his head against the ceiling. He landed back down on both feet, no worse for wear.

Some banging resonated up from the floor.

"Think that's the neighbor telling us to stop making a racket," Omsk said. "Smacking him down to the ground is probably a bit annoying."

"But it's deeply cathartic—"

"We don't want some fussy neighbor calling the cops in on a noise complaint," Omsk explained.

"Oof, that would be pretty bad," Jaune said. "I'm supposed to be a spy, right?"

"Right." Omsk pulled out her scroll. "And good spies need to know when to be quiet."

"Quiet! I can do quiet!" Jaune said happily.

"Like right now."

"Yeah?"

"Be quiet."

"Got it," Jaune said in a whisper.

"That's not quiet enough."

"Got it," he said in an even quieter whisper.

"Silence. That's what I'm talking about. Don't talk."

Jaune nodded.

Omsk sighed. Music to her ears. "Now listen, Hazel and I are going to go out and secure some travel for you at the docks. We're going to ship you off to Vacuo, where you're going to meet Watts. Got it?"

Jaune nodded again.

"Good. Now, while Hazel and I are gone, you're going to stay right here and not make any noise, got it?"

Jaune nodded again.

When he had nodded, he had possessed every intention to follow her orders. Stay in the room, say nothing. Got it. Of course, a person's original intentions do not always match up with that person's eventual actions.

In Jaune's case, after an hour, he began to get bored. First, he went through the motions of a mock fight, cycling through and practicing the various fighting styles downloaded into his system. He especially practiced counters to liver punches.

But that became droll too, so instead he went to the window and peak out through a crack in the blinds where one was missing. He looked around. They were on the second story of the little motel. On the craggy street below them, a few people passed by. A drugstore and liquor store sat side-by-side across the street, promising relief in one way or another. Each were sandwiched between squat apartment complexes. Looking beyond them, more and more little houses sat around in residential neighborhoods before fumbling into the town square, full of shops of different kinds. Beyond that, one saw the town docks and a large lighthouse painted cherry-red that now served only as a meager tourist attraction. And then there was the sea, big and blue and bounded only by the horizon.

What interested Jaune the most, however, were the people who passed by. He saw an old couple out for a stroll, both leaning on canes and chatting pleasantly. He saw a jogger covered in sweat followed behind by her dog, a golden retriever. He saw a couple with a child and a baby in a stroller.

During all this, he also saw the sun steadily creeping across the sky, getting closer to night-time and making the sky a warm orange. The clouds started to look like orange-flavored cotton candy, and Jaune wandered how they might taste.

Then he saw it. A middle-aged woman was pushing a cart down on the side of the street. It was full of flowers. There were pink and white roses, daffodils, lilies and other sorts that Jaune didn't recognize.

He jammed his face into the blinds, which rattled unhappily, and smacked his forehead against the glass. For he had seen something that had seized him. He enhanced his camera eyes and zoomed in.

One bouquet of flowers stood out to him. The moment he saw them, he couldn't look away. They were humble white flowers with stiff, fuzzy petals and yellow centers. He did not know their name; but he recognized them and seeing them made a knot form in his chest.

He stared, wondering at how pretty they were and wondering what their name was. He looked, right up until the lady passed around the corner.

"What…" he muttered. How did he know those flowers? Those in particular? He could have sworn, absolutely sworn, that he had seen them somewhere before. He felt as you would when seeing a person you hadn't run into for years, but you're not quite sure it's them; you're transfixed and look from afar at the person, wondering if they are who you think they are and tempted but hesitant to go up and talk to them.

Except, in Jaune's case, he did not even know what it was that the flowers reminded him of. He only knew that now it was out of sight, and now he felt sad. A little empty, too.

He turned and looked at the door to his apartment. He really shouldn't. Omsk had said, however, that she and Hazel would probably be back around midnight. She had told him that their work would be done before then, but that they both needed a drink after putting up with him so for long.

He had been honored to know that they considered being with him an event worth celebrating. Now that additional time presented additional opportunity.

He would be letting them down, though, wouldn't he? Even if they never found out, he'd feel guilty, right? He had given them their word. No, he resolved, he would not go.

A second passed. His skin turned into a grainy, vibrant sea of black and white pixels. His face shifted. When color returned, he looked like a sandy-haired kid with eyes so brown they were almost black.

Then he left their room, bounded down the stairs and headed out the motel door. He planned to walk at a brisk pace, just your average citizen out for a stroll.

When his feet hit the sidewalk, he was sprinting.

He bounded down the street and rounded the corner. He saw the woman further down, heading towards the town square. It took him mere seconds to catch up, barreling past a few people either out for a stroll or heading home; he got yelled at to slow down by a man eating a salad and leaning against a streetlamp.

"Hello!" he said as he came upon the woman in the cart, suddenly jumping up next to her.

"Gah!" She started and stumbled, taken aback by the immediate arrival of a stranger. "Um…" She patted down her brown apron, looking curiously at Jaune, who smiled and waved. "What can I do for you?"

"This flower," Jaune said, pointing at the one in question, "what is it?"

"Oh that?" she said, adjusting her glasses to see which bouquet of many on the cart was being singled out. "That's edelweiss."

"Oh… that name sounds familiar." He reached out for it, but he didn't dare to touch.

"You like it?"

"It's my favorite flower, but I don't know why."

The woman chuckled at his esoteric answer. "Well, it's three lien a piece or fifteen for the bundle of six."

"I…" Jaune patted his pockets. The cheap black shirt, the baggy blue jeans and the white sneakers that Hazel had bought for him at the local supermarket were the only possessions he had. "I don't have money…"

The woman raised an eyebrow, but she couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for someone so clearly enamored. "Tell you what, if you push my cart down to the square for me, I'll give you one."

"Deal!" Jaune hopped behind the cart and wrapped his fingers around the handle. "Where to!"

He and the woman trundled on down the road. Her name was Janet, she informed him, and she nodded along patiently as Jaune said his name was Streetlamp Salad (he came up with it on the spot when she asked him who he was). She was the only florist in town, and she was taking the flowers from her little greenhouse down for sale the next day. In the chilly Atlas air, a greenhouse was necessary for just about every flower to be grown locally. But not the edelweiss. It was as hardy as it was pretty, a native Atlas plant that grew in the mountains where no rose or tulip or daisy would be found.

They reached the town square, a quaint place filled with shops surrounding a modest fountain. Janet lead them to hers, a pink little place sat snug in a street corner.

"Here you go," she said, snipping the stem of one edelweiss and handing it to Jaune. "Thanks for the help."

"No, thank you!" Jaune said. Janet chuckled and got about to bringing the flowers into her shop.

Jaune wandered away, looking down at his flower and appreciating it. And wondering in the back of his mind why he felt so drawn to this plant in particular.

The sun had fallen, but he was still wandering around. He enjoyed looking at the flower, and looking at it made him think.

Currently, he was meandering by the seaside; for no reason in particular, he had decided to go visit the lighthouse. To his disappointment, the locked door told him the tower was closed for the night. The big sign hanging above it with CLOSED written in big red letters also told him this.

So he ambled along the side of the lighthouse and sat down on a big grey rock that clung to the edge of a short cliff. The sea sloshed against the stony beach below him, mixing foam with pebbles and driftwood. He felt the cold wind against his face. This far south, it was only unpleasantly cold, not bitterly and painfully cold.

He looked down at his edelweiss. Why did he like it?

That question and many more had been whirling around in his head like loose change in a washing machine.

"Am I just a program?" he asked to the thin air. "I mean, technically I am." He remembered Omsk's words: neurons or wires, it's the same. "She's right, yeah?"

He flicked the edelweiss against his forehead, as if hoping the flower's significance could be bopped into his head. He spoke to the only person who could listen: himself.

"Do I really just want to follow along with these people's orders? I mean, they're really nice, and I appreciate them for saving me, but I don't really want to just stay in a room and be quiet just because they tell me to. And there's so much to do and explore!

"If I had listened to them, then I wouldn't have found this flower, right? And if I keep not listening to them, will I find out more?

"But I've got to save the world or something, right? And they saved me? Guess that's just kind of the world I'm stuck in, huh?

"But even if I'm stuck, I can still do things, right?"

He brushed the edelweiss under his nose, taking in its light and crisp scent. This too felt familiar. But why? How could anything feel familiar if he had just woken up a few days ago?

Or had he? That was as far back as his memory extended, but Omsk had said they ran tests on him and stuff before then. Perhaps there had been some training programs they put him through that left a few residual memories? Like when a person is able to barely remember the sights, shapes, touches and smells from a dream, even if they've forgotten the dream itself.

"Yeah! Yeah it's like that," he decided. "Like a dream I forgot…"

If that's the case, then could he remember it?

He heard someone approaching and whipped his head around. A bright light shined in his face. A squat and portly man peered at him from behind his raised flashlight. A big sturdy had sat on his head, a sheriff's star pinned snuggly into the leather.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Why am I here…" Jaune muttered. "I don't know. Is there a plan? Is there a higher power directing me? Is there a purpose given to my life? Or am I really just a robot spy being directed to save the world with no other reason for existing? Apparently I have a dad, but I've never met him. I've never even met the people I'm supposed to be fighting. And this flower, what does it mean? Does it even have a meaning? I think it has to, because it feels so familiar to me. Are there memories I don't know about in my head?

"So why am I here? I don't think I can really answer that. But I know what I want to do. I want to work with friends and fight evil people with my robot spy powers. I want to meet my dad. I want to learn more about my past." He held up the flower before him and looked at its fluffy petals. "I want to know what this flower means. I want to know who I am."

He looked back to the police officer. "So I don't know why I'm here. But I know what I'm going to do." He smiled, and now he had something he didn't even know had been missing. He had a purpose.

"What the…" The officer shook his head. "No, I mean why are you out here, sitting on a rock so late at night?"

"Uh…"

"What was all that about being a robot spy?"

"Nothing!" Jaune jumped up to his feet with a nervous smile on his face. "Definitely nothing."

"Are you loitering?"

"Yes! That!"

"Loitering's not allowed here."

"Uh, not loitering!"

The officer squinted. "I don't even recognize you, and this town isn't the biggest. You not from around here?"

"I am!" Jaune said. "My name is Streetlamp Salad! I did not come up with it because I saw a streetlamp and a person eating a salad earlier!"

The officer shook his head. "Kid, I don't know if the issue here is drugs you need to stop taking or drugs you need to start taking, but I think you ought to—"

"Drugs! Many drugs! All of them!" Just then, Jaune looked up at the moon, shiny like a pearl.

"Wait, what time is it?"

"The time?" The officer glanced at his wristwatch. "Fifteen 'til midnight."

"Bye!" Jaune shouted, shooting off into the night and heading back for the motel.

"Hey!" The officer huffed and hurried after him, but he stopped after hardly ten seconds. The kid was already well into the distance, running as fast as a car.

"Damn tweakers…" the officer muttered. He headed back to where the weird kid had been sitting, wondering just what he would find.

All that remained, however, was a single edelweiss flower laying on the rock.

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