Author's Notes: From this chapter onwards, word count will be about 5 to 6k.

Jaune stretched, filling his lungs with the crisp morning air to release in a long yawn. The imp copied him, the two warming up with additional stretches to loosen the creaks of their muscles as the sun peeked over the horizon, greeting them in a cascade of velvet ribboning the sky.

"So, where do we start?" Bokomon prompted, doing a little jog after Jaune.

"First, we get some food," the blonde went into fine detail. "Second, we leave with what supplies we can carry. Third, we kill anybody who so much as looks at us funny, ask around where Titamon's place is; exactly in that order, go there, and murder his sorry ass in cold blood."

The imp glanced at him flatly. "Uh, I was thinking less along the lines of psychopathy and stupidity, and more on how we can gather intelligence first. There's bound to be outposts we can come across; preferably unmanned, with information, files, documents.

"You know, what relatively sane people normally pursue," Bokomon finished.

"Come on," Jaune puffed, glancing at the imp, "he can't be that tough."

"…Please tell me you're not just meaning to die aimlessly," Bokomon inflected in a deadpan tone, the two of them stopping to catch their breath.

"No, of course not," Jaune crooned between palpitations. "I'm actually looking forward to a long and fulfilling life. Why do you ask?"

Bokomon sighed, facing the town to see Andromon approach. Behind him, a crowd of the surviving Guardromon and Hagurumon followed, accompanied by a handful of the same winged soldiers hovering overhead. Jaune stood affixed at the small crowd, an impromptu hand producing his D-Scanner to point at the pink furred mons.

Name: Piccolomon

Type: Fairy

Class: Ultimate

Attribute: Vaccine, Data.

Profile: This miraculous digimon is able to pop up in every place, time, and space, and although its body is small, it can seal the enemy's abilities and then pulverize them with powerful attacks.

Special Moves:

Bit Bomb

Fairy Tale

Pic Trick

Transfer

He stored the device into a makeshift pocket in his pants, regarding the small caravan as it stopped five feet away from them. Andromon stepped forward, and without a word, presented what was dangling from his hand to the boy.

It was a burlap sack.

Yay, a matching set. All that was missing was the runway and his modelling career would be off like a rocket.

Schooling his thoughts, he took stock of the sack and its contents. Some bread, canteens of what he hoped was clean water, and breathing apparatuses.

There was also a roll of paper that he guessed was a map, not that he needed it with his digivice on-hand, but he supposed he could appreciate the thought. Andromon then handed him and Bokomkon cloaks to wear.

"You gonna be okay?"

Andromon nodded curtly. "I shall help in the recovery and rebuilding of my village."

"Not just that."

"It is…alright," Andromon said stoically. "Those that have been lost will return, for this is their home. Primary Village has notified me of their recent crop, and will keep me updated."

"Not all of them might."

"That will be their choice," Andromon accepted. "Far be it for me to impose."

"You think Apollomon won't pull the same crap all over again?" Jaune spied the units aloft the crowd, a few stealing glances.

"That, I cannot ascertain, although I and my fellows deliberated on the subject and have come to a decision," Andromon turned his head to the ruins of their town. "We will not have an absolute denunciation of our stance on pacifism, nor will we attain an active stake in this war. In light of recent events, we cannot remain idle and rely on external intervention, in spite of Apollomon's sponsorship. In time, we will fortify our defenses and prep the populace in reactive measures to the likes of Titamon."

"…No turning back?" Jaune queried.

"It is unanimous," Andromon confirmed. "As their chief, I conducted myself shamefully for the sake of my delusion in maintaining our survival. No more. We will fight for the protection of our home, of our people. We fight, to live."

A small grin flashed past Jaune's lips, oddly satisfied with the answer, before a thought struck him. "Wait a minute, you're the chief?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think it important enough to tell me?"

"You did not ask."

Jaune's shoulders slacked. "I hate you so much right now."

Andromon smiled, then glimpsed down at Bokomon.

"I'll visit when I can," the imp winked, pointing at the teen with his thumb. "Somebody's gotta be there to wipe his butt."

"Don't tempt me," Jaune grumbled, musing to make good on that joke.

An abrupt noise drew their attention, stemming from his right where a large armored truck was backing towards the town checkpoint, where teams of Piccolomon were standing by with a large bundle bound tightly with chains, the head of the digimon Jaune spotted the other day sticking out in unconsciousness. The truck was black in color, coupled to a sufficiently sized hexagonal trailer to fit their quarry.

Plastered on the side was an emblem of a golden lion's head, its mane done in a stylized flame; Apollomon's symbol.

Jaune reached for his D-Scanner.

Name: Fangmon

Type: Demon Beast

Class: Champion

Attribute: Data

Profile: A digimon that lives deep in the heart of the forest, and preys upon those who lose their way. Once it sets its sights on a prey they will never escape, as it sometimes goes so far as to disguise itself as someone dear to them in order to get closer. It has a heretical existence among Dog and Wolf-species Digimon.

Special Moves:

Blast Coffin

Snipe Steal

Jaune observed the beast being hauled into the trailer via a ramp, laid unto it by the joint effort of three Piccolomon lifting its bulk with ropes.

"Is it sedated?" Jaune inquired in mild curiosity. "Why hasn't it devolved?"

"Attached to its neck is an inhibitor," Andromon clarified. "They cannot run the risk of allowing it as a Gazimon to slip its bonds, therefore, the device saps it of strength and suppresses the body's ability to evolve and devolve at will. It will remain in that state until secured within a proper detention facility."

Jaune watched quietly as the truck left shortly, accompanied by a handful of Piccolomon serving as escort. "What are the chances they'll get intercepted?"

"That, I am afraid, will be their problem," Andromon remarked dismissively. "Where are you headed?"

"Wherever the wind wants," Jaune answered. "It's been so long since I've been here, or so I've heard, so a little catching up might be in order. Check the sights, and see if I run into any old faces," and a clue to Neamon's whereabouts.

Andromon held out his hand. "I do hope we will meet again after the war."

"Sooner than you might think," Jaune said, shaking it. "But, let it just be farewell for now. I don't care for goodbyes."

"Likewise," Andromon finished.

Packed and ready to depart, the duo set out into the desert. After approximately an hour, the Terminal of Flame didn't even register as a speck, truly on their own and trekking beneath the blistering sun that saw fit to mock them with its rays.

Two days later…

"Are we there yet?" Bokomon wheezed through his breathing apparatus, vision swaying.

"Not yet, just a little more," Jaune responded, brows creased and riddled with sweat as he focused on the coordinates laid out in his D-Scanner's built-in GPS. "Take cover at the first sign of movement, and only come out when I tell you to. Got it?"

"Gotcha," Bokomon acknowledged dizzily before toppling face first into the dirt, dropping the canteen and spilling some of their precious water to run along the dry soil.

With the imp on his back, Jaune trudged onward, enduring on the hope of raiding the base to restock. Whether there were guards or not would be meaningless in front of surveillance, bound to alert others before word reached Titamon, but that was neither here nor there, their food all but depleted to the last crumb.

He owed the aforementioned coordinates to Andromon, who produced them via a filched a communicator from one of the Gazimon, tracing the signal to a location due South that they trailed diligently, perseverance that was keenly rewarded by a distinct dot entering his sights.

" Finally…! "

Dipping behind a rock, Jaune laid Bokomon against it as he went to rummage through the sack. True to his expectations, there was a small telescope buried under their canteens; he counted one left, and brought the tool out to spy on the base. From their purview, he drank in the walled fortress like hovel that had to be about two stories high.

No visible guards were posted, and the tower was similarly bare. The outpost itself didn't appear too secure, harboring wear on its foundation, with scraps of cloth billowing to the tune of the razor winds that helped them as camo. Bokomon gained his bearings shortly, taking a swig of what was left of his canteen. They shared knowing looks, with Jaune marching on ahead.

A few minutes of powering through the latest storm, Jaune was left to his thoughts.

" Fuck my life. After finishing school, this is not at all how I imagined what I'd be doing in the middle of goddamn nowhere. I should have gone straight to a trade. I could have picked up traditional basket weaving, crafting, carpentry, but nooo."

Something occurred to him. " Wonder if this is how trainees in the Academies get prepped for taking missions. "

Dwelling on it meticulously, Jaune considered that it was unfair to compare his experiences with what the average Huntsman had to go through on a near day to day basis based on the stories his father would tell them, give or take an exaggeration or two.

Then again, did Nicholas Arc ever tell him of the time he fought with gods and monsters that literally tore a world at the seams? Hm, that must have been after the time he used a sleeping bag stuffed with his dirty laundry as bait to lure an Ursa.

No, they had to have higher standards than that. None of those ridiculous high school dramas that his sisters would make him sit through, cringing at nearly every cliché. You'd be lucky enough to graduate with your dignity intact, which the blonde reckoned was a genuine achievement on its own.

And here he was now, about to mount a one man assault on a military base. It all came full circle in the end. He adjusted his mask as he marched at a meager pace, simultaneously flaring his senses out and keeping tabs on his six. The storm was slowly dying down, contrasting to how suddenly it brewed, pausing when he caught sight of the gate, bent and deformed as it hung open.

He stretched a curious hand out for purchase, inspecting the damage to make sure - the base had been broken into. " Or maybe they cleared out ," and left the rest in shambles for the desert to claim. Just in case, he digivolved and shot a flare to signal Bokomon.

Soon, the duo made their way inside, the imp sticking close, scanning the yard animatedly in fear of an ambush. Agnimon was more composed, sure that had the building been occupied, the flare would have alerted on their presence.

The atmosphere felt ashen, the yard lacking clear signs of a scuffle, although that could be attributed to the deluge of sand piling on evidence after what had to be a few days at most. He peered through the particles that swept past for the door that stood unmolested, wide as it was thick. It irked him, sensing that something was amiss.

Bokomon was fidgeting with his cloak, a shiver creeping down his spine as they drew closer to the building that bore a mural of a large horned skull streaked with red and green, Titamon's symbol seething down at them with a fearsome glower. Agnimon sized the emblem with disinterest, largely unimpressed as he kept walking until they reached the alcove.

The door was made of metal. It wasn't steel, but Chrome Digizoit, the ore that Titamon had the Guardromon mine. The wall, gate, and likely parts of the building were lined with the alloy, which meant that someone had to be strong enough to bend said gate out of shape. That same someone was still inside. How did he hit upon that conclusion? It could be because of the door slithering open, startling Bokomon to scurry behind the warrior.

Agnimon's heart skipped in his chest, seized by a surge of killing intent, prompting him to grab the imp and retreat with a sharp leap, chased by a blast of energy that echoed with a roar.

His lips peeled, tossing the imp aside to evade the attack. He nailed the landing, taking a hard stance with his right side leading. The wind howled anew as a figure emerged from the shadows, a tail swishing sideways. It said nothing, but the warrior of flame felt it boring into him, beset with the same killing intent.

His left fist already reared, he released a blast of fire in retaliation, big enough that it consumed the alcove. He ducked a swipe that would have decapitated him, his reflexes only enough to evade the blade by a hair's width as strands of his locks were scattered to the far ends by a passing gust. The assailant was fast despite its bulk, clipping the range in the blink of an eye as it dove in with a left hook. Agnimon swiveled to plant a kick below the belt, but was parried with an arched knee.

"Fire Slide!'

His foe hopped from the burning sweep of his leg that spun into another kick with the momentum, but was blocked by a swift shielding of its arms. Footing regained, it smoothly disjointed a punch to Agnimon's mass, its own leg drawn forward. The blonde stumbled until a massive hand made a grab for his arm, sending him flying like a ragdoll.

He was then struck squarely in the stomach by the same attack earlier, elevating him past the building. Vision swimming, he only had enough of a window to see a second flying his way. Bracing, he deftly maneuvered his arms so that they were sandwiched in front of him before briskly fanning them apart, dispersing the energy.

"Salamander Kick!"

A fierce growl rang through bared teeth, wasting no movement as he spun in the air to produce a flaming cocoon in the shape of a dragon. He sailed the blaze back down, extending his leg in a fiery bicycle kick that connected – against his adversary's palm, which grabbed hold and swung him down.

Agnimon met the ground with the force of a hammer, again and again repeatedly until his perception started to wane. Flames bloomed from his body in a rage, focusing a stream at his foe when he crested, whose hold loosened for him to land with a thud.

He bowled to the right, pushing off in a flip to tack some distance between them and resumed an awkward stance, his armor mottled with the damage he had accumulated. The other only needed to slam its palms together to snuff out the wild flames licking at it. The figure inhaled and exhaled to steady its center, darting a glance in Agnimon's direction.

They both stood apart in still silence, analyzing each other, the wind once again howling as another storm brewed, reflecting the tension between the two combatants.

Bokomon watched the fight from behind a stack of tires, claws digging into the burlap that he clutched onto in suspense, a peculiar glint in his expression aimed at the newcomer.

"No way… "

Agnimon steeled himself under the digimon's menacing glare that held an odd sliver of satisfaction. He understood the moment he recognized those very same eyes that scrutinized every iota of movement, every breath he took, every blow that failed to render a lasting impression.

The fight was done in an instant the next moment, cutting a wide gash into the storm that spanned nearly the whole base that it was a wonder that the building didn't buckle, the force of their clashed fists destroying a large chunk of the wall and knocking down the guard tower.

Jaune, not Agnimon, lay crumpled on the dusty ground eagle spread, utterly drained, right hand numb and possibly broken. Dazed and gasping through his mask, a shadow loomed over him.

"You look like hell," said the taller mon, who was leaning on one knee with an arm slung above the other, cutting quite the well-muscled physique, full mane, and powerfully thick arms and legs that could encompass an average woman's waist.

A scar lined down the left eye, with a few on both biceps and one on its left foot. A pair of black pants tethered with belts and stitching was the only article of clothing to speak of, with a multitude of belts entangling his left arm.

A gold earring drooped by its left ear, alongside a tribal necklace with a blue gem studded in the middle decorating the neck. Resting behind its waist horizontally was a sword, sheathed after narrowly granting Agnimon the closest haircut of his life. The face was that of a lion, but anthropomorphic enough that Jaune almost mistook for a faunus.

"Not a lot of thanks to you," Jaune grumbled. "Master…Leomon."

Leomon huffed, flicking his fingers in a gesture, before unceremoniously hoisting the blonde along his shoulder, choosing to break the monotony with small talk. "Word on the street is you killed Orgemon."

Jaune blinked. "Yeah. So?"

"He and I had a score to settle," Leomon explained as he strolled back to the base. "Being a former pupil of mine doesn't mean you can just meddle in my affairs like that. You're not my secretary."

"I'm honestly not sorry, he would have gutted me a new orifice if I didn't," Jaune argued, taking the chiding coolly. "That, and-"

"Yeah, I heard," Leomon interrupted, ceding. "I didn't want to believe it, not until I saw you with my own eyes. I got called in as a favor and thought this place needed some sprucing up before your arrival, and wouldn't you know it, here you are, wet behind the ears. You been skimping on your training, boy? After all the hard work I invested in you kids."

"You the only one here?" Jaune asked, letting the snide jabs slide.

"I was," Leomon said not-so ambiguously, cupping his mouth with a free hand to call on the imp. "Bokomon, let's get inside. We're going to need this shelter for the storms in the coming hours."

"Got it," Bokomon deferred shakily, buried under the pile of tires, "great to see you again, by the way."

Once the three were settled, Bokomon swooned in relief that the interior was better than the outside, reveling in the air conditioned office they chose to huddle in for the night. The halls and corridors were less hygienic, strewn with garbage, papers and a potpourri of junk that it was generous to even call it a military base.

At first, Jaune presumed that whoever left must have been in quite the hurry to leave such disarray, then they milled through the mess hall, facilities and medical bay.

Merciful mother of Yggdrasil, never in Jaune's young life did he ever wish that he was back in his room. At least there, he still had breathable air that wasn't going to collapse his lungs. He genuinely wondered to himself how the Gazimon thrived in such conditions.

"They live no differently to dogs," Leomon provided for his benefit. "Orgemon's office is the only place that's spotless. He at least had standards, and the perks of being one of Titamon's generals."

"You sure it's safe here?" Jaune prodded as he warily eyed the camera on the ceiling near the door. He was reclining on a leather sofa, nursing his arm that had been bandaged and cast in a sling, while Leomon took the couch beside it. Bokomon was taking it easy on the chair behind the desk, arms pillowing his head and feeling like a big shot for once.

"They hauled ass days ago after news of what went down at the Terminal spread," Leomon added. "The base was no longer viable to keep with Apollomon establishing a foothold in this part of the desert. I got here yesterday and had this place running again after I disabled the surveillance. Even if they did see me, they'll assume that I was here for Orgemon."

"Who told you that we were coming?"

"Like I said, I was called in as a favor."

"Of course," Jaune sighed noncommittally.

"I don't think I need to dive into the lurid details."

"And I don't think I need to go into how much I was done with this shit ages ago."

"Ages ago," Leomon brooded, "the newly reformatted Digital World was simpler, the populace young and slowly rebuilding what had been lost. I and many who retained memories of the old world went about to relive our lives. It wasn't all sunshine, but it was stable."

"But this war," the lion man paused, "has taken its toll, Jaune. Truth be told, there are days that I want to finally hang my sword for a long deserved vacation."

"Haven't you?" Jaune poked.

Leomon shook his head. "Why not?"

"Pride, honor, and a slew of enemies that I've made over the years wanting my head on a platter, or my code," the lion man clasped his fingers together. "All the same, I cannot stand aside while there is ever injustice afoot, but I also refuse to have anything to do with the warring factions."

"Not your style?" Jaune commented.

"Who is or isn't an enemy can change, allies notwithstanding. It's all a matter of convenience in the end," Leomon grunted. "I tend to steer from such underhandedness, although for the record, I don't necessarily oppose it as a necessity. That's nature at work, survival of the fittest in both mind and body, like I taught you."

"And nothing is as natural as being a bastard, right?" Jaune remarked.

"I've made it this far, haven't I?" Leomon said in defense. "Let's just say that little number we did was a prelude, and leave it at that. Speaking of which, a little retraining would do you some good, how about it?"

Dread glazed Jaune's face. "How long?"

Leomon stared at him. "Six months."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Jaune proclaimed, perching his head atop the backrest, "after graduating, why not? I'm positively enraptured by the chance to be your personal punching bag for the next six months. It's not like I have a home to go back to anymore. Hooray…"

"Noted," Leomon coughed. "If it helps, the discrepancies of time between our respective worlds benefit us on that aspect," he carried on, ignoring the air of incensement that the blonde was projecting. "It'll be like you never left."

"That's still a thing?"

"It fluctuates," Leomon did a vague twirl of his hand. "I admit, it can be hard to keep track, but overall, however long you stay here, it'll always be close to a few seconds to minutes in your world. Give or take."

"Whatever," Jaune scoffed. "Anyway, are we gonna get a move on tomorrow? This base may be abandoned, but it's a shit hole. We can't possibly stay, unless you happen to have a truckload of cleanser and some hazmat suits on you."

"I have a villa just north from here, but it'll take us a week on foot," Jaune and Bokomon gaped at him with round eyes, "and that's without stopping to eat or sleep. Or bathroom breaks."

"Okay…cool," Jaune smiled crookedly, trying and failing to seem like he wasn't contemplating suicide, if the desert wasn't going to do a better job of it than him.

"Or, for all our sakes, we can take the train," Leomon shrugged, imagining the ensuing trip to chiefly consist of the blonde being a little bitch. "Above all, we need to leave at our discretion."

"Don't tell me, there's gonna be a digimon dropping in to try and wreck our shit, won't there."

Leomon oscillated his head. "Most likely."

"And, that's normal?" Jaune ventured.

"Yes."

"Beautiful," the lad exclaimed gratefully, "something to vent all of my pent up frustrations on before mercilessly scanning their code, like the good old days."

"Just so you know, I'm currently doing my utmost to not axe what's plainly in front of me to be a budding psychopath, if not one already."

"And you're hesitating, because…?"

"Because I know you're just under a lot of stress, or that's what I'm telling myself to maintain what amount of faith I have in life," Leomon shifted in his seat. "In all seriousness, Jaune, I'm happy to see you again, and, for what it's worth, proud of the man you've grown into. How are the others doing?"

Jaune sobered. "Haven't seen or heard from them, and if I did at some point, it'd have meant nothing."

"Because of the memory wipe," Leomon nodded, ensnaring the boy's gaze from the corner of his eye. "I know about it, or knew. The workings of the D-Scanner are not esoteric to me for I was one of the original designers," the jaws of the other two fell to the floor at that bit of revelation, "and the improvements have merely expanded on its capabilities. More doors will be opened in time, but they shall only be unlocked with the proper training and understanding of your abilities, and delving into the true secrets of digimon evolution."

"This…this is really happening, isn't it?" Jaune asked, more to quell his lingering doubts, his body weighed with lead.

Leomon and Bokomon watched as the lad grew quiet, fumbling with the bandages on his hand, fingers drumming along the fabric, his expression deathly blank, mouth drier than the very desert they had traveled.

A tremor gripped Jaune's frame, the beginnings of a quake snapping him out of his slump. He scrolled between the others, confused at how they weren't reacting as their gazes were fixed on him, glued to their seats, until he peered below at his hand – shivering – trembling, lurching.

The room was teetering.

His head had fallen on the armrest without him realizing, his senses fogging. He was tired.

"So tired," he breathed, closing his sunken eyes. "How did it come to this?"

"Philosophically, shit happens," Leomon folded his arms, sinking into the couch. "That's life."

"Then, why bother?"

"Why, indeed," Leomon reflected, his own eyelids sinking.

"Because it's right?"

"Right and wrong are perspectives. What is right to you might be wrong to me, one cannot easily tell the difference, and hence, why I'm cautious to not justify my actions as absolutes of either."

"Was it wrong of me to help Andromon?" Jaune asked, catching a glimpse of Bokomon yawning.

"Was it wrong of you and your friends to save this world?"

"Did we save it?"

"I'm asking you," Leomon's voice echoed in the ether of his mind.

"Fuck, this is complicated."

A snort tugged at the corner of Leomon's lips.

"I don't feel like I did anything right. I don't feel satisfied, elated or happy. I don't feel like I needed to do all of those things to be proud of myself, but I thought I did."

He curled into himself, the aching in his arm intangible. "I'm…selfish, like everybody else."

Leomon chuckled loudly, stalling Jaune's descent into sleep.

"I remember..."

Jaune perked up.

"I was fresh off a battle with one of Cherubimon's underlings, entering the nearest town to take five when I had the luck of spotting two human children making rounds pilfering the stalls."

He and Sun, who resolved on that day to teach him the ways of a thief to fill their group's empty stomachs, and an extra hand to help carry the loot. Yes, he remembered as well.

"You thought I'd turn you two in to the locals, so you ran. Remember what happened next?"

Jaune chewed on the memory. "You caught Sun after he made himself the decoy for me to get away."

"Did you?"

Jaune bit into his lip.

"Starving, you barely had the energy to digivolve, none of you did. But, you didn't budge and forced yourself to in order to save him. 'Course, you still went down like a brick when I gave you a measly little slap, but you tried. Instead of fleeing, you stayed and fought for the sake of your friend."

The blonde struggled against the lump in his throat.

"It was also the stupidest thing you could have done had it not been me, and I made extra sure to make you count your good fortune for it."

"If I had left him..."

"You'd have regretted it?"

"Yeah…"

"Why?"

"Because he wouldn't have forgiven me, none of them would have."

"And you would have been alone?"

Jaune's chest tightened, "I couldn't…stand the thought of them hating me."

"People are naturally selfish," Leomon shrugged. "It comes with the territory of free will, and you were just a kid, learning as you grew."

"I haven't learned," Jaune mumbled. "I haven't changed."

"I beg to differ. You were the most eager when I took you all in to be my students," Leomon cut in to add. "When the smoke cleared you jumped right into the training like a fish to water."

Jaune shifted on his back. "When I came here, it's not like I didn't think that it wasn't going to be easy, but this world did its thing showing me just how . Yes, we saved it, but at a price."

"And for that, countless were grateful," Leomon conciliated, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You're not as bad as you think, I've seen worse; much worse. Titamon isn't the first warlord to try their hand in conquering this world, and he certainly won't be the last."

"Then, why bother going forward?"

"Would you rather do nothing?"

Jaune worked it over, sighing as he gently pounded the back of his hand against his forehead.

"How do you do it?"

Leomon shrugged, "I'm used to it."

"Yeah? Well, when do I get there?"

Leomon's head sunk into his shoulders. "I pray that you don't."

Elsewhere…

The Gazimon awoke to an unfamiliar ceiling, his reaction instantaneous as he launched out of the cot and landed on solid linoleum. The room he was in was dimly lit by a lamp, but his night vision allowed him to clearly discern a closet, a small desk, and a large trunk leaning against the wall across.

He worked his nose and found trace scents of food wafting in the air, intermingling with the hamper full of used aprons, and while it caused his stomach to rumble, he knew when not to be governed by such urges, bracing for a presence nearing. Strangely, he did not move an inch from his spot, taking a pose of supplication with his arm over a knee while leaning on the other.

As soon as the door opened did he bow his head in respect, not daring to make eye contact. He did not speak, drowning in the ominous silence that flooded the domicile.

The patter of each footstep that geared closer was like a death toll, heralding the Dark Area ready to swallow him whole, a void from which the shapeless denizens swarmed about, excited; joyful , to drag him into their paradise as a new addition.

His eyes were closed, and was thrown for a loop when his nose began to twitch, cracking one open to peek down at a fresh plate of food slid in front of him.

Fried rice with shrimp, scallops, squid, chives, sea salt, carrots, peas, and eggs. He fought back gulping on reflex, but was calmed that he wasn't to be punished, the serving of food a sign for leniency.

In exchange for his loose tongue.

He lowered into a full kowtow.

"Howdy, strangeroo! Glad you're awake. I hope you're feeling betteroo after a dandy noodly-night's riddly-rest. Have yourself some breakfast so we can sit diddily ding dong down for some chitchat. You look like you've got one hel-diddly-ell of a tale to tel-diddly-ell!."

The Gazimon failed to suppress a wince. God, they hated it when he talked like that.

Back to the middle of goddamn nowhere…

Leomon, Jaune and Bokomon were waiting idly in front of a train track, having left the base after finding nothing of value, wasting an hour of searching the office since waking up, raking through the room with a fine toothed comb. The computer was of no use, its CPU missing a hard drive, the drawers and cabinets stripped bare - with not even a coffee stain for their trouble. They didn't dare restock, unless they wanted to suffer a slow and painful death from tainted food and water.

Jaune and Bokomon weren't completely disappointed, the trek bearing fruit with Leomon, who promised to bring them to his villa to properly freshen up and recuperate. The blonde took a moment to examine the familiar stretch of track, the kind that he and the others used to follow to help guide their way around these lands.

After waiting for an hour, and with ten minutes to spare, the chugging of a Trailmon rattled in the distance. Anticipation, followed by relief, the living vehicle eased to a stop next to the trio.

"Where you folks headed?" the Trailmon asked with a gravelly voice. It was an Angler model, the paint green with dashes of orange, and an antenna on the front that had a bulb at the end. A single car was coupled to it, its one eye drilling holes into each of them in scrutiny.

"North," Leomon answered curtly, his arms folded.

"Hop aboard."

Jaune exhaled from his nostrils, adjusting the sack full of their empty canteens and other belongings slung over his shoulder as he clambered inside with the others, which he found was empty, indicating that they were the first passengers this early in the morn.

Sandwiched between his two companions, he stole a glance from the barren desert, and the lonely dot of the outpost they had vacated. None of them spoke a word, letting the vibrations of the Trailmon moving wash over them. Bokomon swung his feet to and fro, glued to his book to do a little review of the changes after their memories were reawakened.

He leafed through the passages starting from Agnimon and found them to still be blank, making him fumble his chin in curiosity.

"Are you…gonna find them?"