Work Hard, Play Hard, Die Young

Justin activated the Mongoose's brakes rather abruptly. The thick knobs on the tires grabbed the loose clay hard and the chassis shuddered all the way to a stop just outside the igloo, where it always sat when unused. Justin dismounted, unraveled the chain and tethered the ride to a jacking rail along one side of the corrugated metal house. He clicked the padlock shut and gave the rotary dial a few counter-clockwise rotations to fully engage the internal deadbolt, pulling back on it just to be sure. Before he left for the inside, he recovered the kerosene jug from the front rack of the ATV.

The loud screeching of the outer door signaled everyone that Justin had arrived. Much to his surprise, Pete and Ken stepped over to the dirt-floor atrium to greet him. "What do you guys want?" Justin asked.

"Nothing, " Pete said, "just a little bored. Kinda want to go to the factory. Where's Bill?"

Justin frowned. "…He's still at work. We had to leave in a hurry."

"Don't tell me..."

"Jim."

"Fuck, when is that guy gonna give up?"

"I suspect never." Justin brushed past Pete's shoulder half-occupying the doorway and set down the fuel canister near the couch. He then crashed downward into the cushions with a fatigue Pete knew all too well at the moment.

"So can me and Ken use the 'Goose?"

Justin smirked and turned away, his reply. Pete simply assumed Justin became possessive of the ATV ever since Chris arrived to Traxus IX, but he truly couldn't tell. They had known one another at least ten years, and still his best of friends, his only friends, couldn't get through to the real Justin.

Justin shifted his weight and the dampness soaked up by the fabric felt silky beneath his clothing. "I think it's best not to go to work for a little bit. We all need to lay low."

"It's just Jim, dude. He's not gonna try shit with us."

"It's different now." Justin finally met Pete's unrelenting gaze. "Things changed a little."

"How so? We're still stuck on this God forsaken rock, we're still dirt-poor, and we're still bowing down to the Man everyday by working' our tails off."

"Not that." Justin scratched his head.

"What?"

"I kinda knocked him out. In the break room. He was all over Layla."

"You stirred up a hornet's nest over a bitch?"

Justin shot up and left the comfort of the sofa, striding towards Pete, stopping short of arm's reach. He pointed a finger in his face. "Watch your fucking mouth!"

"Since when do you care about that bitch? I mean, I always knew you had the hots for 'er, but man, you really love this bitch."

Justin fumed with anger, his enraged eyes boring into the humorous wells of Pete's. But he kept his volatile temper in check; he needed to direct his energy in the right place. Pete could see Justin thinking it out. Jim Carsa—a gang member with dangerous and well-motivated connections—had them on RADAR. Enacting his already misplaced anger on Pete would only waste time.

Reid brushed past Pete and stepped out just beyond the door, breathing deep. Chris watched the moment unfold and withheld any interjection he might've deemed necessary, for once again it appeared as though the two were simply blowing off steam as they usually did.

"Yes, I like her. You already know that. Go make yourself useful and grab some waters."

Pete pivoted in place to look at Chris. "Chris, go get some waters."

"Fuck you, Pete, he asked you."

"Yeah, but shit rolls downhill and I need to pow-wow with J Reezy over here. Do like Justin said and make yourself useful."

Chris sighed and sauntered over to the pallet, making sure to grab plenty in order to avoid a second trip.

Pete faced Justin again as Chris paced away. "So then what are you going to do now, Casanova?"

"I'm going to make Jim disappear from all our lives. Layla will thank me later. And so will you."

Pete's brow raised, or rather it twitched in excitement as he stole two swift paces closer to Justin. "You're going to kill him? Holy shit! There hasn't been a killing in the City since…God damn…I can't even remember when!"

"Right." Justin said sardonically. "Let's get real here for once. We need a serious plan."

"Okay, what's the plan for real?"

"It's simple the way I see it. I'm gonna meet up with Gibson and tell him the situation. He'll understand."

"So, no killing then."

"No, Pete, no killing. What the hell is it with you and violence? Lay off the booze and smoke up with us once in a while, calm you down a little bit."

"Hey, you're not so monkish yourself, ya bastard. You're a pretty violent guy."

"Yeah, but only when it serves a purpose."

"So you're gonna kiss up to Gibson then? Let him fight your battles for you?"

"Look, I gotta fend for all of you, not just myself. You wanna be gung-ho? Go ahead, march out there and be the hero. You won't see me behind ya."

"You really think he'll give a shit?"

"For me, I think Gibson will. Anyone else and he'd let them go to fate."

"You and him always did see eye to eye."

"I'm going at daybreak."

"I'll go too if you need me to. I ain't afraid to throw down. Let's get everyone there while we're at it."

"No. Too many people isn't good. I need to keep a low profile. Plus, I'll need to be in and out, which means I need speed. Three guys on skis is hardly ideal for the 'Goose."

"Right."

"Chris is the only one going with me."

"Why? He'd slow you down if you ran into trouble."

"He'll be fine, I can look after him. He needs to see more of the City and get familiar."

"He just got here."

"I know that he just got here but he'll need to be able to look after himself sooner than later."

Pete whispered, "You're gonna kick him out?"

"Actually, nah, that thought hadn't crossed my mind."

"Why are you his babysitter all of a sudden?"

"I figure the kid is worth having around for the long run. He's not arrogant, he's easy to work with and he can take an order without getting too pissy."

"He can be molded."

"Keep your voice down, he's right over there."

"So what are your intentions?"

"Not as ambitious as you might think. Having an extra body around here will make light of work and stealing shit. And with his build, he should be quite capable by the time he's fully matured and fully trained by us. Chris is just the guy we need."

"And he looks up to you, too."

"Whatever."

"He still has to grow up, though. The kid's at mid-puberty. We'd have to train him up…a lot."

"That's nothing new. We'll start soon enough. We'll get him tough. It'll just take a few—"

Chris' approaching footfalls silenced Justin. "Here's your water, like you asked."

"Thanks." Reid said, taking a few bottles from Chris' grasp. He handed one to Pete and tossed the remaining bottles through the atrium door where they bounced lightly on the plush, moist couch.

Chris followed their arc until they settled into the red velvet, his eyelids nearly hanging from exhaustion.

"You've had a hard day, kid. Take the couch tonight."

Chris' eyes lit up briefly with perfectly innocent gratitude. In the next instant, he let his fatigue finally reign over his body and shuffled to the bacteria-infested couch, crashing down with feet raised over one armrest. He kicked off his shoes and slowly closed his eyes.

Pete cast a sidelong grin at Justin, who returned it ever more smartly. They split up and went their separate ways, Pete settling into the cot and Justin, at long last, taking a dirt-covered sleeping bag.

Light—it barely seeped through the seam of the outer door. It was the same old pale haze of Traxus IX, though. Nothing special. Just nothing at all.

Morning came along with a wet, freezing draft that sliced right through Justin's sleeping bag. He was cold to the core, but plenty used to it. He made sure to rise slowly.

Every morning, it felt as though his bones might snap from sudden movement. His body overtly warned him of it every time he woke. Everyone was a slow riser here.

And the igloo did nothing in the least to insulate them. It was just a conglomerate of plate steel. Just quarter-inch-thick metal sheets bonded over a framework with four-inch welds at one-inch intervals. Plenty of gaps. Though it definitely eliminated most of the wind gusts, it most certainly did not ward off the all-pervading cold. The metal walls just seemed to amplify it.

The time was upon them to invest in a better heater. The kerosene unit they stole some years ago was grossly outdated, indeed an antique. It produced merely 10,000 BTUs on good days and was a choking hazard with its Carbon emissions. The only way to avoid gaseous poisoning from its outdated combustion method was to place it in the room farthest from where they slept, and hopefully the fumes would effuse out the diminutive vent hood before they woke up sick or dead. For this reason, the heater didn't really do its job at all being too far away. The cold walls seemed to suck up all the warmth by the time it actually worked its way around to the sleeping room. A Hydrogen IC unit was clearly the only option to consider. Justin would add its acquisition to his now-growing list of priorities.

Accommodating the igloo was among the least of concerns now; showing up for work was hazardous—more hazardous than usual.

Justin took a look around the atrium and into the rest of the main room, where the couch and the cot were. Pete was unsurprisingly zonked out atop the cot, snuggled up in wool, the typical selfish smug on his apathetic face. Ken was still dreaming in the sleeping bag next to Justin's. And Chris…

…was looking straight up at him. The boy lied on his back, wide awake.

"Did you sleep?"

"Yeah." Chris nodded.

"You just an early riser?"

"I haven't been a morning person since I got here."

"Sucks for you."

"Had a dream."

"Was it bad?"

"Yeah, couldn't sleep the rest of the night."

"That bad, huh? Well, don't worry about it."

"Do you still dream?"

"Sometimes."

"Ever bad?"

"I usually don't remember them."

"Is that by choice or circumstance?"

"You know, kid…" Justin was about to scorn the boy's inquisitive nature again, but something in the boy's eyes stilled Justin's displeasure. "I don't know, kid, maybe both."

"I could understand why you wouldn't want to remember your dreams, even if they were good."

"You and me both, kid. Everyone here, too."

Chris added rather assumingly, "But there was a time when you held onto them."

Justin replied, "Yeah, but little point worrying about it now, eh? The worst is over. You're here now and that's it. Nothing you can do about it." Justin uttered the words with finality in his voice, suggesting the end of the conversation.

"How did you deal with them?"

Justin exhaled explosively. "You don't really deal with them, you just get used to them. And over time they come to mean less and less."

"I wish I was older like you."

"I wish I was younger. I'd be far from here."

A smile crept on Chris' face. "I bet you've schemed up ways to get outta here."

"If I find a way, believe me, you'd be the first to know about it."

"Where would you go? If you had a choice."

"...I'd pick Crassus."

"Crassus? Where's that?"

"Exactly. Nobody knows about it. Nobody cares about it."

"You really don't care much for people anymore, do you?"

"You'll understand in a few years, buddy. Now, c'mon and get up. We're going to the factory today."

Chris' head tilted slightly. "I thought you wanted to lay low for a while."

"We're still gonna lay low, but we still have to go to the factory for critical shit. You wanna help, don't you?"

"Yeah! But what shit?"

"Gotta talk with an Administrator, gotta steal some things, fill up on fuel, get Bill back home, and then when all that's done…we're all gonna celebrate a little."

"Celebrate what?"

"Celebrate nothing. That's what we do."

"Okay. When are we leaving?"

"How soon can you get ready?"

Chris was ready in a flash. His youthful energy shot him up off the couch like a young pup eager for food or attention. Justin proceeded outside to warm up the 'Goose while Chris took a few much-needed strokes of a toothbrush. He donned the thickest coat he could find and ran outside, shoving the defiant outer door shut as it groaned in protest.

The ATV was all ready to go, fully warmed up to operating temperature. The confining cloud layer above was merely a graveball field above their heads, though not the lowest it had ever been. It felt there was still plenty of breathing room between them and the "ceiling". And the light from the neighboring star was a little more radiant than normal. Today was a reasonably good day. With any luck, it would stay that way; they'd receive blessings similar to this one and they could enter the city unscathed and unnoticed. Justin could run his errands without incident. Even Justin prayed for that as he released the 'Goose's choke lever.

Justin handed Chris a helmet. "Thanks." He said.

Justin didn't reply. As soon as Chris was situated on the back, they sped off.

The Mongoose glided smoothly over the flat, clay terrain. The whole ride to the outskirts of the factory was this way—smooth and without even a hint of altercation. This was normal, though. It was when one got nearer to the City that things tended to get precarious.

Justin rightly eased down on the throttle and slowed down a bit. He was always prepared despite how mundane the routine became over the years. He'd never forget how Traxus IX got its true reputation—the one that outsiders never knew of. Greed, corruption, violence, chaos.

Heading on an uncorrectable course in an environment such as the City courtyard was just asking for trouble of any sort.

Now, he had more maneuverability. He could use gas or brake or a combination of both to steer them out of trouble should trouble show its face. He darted off the pseudo roadway, away from the ominous fork in the road and towards the Admin courtyard. Chris stole a glance down that ill-fated road before looking onward where they headed. He could see the office buildings more clearly than times before with cloud layer pushed back a little higher. Though the volatile clouds floated high above the structures, they still left behind a variety of chemicals clinging to the easements of every establishment, staining the heights of the buildings a puke-yellow. It was a distinct contrast to the clean, bone-white exterior of the well-maintained office buildings.

"Appearance is everything." Chris mumbled to himself.

"What's that?" Just asked.

"They keep this place so clean. What for?"

"Maybe it's a statement." Justin offered. "That's the way I see it."

"You're probably right, Justin. If you look closely, you can see the stain up top isn't very heavy. They have those rooves cleaned daily. If they left it alone, it'd probably be black by now."

"You've got an eye for detail." Justin said. "Hop off, we're going in."

"What about the 'Goose?"

"Lock it up for me."

"You want me to lock it up?"

"Might as well get you used to it. You'll be driving this thing one day."

"Cool!"

Chris exuberantly wrapped the chainlink tether once around the base of the handle bars, twisted it once, and connected the ends to a water pipe entering the exterior of the building with the padlock.

"Good," Justin said, "now follow me."

Just opened the door to the lobby. They both stepped through.

It was climate-controlled. The floors were white ceramic tile, slightly soiled with clayish boot prints. Someone would be called to clean it soon. The lobby was like the typical waiting room—a lengthy couch, a monitor anchored high in the corner wall, and a water fountain. There were even magazines resting on a coffee table. All the texts were greatly worn and crinkled, obvious that people still wondered about, and adored, life on the outside. Chris was halted by Justin.

"—You'll get to look at those later. We're here on business. Follow me."

Justin walked straight ahead past the lobby, to a set of narrow and steeply-pitched stairs, brass hand railings flanking them. The amenities of the building threw Chris for a loop. The whole planet was a dumpster, and now this. Justin took notice even from in front as they climbed the steps.

"All the possessions of this place don't amount to shit, Chris. It's just for the administrators' comfort. And believe me, they actually think they have it rough."

"Yeah." Chris granted. "So how long does the typical administrator stay at Traxus Nine?"

"However long they want. Usually, it's five years tops. Five years and they've made enough money to retire easily. Probably make enough to put their kids through tier one university too."

"What about this Gibson?"

"Heh, Gibson is...different. He's been here since the place was established, ten years."

"Why so long? He's probably got all the loot in the world now, huh? Why does he stay?"

"Some people require more money than others, I guess. But sometimes I think he vested himself in this place. He's more than just a company man from what I can gather. He likes his job and takes it seriously. And City Seventeen is his favorite place to be."

"Okay."

They rose the first flight. Off the landing of the second floor was a wide and narrow hallway stretching both directions, small office rooms stemming off the sides. Occasionally, the walls recessed in a meter or two and housed a water fountain or a snack dispenser. Chris wanted to snag some food, but remembered he had no money. He took in as much as he could before following Justin up another flight. The only natural light to be had in the whole place was from just two windows—only at the very ends of the lengthy corridor. All the rest was overhead fluorescent. A dreary and sleepy atmosphere.

Once more, they ascended. The slow journey upward seemed more like a session of calisthenics with such a steep grade. Chris latched onto the handrails just in case he lost balance or footing. Once at the third floor landing, Justin proceeded merely a few steps away and to the door of their destination. "Wait here." Justin ordered. "Don't stray too far. I'll be right out."

Chris nodded. On the door, was stenciled "Mr. Paul Gibson".

Justin knocked once. "Enter." A muffled voice sounded. Justin deftly grabbed the door knob, turned, and stepped through with a swift inward push on the door.

There, sitting behind a rich and broad Cherrywood desk was Mr. Gibson. A short and full-framed man, with a full head of buzzed short hair and a stout mustache. He stood once and regarded Justin as he proceeded into the room. The admin was dressed business-casual: slacks, collared shirt and semi-dress shoes. Like the regional manager of a well-to-do company. Ironically, he was just this. The man's choice of dress was still odd, given the setting.

"C'mon in." Mister Gibson beckoned. "Hello, Reid. Take a seat. I assume you came here to talk about this—"

He cued a television monitor near his desk and swiveled it around so Justin could see. On display for Justin was the confrontation he had only a day ago in the break room. Together they watched as Jim tried to dodge the fist that Justin threw. Then, the footage froze right as Justin cold-cocked him between the cheek bone and the eyebrow.

"Homerun." Gibson said absentmindedly. He ended the video with a push of a button and faced Justin with a prompting gaze.

"It was unavoidable." Justin began. "No choice. He was gonna do something to her."

"No doubt from the video this was self-defense. An assisted form of self defense…sort of. Relax, kid. You're not in any trouble because of this. I value your presence here much more than his. What would you like me to assist you?"

"I'm not sure. What can you do?"

"Well, we can't fire him. He's a solid worker and the company is always hard up for good employees. Speaking of which: you're by far my best. Without your inspections, well, you know how far behind we'd be. I can move you to another factory. You'd get a ride in my personal airlift. How about it? Nice change of scenery?"

"I'll make myself clear, sir: I'm not afraid of him. But I don't want to see him around Layla Jennings. He's a menace and he's after her because of me."

"After her? He's after you, son. We need to split you two up, that's the only solution I see here. I can't have violence in the workplace. It's bad for business and everybody has enough issues to cope with as it is. You of all people know that."

"Can't he be transferred or something?"

"Between here and where, Reid? You know there's miles of Hell between the factory-cities. We're not going to send that man to certain death out there." Justin folded his arms and shrugged in disagreement. "I'd airlift him outta here myself, but he's not worthy of it like you. Listen," Gibson leveled his gaze, "I'm an administrator. I have to put the interests of the greater in front of the few in order to keep this place from going crazy. If I can keep good order and discipline in my workshops with minimal fuss and resolve the city's issues at the lowest level possible, God damn it I'm gonna do it. Saves me time and money. Saves the company time and money. And when the company is happy, we're happy. Catch my drift?"

Justin nodded. He understood perfectly well what the plant manager meant. There was justification in relocating him to another city because of his rare skill set. Justin and the admin always did see somewhat eye to eye.

Justin sighed. "Well, I'm not moving. I've got a good thing going here. She shouldn't have to change her life either. So where does that put us?"

"Well, unfortunately there's certain rules administrators must abide by. THI's policy is there as guidance for us, and in this kind of situation I'm limited to very few options. You don't want to billet down in another city, she'll probably feel the same way, and Carsa remains here because he's not marketable anywhere else. They wouldn't take him, and frankly I wouldn't feel like sending him. I'm just gonna have to exercise some of my discretionary power in this matter, yes?" Gibson grinned. "I'll make sure that shit-kicking bungler doesn't have the opportunity to come near you, or Ms. Jennings. You'll work separate shifts and separate days. Though, I can't guarantee total segregation. If the bastard wants to work overtime, I can't stop him. Company policy."

"Roger." said Justin. "You know you didn't have to go out of your way for us. You could just sit back as usual and let the natural order of things take place."

"Us?"

"Me and Layla."

"True, Reid. I could watch you kick the crap out of him again and again and it would be rather entertaining, but a man like that?" Gibson glanced sidelong at the video footage. "You know he'd just ratchet the bar every time. Eventually, the violence you two create will either end up in someone's death or just spread throughout the city, or both. All these people are easily seduced into treading down the wrong path from day to day. I can't have that here. But I can also be a politician when I need to be. When I'm not kissing babies I'm stealing their candy, right? I can bar him from the city on certain days, separate you two where I can. Minimize your encounters."

"THI would let you do that?"

Gibson grinned again. "No."

"I told you that you don't have to do this."

"Little choice when you're dealing with two hot-headed employees. Just keep this conversation between us, okay?"

"Okay."

"So what's going on with you and her anyway? You got something going?"

"I'm not totally sure, Mister Gibson."

"Only one way to find out." Gibson said with a lift of his brow, wiggling in his seat.

Justin laughed half-heartedly. "You know it." He felt an uneasy pressure, like a fire underneath him. Gibson reminded him of old frat buddies. The kind of people that gave him false encouragement that only false friends could harbor for one another.

As if sensing Justin's uneasiness, Gibson reclined back in his chair. "Get to know her. Talk to her. I'm sure she'd like it."

"Best advice I've heard for my time on Traxus, sir." Justin practically donated. Gibson stood up and extended his hand, suggesting the end of the meeting. Justin mirrored the move quickly, for he wanted to leave his office and get on with his errands. "Thanks, Mister Gibson."

"Of course. Any time you have an issue, please feel free to come back and see me."

"Will do. Take care."

Justin spun on a heel and made for the door handle.

"—Reid?" Mr. Gibson said, stopping Justin short of the door.

"Yeah."

"Try to get your friend, Pete Barker, to show up more often. He's been missing a lot of work lately."

"Okay, but I wouldn't say he's been missing it."

Justin just about closed the door.

"Reid!" Gibson said, grinning. "That was quite a nice shiner you left on Carsa's face."

Justin nodded, smiled, and turned through the door. On the way out, Justin felt the overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. Gibson reminded Justin so much of his old commanding officer, in a life long forgotten. He'd have to spend part of a day just conjuring up the memories in order to truly comprehend the brief glimmer of life he once had and seldom remembered. The drugs and the hardship of Traxus IX all these years had clearly made those memories obsolete and useless.

Once outside the office and with the door closed, Justin found Chris not too far away muddling near a telecommunications closet off the side of the corridor. "What are you doing?" Justin asked.

"What's all this?" Chris said.

Justin walked over. About waist-high was a metal cube anchored to the wall with circular grommets on all sides of it. Wires protruded out of them and snaked their way into the recesses of the wall, where they led to God knows where.

"Fiber optic J-box." Justin answered. "Let's go."

"What's a J-box?"

"Junction box. A fiber optic cable comes into this building and its signal gets split up into many more for each of the offices. It's connectivity for a CCTV network, that's closed-circuit TV, that monitors about every square yard of this whole damned city."

"You know about this stuff?"

"A little."

"A little sounds like a lot coming from you."

"A smart man doesn't master any one thing, he gains an understanding about many things. The Jack of all trades."

"And the Ace of none. So where are we headed now?"

"We're getting fuel for the 'Goose, stealing some shit, then pick up Bill at the All Faiths Chapel."

"Sounds like a battle plan."

Justin and Chris took the Mongoose across town, through the dark tunnel where they halted briefly at the checkpoint, and finally to the factory district. Fuel was first on the agenda. Only this time, Justin was intent on stocking up a good deal more than usual. For this occasion, he had lashed down more fuel canisters along for the ride than usual. Altogether, he ensured that he would carry the total capacity for over 190 liters of automotive fuel. There was quite a bit more driving to do other than just to the City and back. He didn't mention the last place they were headed to in the day's errands.

One by one, Chris and Justin dug in and filled all the jugs and secured them to the 'Goose. It was laden with fuel for the ATV, so much so, that Chris had to delicately choose his footing while riding pillion to their next destination—which was the stockyard—situated at the easternmost tip of the City. At this location, aerospace vessels from high above would depart one of many THI orbital platforms, take a brief descent into the stratosphere and from there, drop massive amounts of supplies by parachute. Every batch of supplies was the same. Same quantity and type of food rations, mechanical items and electronics, and everything else it took to keep the City and its people running. Every time, always the same. The only time the contents of a shipment were altered was if there was a broken tool needing replacement or an Admin putting in for a special request.

Each shipment pallet that entered the atmosphere was a fully-enclosed container—meant to survive the brief period of vacuum high above as it transitioned down to Traxus IX. As they glided downward, they steered themselves precisely to the same landing point just outside the City by way of sophisticated guidance packages, complete with guide fins. Technicians groundside would await the drop and tend to the crate when it landed. Once fully unpacked, the technicians would reassemble the giant crates and rig them up to the space elevator waiting mere paces away from the drop zone. The thick metal tether would hoist the pallet skyward, where it would complete its round-trip journey all over again in due time. The system worked flawlessly. The execs, the big wigs and VIPs had no physical contact with any of Traxus IX's inhabitants. THI had all bases covered in their bulletproof empire.

The drop zone was usually well-guarded, depending on what dropped. Everything to arrive from above was considered by all laborers here to be the most precious things. Food, water, pharmaceuticals, contraband, the little comforts.

Access was heavily restricted. Raids from gangs could easily take place here as there were no protective city walls to safeguard the drop shipments. The funding wasn't present, it seemed, to protect the sustenance of the workforce. Plus, the wind currents over the plains occasionally got the better of even the most sophisticated of guidance systems; the landings weren't always spot-on with the groundside beacons.

As such, the time-trusted employees guarding the drops were armed. Getting close enough to steal stuff was impossible, lest someone was desperate enough to test that and risk death or maiming.

But even people referred to as "time-trusted employees" didn't always live up to their titles. Fortunately for Justin, he had connections in the right places. All the sentries were in his own, close circle of personal trustees. City 17 functioned more so on circles upon overlapping circles of alliances and crooked transactions rather than rule and regulation. Admins knew it, and they tolerated it. Production was the best it ever was; consequently, they wouldn't change a thing in how Traxus IX operated.

After some friendly bullshitting with the guards, Justin made off with the goods he sought after, stowed them in an enclosure mounted to the 'Goose, and sped off once again to his next errand—to scoop up Bill at the Chapel.

The All Faiths Chapel was a place just as its namesake suggested. It was an enormous edifice off the southeastern front where people would go to worship. It was massive, divided into several sections—one for each type of religion. Judaism, Catholicism, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, and every other 'ism under the sun. Corporate representatives even went so far as to occasionally venture downward to the factories, holding meetings with department heads to probe their satisfaction with the religious services they offered. Religions most people never even heard of were offered at the All Faiths Chapel. People needed their faith. Funny, it was one thing that THI provided the people in spades, one thing they took seriously enough when it came to the well-being of their employees.

And that was just typical of THI. You were going to get what they wanted to give you, plain and simple. Take it or leave it. Over the years, Justin watched agnostics and atheists become believers. Mostly, out of sheer boredom they converted.

But Justin still held onto his own cynical and survivalist ideals, blossomed from the influences of his own experiences both before and during his time in Traxus IX. Quite possibly, he fared better because of this choice, this way of life. He wasn't going to indulge in the Man's dowries. Not now, not ever. Justin needed only himself to make it through.

But that was not how others saw it. Bill, for instance, believed that God had a plan for every soul. And though the soul had the power to manipulate its own outcome, it could only do so to a certain extent. God had given man free will. But just as Bill always believed, he preached as well…that God giveth, and God taketh away.

Believer or non-believer, the universal and undeniable fact of life was that everyone had one final destination.

Death.

It made people from all walks of life ponder about life, death, and the prospect of an afterlife. Furthermore, it gave people from all walks of life the gumption to vest in a God that would grant them one. One portion of the human spectrum believed. And there were many underlying reasons for belief: the betterment of mortal life was one—improving moral values and beliefs and being good to thy fellow man. And of course there was the promise of the afterlife. And still there were others.

Another portion of the human spectrum were those that did not believe. Justin most certainly fit in here. For one, Justin wasn't raised into a religious upbringing. He never really thought much of religion, just that it was the culprit of nearly every major conflict to befall mankind. In fact, the more and more Justin observed the world around him, he began to realize that the prospect of religion and the afterlife concept was nothing more than a tool used by fear mongers—leveraging the minds of the weak and fearful in order to right themselves a little higher in a short, doomed existence. Give your money to the church, and God will save you from eternal hell. That was the sales pitch.

And there was even more places in existence to categorize people. Pete, for instance, did not even care. He valued sleep more than anything else. He might as well be dead, the majority of his life a sedentary waste.

Every single being in the universe was unique. But...they were all the same in one way.

They all shared a common trait that bound them together in darkness.

Death.

Justin leaned against the fuel tank of the 'Goose, waiting outside the AFC for Bill to finish his sermon. Chris was nearby, smirking and kicking any of the small pebbles he could find. It seemed as though hours went by while they waited.

Finally, the day's services ended with the ringing of an entrancing bell. Chris felt the sound waves deep inside his chest. The masses poured out of the great halls. The townspeople had just left their nonsecular escape.

Bill was among the crowd, who almost instantly spotted the ATV and made towards his friends after exiting the building. Bill exuded a natural gracefulness in his stride and demeanor, an air of soothing serenity about him as he descended the steps. He harbored no ill will towards even Traxus IX itself. Justin wondered how he managed it all these years as he greeted him.

"Sorry about last night. We had to jet. We had a little run-in with Jim."

"I am sorry to hear that. Hopefully, it will all blow over. Are you headed home?"

"Yeah. We didn't bring the skis, so you're gonna have to sit on the front rack."

"That's okay. Just go slow."

The ride back to the igloo took longer than usual from Bill having to ride the ATV in an awkward position—atop the fore rack. It was a small area and ill-suited for a safe or comfortable ride.

They arrived. Bill dismounted first, rubbing his backside from the metal bars of the rack digging into his skin. Justin and Chris took all the supplies into the igloo. "Where do you want the fuel jugs?" Chris asked.

"We're leaving them on the 'Goose."

"You don't think people would steal it?"

"No. We're not done going places yet. One more place to go and we need a lot of fuel to get there."

"Where?" Chris asked warily.

"We're going far South where an old friend of ours lives."

"Oh, I see. What for?"

"You know those flowers I pulled from the cave?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm pretty sure you can get high off them. But we need an outside opinion from an expert before we try that, though. Some plants'll kill ya."

"Does he know a lot about plants and stuff?"

"Oh yeah. You could say he lives his life by them."

"How do you find plants on a plantless world? And who in the Hell can live off of plants?"

Justin ignored Chris' first question, but readily answered his second.

"Solomon."