Chapter 33: " Take Leave "

Red's antennae dropped low.

Sono was the last Tallest to become an obstacle. He'd already sinned and so it was easy to be rid of him. All they had to do was give the evidence of his transgression, lie to the people that he was exiled and then kill him in secret. But it wasn't just him, no no…

Red fell to his knees. His mind had been rent in two.

His pupils. His followers. His advocates. They were all wiped away from memory. His fame, the movement dedicated to him; his philosophy. All vanished into thin air. But you didn't know this... Nobody knows this.

All of the artists you see here followed Sono. They had like minds. They died because of that. They died because they needed to.

And that was the start of an imperialistic mindset, one this time that was going to be enforced. The start of the Future of Irk, they called it.

It was so easy to change everything, when everything was under control and every obstacle was eliminated. It was so easy to kill...

...But... time tells of a tale that will be heard once more. It will be listened to and internalized;

...There's already another obstacle. One trying to ruin Irk's good name.

"Why would they do this?" He said, barely audible.

Tch, tch. You're becoming so...humane. The question you need to ask is why not? It lead to a greater future, did it not? One that you lavish in, as of right now?

"It shouldn't be achieved through the slaughter of others." Red hissed. "Especially of your own people."

Oh, Red. You're so clueless, I can't even pity you.

Red closed his eyes and leaned forward. He remembered those words all too well.

"...If that tactic is so fucking great, how come we've been doing so well without it? If it's the answer to every damn thing there is, then why did we stop using it?!" Red raised his voice, not entirely achieving yelling. An amused snort could be heard.

We didn't stop using it, Red. Where do you think PAKs come from?

Sickness coiled and lurched inside Red's stomach. He kept it back with his breath that he held in his lungs, blood gathering in his face. He swallowed a large lump and strained himself from retching.

"What?" He choked.

A brain can't be made, Red. It's too complex. It's too...natural. So they cultivate. They harvest. Why try to perfect something already so impeccable?

Red's stomach twisted and his throat tightened. He leaned forward and held the wall for support, his other hand grasping against his stomach that was threatening to disgorge.

But now it's became second hand nature. Those smeeteries down there do one hell of a job, if you ask me.

"Stop..."

All those who die are used, harvested, and their brains are recycled. Stuffed with metallic counterparts to program, structure and conform it's mentality. Consolidate it's otherwise messy and individualized way of thinking. They're given shells, they're given arachnid appendages. I think it's quite like an upgrade.

"Stop it."

And when people can't just seem to die quickly enough, we have those fancy Redeemer's Cards to thank for. They annihilate all chances of securing a future for Irkens and trap them in an abyss of everlasting debt that eventually will lead to their fanciful ending. It's become so industrialized...so beautiful.

"Stop...Stop, Stop."

I never changed you, Red. You changed yourself. I would've remained silent and dead, just like every other PAK, unless I didn't notice that spark from your mind. The spark that showed me you were different. I...was intrigued by it. You made me intrigued by you, of all people. So I investigated, found out more, came to a conclusion...and acted on it. I baited you...and you sought me out.

I had set down a piece. One I waited for, for a while. I would have be beaming if I was able to, when I saw that you picked it up. Of course, it didn't start changing you immediately, but you were the one who got it on it's feet.

I set that piece so you could see the type of shithole you lived in. The one which would consume you whole and wouldn't regret a damn thing. It seems as though, being Tallest doesn't mean, Well—anything, really. It's...just formation of sounds from the tongue with the definition foregoing no more of an analysis than a defect…

Red turned his head and his face constricted in his sorrow.

Wonderfully put. Couldn't do better myself.

He covered his antennae, his body trembling with emotions. Tears fell from his eyes and his breathing became hiccuped. But the need to remove the uproar of his instability was surpassed by the need to further push him below into the void of reality.

But the part I truly love...was the defect part...Interesting word choice. You know? It's...like you already knew.

The Tallest stopped sobbing and his breath halted in his throat, choking away his emotions for the words he heard. He coughed and he looked up before him. The blood was gone from the paintings, but he didn't notice. Red's head bobbed slightly, shaking with a strange slow pace that looked as though he was riddled with insanity.

I...wonder if you've always known. Just barely. A tiny, miniscule feeling lying at the back of each word and thought.

Red got up slowly. His muscles were weak and his appearance sickly. When he was finally on his unsteady feet, he looked around. Probably just now realizing the blood he saw was from his mind.

Nobody ever said anything. It wasn't until you changed I noticed you're mentality was naturally drawn to it. It was...fascinating.

"What are you saying?" He asked. "What are you implying?"

Why, only the truth, Red.

The Tallest ground his teeth to this.

"I'm not a defect." He snarled. The voice only chuckled to this.

Do you even know what it means to be a defect, Red?

Instinctively and rather most defensively, Red's mind shot around all of the memories he'd had about learning what it meant to be a defect. He recounted all of the technical things about them and all of their aspects that made them defective in the first place, taught by his many instructors. Reassured with evidence, Red felt the ease of a confident retort warm his head.

But soon, he was met with another sharp thrust of pain, entering his frontal lobe and he groaned in agony.

No. None of that dogma.

Red held his head and the sensation passed, leaving along his nerves to buzz with residual pain, aching as if in shock.

Let's...How about we take a gander at the details they didn't tell you? The dirty, gritty truths they were so keen on hiding…

Red had hardly time to react, his mind still circulating around the pain.

A defect is an Irken with a PAK device that doesn't work as promised. Fair enough...But how?

Ah. The brain. The brain is a very homogenous organ, much like everything about an Irken. It's all incorrigible, intricate pieces of flesh. And sadly enough, we can't keep trace of all of the binding forces of what makes a brain think and act. So there are slip ups, here and there, embarrassingly enough.

A defected PAK is where the utilized brain is showing signs of the original Irken it came from. Signs like sentience, memories, and consciousness all unpertaining to the programming from the device itself.

And we can't work with a PAK that's breaking code. So the only remedial action left for that defect is…

Red closed his eyes. He could feel blood pulsing through a vein located near his temple. He could feel all of his muscles twitching and trembling, straining to keep him upright and threatening to cause him to plummet to the ground. He could feel his head throbbing with a resounding pain that he knew was caused by the voice. The thing that was offsetting, though, was that the voice was starting to sound entertained. Enthused. Almost joyous. He knew he did so ironically, but it was sickening. Red tried to take a deep breath, but it pushed too much against his digestive tracts.

"...Death." he whispered. The voice laughed in triumph.

Correct!

The Tallest shook his head. He wouldn't bring himself to listen to this fool any longer.

"If I was a defect, I wouldn't even be alive right now...I wouldn't even have gotten past my preliminary schooling. They would've noticed..." Red reasoned, whether to the voice or to himself he didn't know. "...But I'm still here. I passed all my scans and inspections...I made it through."

The Tallest closed his eyes shut, suffered through a few throbs of his acing head, opened his eyes and attempted to straighten his posture. It worked for a moment, before he nearly fell against the wall closest to him. He leaned against it for support, his brow perspiring.

You don't give me enough credit, Red. I've been here long enough to learn a thing or two.

Red opened his mouth and breathed in and out, his nostrils feeling as though they were suffocating him with the lack of air they were allowing. He closed his eyes once more; The repetition of doing so starting to strain his eyelids, already burning from his headache.

You see, I tricked the machines. I tricked the Instructors. I deceived them all. Hell, I even deceived you.

When the time came, I'd just retreat back into the recesses of your mind. I was psychologically absent from the PAK and so I shared a mind with you. Then it would appear to be a regular, functioning PAK device— Spick-and-span. How else do you think I can talk to you? Of course, I have to go back every once and a while; You tend to get very emotional and so hard to work with.

Red furrowed his brow and his lips curled into a miserable frown. All he could do was shake his head.

"You're lying."

It came out like a groan.

Am I? Am I really?

"Yes." He growled. "That's all you do...That's all you'll ever do."

Oh dear. My Tallest is angry. Whatever shall I—

"Shut up!" Red yelled, this time his voice booming across the vicinity. In consequence, his head swam and blood rushed to his brain. It ate away at his vision and he nearly fell back down to the floor but he gripped the wall and borne all his weight against it. His head throbbed terribly and the blood pulsating through only worsened his burning headache, but his temper wouldn't help him keep composure. He was sure—the headache, the sickness, the nausea and disorientation, all of what he was feeling—was psychological. It came under the influence of his damned PAK, more so of him. The reason wasn't made known to him, but there was no explanation known nor needed. Red heaved in his lungs air to prepare "I am not a defect." and "I know I'm not...I know..."

There was a pause. For how long it would be there, Red couldn't tell. But he kept to himself, trying to manage through his falling health. He breathed heavily with great fonts of air, feeling as if he couldn't get enough. Soon, though, the voice chuckled.

Reminds you too much of Zim, doesn't it? Being called defect?

Red groaned and closed his eyes in hearing the voice.

Despite how much you say you resent yourself, pride still looms over your head like a pretty little halo for our perfect little angel.

Red breathed in a few more times before suffering his lungs to another line.

"I'm not defected." The Tallest said, trying to state it as directly as possible.

Alright then. Explain me.

Red furrowed his brow, after the first few moments of hearing what the voice had said. He waited a bit and pressed his head against the wall, his body temperature rising.

"What?" He said feebly.

Explain me. Use my existence as evidence as to why you're not a defect, and how it doesn't effect you.

Red's face contorted in his sickness, everywhere in his body painful and anemic. His breathing was at the point of becoming shallow until everything he felt halted. His breath was held inside his lungs and the nerves in his body that received signals of pain and debilitation were inhibited. He felt nothing but numbness and it's absence of sensation. But it returned in a sudden, enforced manner. Red's stomach stopped curling around inside him and the nausea disappeared alongside it. His head ceased throbbing and the sharp, cutting pain in his head disappeared as well. In the span of a moment, his infirmity and all of it's symptoms was gone. Red's conscious took a moment to understand what had just occurred. He blinked and his brain finally cycled the information being sent. The Tallest looked at the wall, as if confused how he came to be against it and slowly pushed himself off, resuming a straight posture. And then, after all that, finally realized.

Red had been right. It was all in his mind. But the event of everything he felt, being dulled down to absolute nothing from disease-like symptoms was beyond unexplainable. The power of his PAK, it's jurisdiction and the authority it had over his mind and body presented itself to the forefront of his mind. Soon, his hands began shaking and he looked around him at the paintings he'd thought to be covered in blood. His lower lip trembled.

...A "functioning" PAK can't do that, now can it?

Red closed his eyes. This time, shaking his head occurred a lot slower, now that the information of what the voice had been suggesting to him was coming to him with a much more powerful deliverance. It's validity was made manifest and now Red had no where to turn his head to in hopes of avoiding it's presence.

"No." Was all he could say. It came out shaky and quiet. It wasn't in response to the voice; It was an undignified sign of denial. Red's face contorted in his sorrow.

What a terrible day. It truly is...It truly is.

The Tallest covered his face.

"...Why are you doing this?" He asked. But the voice that came out of his throat was unrecognizable. It was weak, sullen, and pitiable. It was defeated at all levels of emotion and intellect, wretched in that he was now at the expense of somebody else. What had happened to him? How did he unravel so quickly?

Because seeing an Irken, who's thought of nothing but his own inflated ego, mentally collapse is an enjoyment to bear witness to.

And I'll admit. You don't entirely deserve it. But I overindulge in seeing you wallow. I haven't felt so immensely happy since...well, ever.

All Red could do was lower his head.

The others weren't as easy, I could say. They had much sturdier sets of images that was founded upon vanity as impenetrable as bedrock. But seeing their fall was all the more worth the wait.

Red opened his eyes and he held down his emotions. He looked ahead of him in the hallway. The voice reappeared outside.

"...There were others? Before me?" He asked, holding back his hiccuped breathing.

I've said it multiple times, Red...I've been here for a long time.

His chuckles afterwards echoed throughout the hallway, the vibrations crashing against the walls and into one another as it resounded and eventually hit Red's antennae in an imperfect balance. Soon hitting against his emotional stability as well.

"...How many?"

It almost came above the volume of a whisper.

I want to say 5...But it feels paltry, for whatever strange reason that might compel me to think as such. Time really waits for nobody.

Red's antennae dropped upon hearing this.

Yes...And the sad part is, I remember each and every one of them. Their names, their personalities, their faces. That's the thing about being an intelligent defect; you can hide for centuries...

...With all of that in mind, that makes you terribly,most exponentially more defective than what even Zim was ever considered to be.

Red gazed forward, his eyes looking upon the area around him without comprehension. His mind felt nonexistent and he was starting to feel he was tearing at the seams. The heavy influx of information, all being forwarded punishingly at the same time, caused him to question everything as he found them to break grounds on his own realities. He was lead to question if any of this was really happening, his brain trying to find justification but failing. He looked down slowly, his confusion slowly transitioning into his grief and defeat.

He went through the process of re-visualizing all of the events that lead up to here, trying to feel if what he remembered was actually something that happened and not some false intuition employed through the works of his PAK device. But he couldn't decipher any of them; They all felt the same. Sending out the commensurate balance of truth and lies, each seemingly capable of being manufactured or experienced. Red clasped his hands against his head. He gritted his teeth and soon his face resumed form of his sorrow. His world felt it was falling underneath him.

I assure you everything I've told you and everything you've experienced is nothing but the most sincerest form of honesty there could ever be.

Red began sobbing. After a bit, his sobbing became louder.

"Make them stop." He muttered, through his quaking voice and breathing. He stepped towards his left until he encountered the wall and rested his shoulder. Then he placed his forehead against it, his hands now covering his antennae, using the wall to catch his tears. But he descended down while he leaned, down until he was no longer on his feet but cowering into the wall.

Red couldn't describe it, but he felt as though if the voice had the capability, he'd be smiling gently. In a caustic fashion.

Ah. Well, that's the thing about emotions, Red. They make us whole. They may tear through you and engorge all of what makes you strong but they do it not without reason.

Before the voice finished his line, Red began begging. It wasn't entirely noticeable until his hiccups declined and his voice strained as he spoke, running on breathe that left his lungs. Then he'd inhale sharply and repeat, his voice beginning quakily at first until again he'd lose breath as he spoke and it would begin straining once more, giving it an almost groaning effect as when wood would make when constricted.

Sorry, Red. That's just how life works. It knocks you down, even when you plead for mercy. You wouldn't have known that, though. You've been sheltered you're entire life.

...You've lead a very privileged one, at that. One you've taken advantage of extensively. Even at the expense of others'.

But despite as much as I want to, I can't blame you. This entire planet preys on the lives of others to make it's own more bearable and meaningful. Killing and murdering, all for the sake of self-esteem. You've been taught that. You didn't choose, though you might've later on in life, to live this way in the way beginning. Nobody did, really.

It's been ingrained in our mentalities. And it's been reinforced through generations after generations. Killing and murdering...It's been present longer than you've been alive. That's why I set that piece, Red. So you can change yourself. Because now you and me are the only ones who can see what Irk truly is. Even if you are going to die because you broke code. Everybody else has been too programmed to be themselves anymore.

Even our beloved, revered leader has fallen victim to this.

Red opened his eyes and stopped crying.

Yes. Purple...our family, our brother, our pawn...What will become of our most cherished and precious comrade?

Red breathed out, and it came out in shaky, wispy fonts.

The transgression of one, the purity of the other.

"No...They won't change him! They can't...Purple...He's not evil...He was the one who told me I was foolish for thinking of conquering a-and ruling over our people—He won't—"

He will change, Red.

"No he won't! He's—"

Perfect. Remember? He's the one that isn't a defect. Sure, he's free-thinking and free-willed now. But that's already changing. Remember what he said earlier? That he wasn't always by your side because he was 'busy' and he was asked a lot about you, in particular?

Red held his breath for an expanse of time until it hurt his lungs. He gritted his teeth. His thoughts...His emotions...they were becoming uncontrollable. He couldn't help the running thoughts that put everything into question, now that his mind was confluent with his confusion.

"...But Purple..." Red strained. "...He's...He's my brother."

Not much longer. Judging by his behavior and the situation, I'm guessing he's being influenced by the Control Brains. For all we know, he probably went back to them the moment you left him.

"No." The Tallest said, weakly. "No no, no..."

Red was soon gripping his head once more. His fingers dug into his skin, but the pain hardly registered. This was all happening too fast. The information was too much. His mind felt as though it were crumbling underneath it all. This felt like some cruel, elaborate joke was being played on him. By every means possible, he wished it was.

"Why him?" He asked weakly. "...He's a good person...He's..."

It's because he's programmable, Red. He's able to be changed, by the will of the Control Brains. His kindness and his consideration, they've already been removed. Why else do you think he questions you whenever you talk about Wesley or Mord, or visit the Gallery? Does the Purple you remember act so bigoted? The Control Brains have already started on him. They've tried with you in the beginning, but you weren't malleable enough.

Red's body resumed trembling.

"No...No—I've known him since I was a smeet, he's not evil!" He cried.

He doesn't have to be. The only thing he has to be is obedient...And in his case, and in everybody else's case that matters, that obedience is forced.

"Dammit..."

Do you remember the time when he said he'd help you when you were assigned at that E-commonplace station? He'd switch out with you for a few times, to relieve the pressure on you? Notice how he never fulfilled that promise. It's because the Control Brains kept him from doing it. Instead they held a private conference and told him about what they sensed in you.

They told him their suspicions and he listened to them.

"no..."

They convinced him, Red. Everywhere he goes, they're inside his head like I am with yours. They're corrupting him, forming him into what they need him to be. The Purple you know is slipping away, Red. It won't be long until he's gone. That's why he's been absent lately. That's why you were on your own for most of the time. It's because he's disappearing. He's becoming the Tallest Irk needs him to be.

When Red's crying was becoming uncontrollable, the PAK stirred and eliminated his emotions. Red didn't know what to think of first, no immediate conclusions appearing in his mind. He thought for a bit that it was the voice taking pity. But when the process was done, he realized it was done in effect to ensure Red heard what else was being said.

I know you care about him, Red. But your love isn't going to bring him back. Especially not with the I.C.B pushing him.

He's changing, and they're moving. You've wronged Irk and it's laws, and now they know for a surety you're defective. You're going to be punished for it, for being able to live for so long to spread your incongruity. Everything that was holding Purple and the Control Brains back is now gone, now that Purple had the chance to witness your 'defective' nature himself. Now I'm sure he's returning back to the I.C.B and telling them his observations.

He's loyal to you, Red. That's why he wanted to talk to you. But he's also becoming over-zealous for Irk. When the time comes, I think he'll be the one himself to remove you from the picture.

Red formed a fist and slammed it against the wall.

"Shut up!" He yelled. Purple wouldn't even dream of wanting to do that. Red understood everything of what the voice was telling him, but he wouldn't stand by and allow him to degrade Purple's loyalty to Red like that, as if he was some degenerate that could be bought by the highest price to betray those he loved.

Silence spilled over and filled the room between them for a long, insurmountable amount of time. Red stayed against the wall, thinking about all of what was happening and trying to comprehend it all. He did this for a long time. A cleaning bot passed by, slowly and procedurally, vacuuming and shampooing the floor. It's engine hummed tirelessly and gave off an energetic vibe. He brought his knees closer to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. His brain and his thoughts felt so clogged...so thick and impeded. It was so stressful. All of it was. It hit against his emotions still, even when he would only think about it. Having the knowledge of what was actually happening in Irk, the things that came to pass and the things that were bound to appear, was sobering. The Tallest tried not to let it get the best of him. Tried being the definitive word.

The Gallery was quiet. Uninhabited, if excluding the one being of life in it. It was hardly visited, and it's timeless relics of age and history were gathering dust instead of the attention of a common people. They would stay this way, as means of garnering whatever vestiges of worth that were around and clung the dislodged particles to themselves. Until, they were wiped down with protective agents to preserve their luster and appearance, buffed up for an audience that never showed and were left alone once more. Books were wiped with thin sponges, the bots steady and sure not to touch the pages, paintings dusted and placed back against their designated hangers. Cleaning bots that were posted here worked tirelessly and without slack, mopping the floors and shampooing the carpets. Occasionally, which occurred once a month, more advanced bots would bring ladders and clean the pillars, archways and the signature curved roofs.

It was...strange and sad to think that bots gave more care to the place than the actual public did. And not even willingly.

Red blinked, his thoughts eventually converging, ending his daydreaming. Finally, after all the time of sitting pensively and cogitating all of what he could gather, Red lifted his head from the wall and stood up leisurely. He looked around.

"...What do I do?" He asked, quietly. For a moment he feared the voice left him, like he used to all of the times before. It spread a small amount of chills, even though he didn't consider it sincerely. After a passage of time though, the chills were starting to feel justified and his heart streamed out terse fonts of uneasiness. He looked around him, the walls suddenly feeling a little looming and close, The portraits stiff and far, no longer emanating the small amount of comfort he felt once upon a time.

Do you want to live?

Red knitted his brow together. In his heart, there was no doubt about his wanting to live, and for a moment he thought to consider it a fairly ridiculous question.

Yes. He responded.

Then leave.

There was a force of confusion withholding him from realizing what was being said. Red looked around him once more, his mind and heart more alert. Instinctively, he didn't see the immediate danger but he understood it. It was there his bemusement rose. Red looked around, as if to ensure the immediate danger wasn't actually physical.

Leave Irk, Red. Never come back.

The Tallest began walking. Hesitantly at first. But he picked up speed. He mentally checked to make sure he was going the right direction to the exit. He took a deep breath. Fear made up the blood circulating through his body.

Red...

He mentally paused. He awaited a response, being called so. And as if the fear was riling inside the voice as well…

Run.

After that he did. He ran until his throat burned and his heart hurt whenever it pulsed but he kept running. Past bookshelves, past doors, ran down staircases and ran along tiled floors. Jumped over benches, ran through hallways and skipped up stairs. Part of him wanted to stop, to take some visual notes about the Gallery for memories. But he didn't. Part of him wanted to take books, paintings and artifacts as he ran past them all, to keep them. To preserve them. He wanted to remember them, the people, Irk's history...no...his history...But he didn't.

Red kept running, until he nearly collapsed in front of the door to exit the Gallery, his legs giving out on him. He tumbled onto the floor with his knees, heavily fatigued and his muscles and lungs beyond strained. Through this exertion, his throat became dry and his muscles trembled. His heart raced to distend air and blood throughout his body, sweating profusely from his internal heat. Red lied on the cold tiles and writhed in his own enforced pain. His lungs heaved dry and coarse air, rubbing against his throat and he wanted to wail one last time to let out all of his pain and emotions. But he stayed silent and still—subjectively— long enough until he was able to stand up and breathe once more before he exited the Gallery. He pressed his hands against the double doors and pushed his way passed, the doors slowly closing behind him with a metallic click. He didn't look back.

Outside of the Gallery, Red's senses fell to paranoia. His skin crawled and his body resumed trembling, now reinforced by trepidation and fear. He became cautious of everything and everyone that he saw or passed by, walking through hallways and antechambers. He could feel their eyes burrowing into his body, their gaze surveying his every twitch and tremble. If he blinked, somebody saw it. If he coughed, somebody heard it. If he tried to warm his cold, clammy hands, somebody questioned; He was sweating still from overexercising himself earlier. When he had passed by a guard that saluted him, he wiped his brow of sweat and forgot to acknowledge the guard. It wasn't until a moment later that he realized his actions.

Red formed fists with his hands and swallowed a lump in his throat.

"What do I do?" He whispered desperately, soon looking around his vicinity to ensure nobody was around to hear or see him complete it. There was a soldier positioned some distance away, down an opposite hallway to where Red was walking away from, standing completely statutory. It was possible he could've heard it. Red quickened his pace even more, his breathing coming out heavy and hot. Terror stood on his skin and excited his nerves. He tried not to shake too much as he passed a corner and began walking his way through a lobby.

Don't speak. Think about what you want to say. I know you haven't done it intentionally before, but it's the only safe way to communicate.

Red swallowed, his dry throat preventing it from happening. The second time occurred with struggle, but with more results. He nodded very lightly, a little unsure how to feel about the voice not being derogative for once. He looking around him once more as he left the lobby and ventured down stairs, his shoes meeting carpet. Soon he passed by two stationed soldiers that prefaced the corridor, one which he was familiar with to leading to his bedroom. Forming his thoughts in means of communicating occurred a little more slower than naturally. He had to think about the way the word looked visually in his head before moving on to the next, trying to completely solidify his thoughts and meaning. But for a while, nothing was said back. He repeated the process and received the same results. Chills passed down his spine.

He passed his chambers. He immediately remembered Roxi and his heart twinged. But he forced himself to think of other things.

I can't always immediately respond. I have to hide in your mind. That way I'm not…

Red turned a corner and began walk down another flight of stairs. He realized that not all of the throbs his brain felt, with the blood rushing through his body, was actually his blood. In this case, it was the voice's transition.

...picked up by the I.C.B sensors.

Red thought visually about the words he wanted to say.

The. I.C.B. Have.Sensors?

Yes. That's why I normally don't speak to you in these hallways. But right now it's necessary.

I. Thought. They. Only. Had. Microphone...Things.

They do. The sensors and microphones are used together in one body, that way it's easier to conceal. But I can notice the electromagnetic waves they emit. Just as they can PAK devices.

Red continued walking, taking a deep breath. He shot a quick glance around his vicinity once more.

Where. Do. I. Go?

There wasn't an immediate response to it. Red kept walking forward, silently expecting an answer. He looked around him once more, anxiously.

To Conventia.