Half of the vehicles parked at the obelisk were missing. The thunder, lighting, rain and gales remained unwavering. Did they create this environment or is it out of their control?

  He left the Versa running as he got out for the entrance, his leather overcoat keeping him warm despite the weather. The door was already open, yet half the lights were out. All he hoped for in the immediate moment was some gas left over to help refuel for the hanger.

  Before he could find out, a familiar face spotted him.

  “John!” Gilbert says, his arms high in the air as he stands a forehead taller than John. “Hey Gilbert. Good to see you again. How are the others doing?”

  “The others?” Gilbert asked, one of the rebellion staff walking past with a crate. “I thought you left with them? What the Hell have you been doing this whole time?!”

  John expected that people would've been told where he went. Evidentially, that is not the case.

  “Oh. Huh. It's a long story, man. But uhh… long story short. I have a plan going forward for this resistance. And I have been very, very busy actually.”

  “Sounds cryptic.” Gilbert replies, his face not particularly impressed. John elaborates, walking past and giving him a tap on the shoulder.

  “Jimbo’s dead. And I got two essay’s worth of information out of him. C’mon, I'll help you move shit.”

  Gilbert stood there for a second and he processed the information. “Well, shit!” He says, turning around to catch up.

  There were about six people left at the obelisk by this point. They knew they couldn't bring everything, and they didn't have to.

  John broke off from them for a while as he inspected the inside one last time. The Hasting's Museum, a bastion of false hope. Yet, a time capsule of history at the same time. Contained in a corporate construct which, on the inside, was lined with the desperate murals of a world since-lost.

  How ironic, John thinks as he enters the museum. Gary's room was gutted, the white board clean and blank.

  The computer lab, largely gutted. But… the exhibitions? Totally untouched. John walked over to his favorite, the one of the fabled Indians. He looked at his and her sleeping spot, wondering what she is doing right now.

  He leaves, shoving the melancholy into a deep dark pit to be sealed later. Before long, everything important was loaded up. A huge truck came, likely from the hanger, to pick it all up.

  John gives Gary a wave as he spots him as the driver. As the rain falls on his head, he jumps back into the refueled Versa and starts it again. He pursues the huge truck from behind, following it like a bad smell.

  He let the stereo play, though didn't give the songs much attention.

  There is a degree of normalcy in the air despite the fact how literally everything is changing. Wait, maybe not normalcy. Maybe… anticipation? He cannot put a word to it. But it feels exciting. It feels dangerous. It feels tiring.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He then realizes near the end of the trip that he doesn't know how he feels either. Though his eyelids are heavy, and he has done a lot of driving today. The roads get more familiar the deeper they go into Colorado, his last trip here kept in the food-warmer of his memory. He turns his jacket heating off as he fears he might fall asleep if he gets too comfortable. Then, he is reminded of Ridley. Then, oh, look. There's the runway right there. Nice. A hangar too.

  There were lights on the runway this time; signs of life as a few people stood outside, specs in the distance by the open and illuminated hangar. The truck took the open gate into the airfield. John followed, too tired to be unique.

  He breaks off from the truck to park with the rest of the vehicles from the obelisk. As he gets out, the air is much nippier than back in Nebraska. Much colder and slightly thinner.

  As the rain falls upon him once more— as he walks to the open, warmly lit hangar; he notices a gathering of people just below the arm of an airplane.

  He enters the structure proper, hearing someone shouting loudly from the wing. As he enters the crowd, a few people leave to help unload the huge truck. As he looks up again, he sees Crosby talking. He listens to his words.

  “There is no room for bullshit anymore! No more room for lies! You all know why you e come here— because you hate the system! At least for one reason or another.”

  He watches as Crosby takes a few steps back, the rain a harsh static to his words as it assaults the high metal roof. “But yeah. That is all from me. I can promise that our numbers will grow very, very soon. Yeah. Anyways, I yield the floor.”

  Crosby takes a few steps back to get out of view. The crowd claps, but John feels he has missed a lot of context. As the crowd finished clapping, another figure walked forward on the wing. A small girl who's outline was drawn by the light behind her. She walked even further forward, confirming to John that it was Amy. She begins speaking to the crowd.

  “...I have gotten to know a lot of you quite well since I've been here. It… it actually feels like I've been here for a long time when I think about it… but then I realize it's been less than a week! Imagine that!”

  A warm smile engulfs John's face as he looks up to her with tired deliriousness.

  “I am… in an uncertain time personally. As I'm sure many of you are. And as we all should be sure that we are, as a collective. But… uncertainty isn't inherently bad when you think about it. We've all had similar experiences. We know how bleak and unfulfilled our lives were before we left the system.”

  John tilts his head as he listens to his words, a side of Amy he felt he could see for a long time finally blooming.

  “And I know how little that changed even as we entered rebellion! Because little did we know, that whole time, we were just part of the system. But not anymore.”

  John can tell her eyes do not look at the crowd. She is speaking from the heart, but her heart is sensitive to a fault. It is still beautiful to see.

  “We all have our reasons to fight. We share a lot in common when it comes to that, I'm sure. We have our collective reasons, but please, please find in yourself your own personal reasons to fight. We have been just… statistics for so long that a lot of us have forgotten what it's like to be an individual. And that is exactly what we need to be. Thank you.”

  Amy takes a few steps back. Something catches her attention from behind and, after exchanging a few inaudible words, she waddles back to the front again.

  “Oh, sorry! One more thing! Once Gary has sorted our supplies, we all need to gather back here for another meeting! Come back here in about… an hour! Use your digiphones to keep track of time, we don't have to worry about that anymore.”

  John watches as she runs back out of view. He looked around the people surrounding. They seemed to want to clap, but didn't get the time to because she rushed off.

  But now he has a time. And he has permission to use technology. Now, all he has to do is let her know he's okay. Everything else can wait.