"Huuuuuuuh… I can't answer you. You're way too suspicious, and you're asking about a kid's identity" said Submoloc Karl, owner of a popular restaurant in Pearl Hill.
"What part of me is suspicious?" asked the other man.
"I mean, look at you—your whole body is covered in bandages."
"That's just wounds and burns."
"Then start by giving your real name."
"My name is… weellllllll…"
"I knew it! You're making up a name, aren't you? I'm calling the cops."
"Hey, okay, wait! My name is welllllll…"
"I'M NOT BELIEVING YOU ANYMORE. I'M CALLING THE SOLDIERS!" Karl shouted.
"What about… Lark Colombus?"
"...WAAAAIIIIIITTT! THAT'S THE REVERSE OF MY NAME!"
Karl snapped, "That's it. I'm done with you. Leave while you still can—or I'm calling the soldiers!"
"Wait, wait! I was just joking. My name is Ailer Lamb, and here's my teacher ID."
Karl narrowed his eyes. "Hmmm… Ailer Lamb. Okay."
*With a comically serious face*, "What kind of kid are you looking for? Why do you need him? Why specifically that boy? Why a kid from this place? And why are you asking me?"
"Uhmm, that's a lot of questions. First of all…"
*With a comically serious face*, "He has an attractive face any girl would love, and I'm looking for him because—"
"An attractive face any girl would love? Isn't that me?"
*A long, awkward silence.*
"I've wanted to make that joke for a long time, you know."
*Another awkward silence.*
"Anyway, ask the soldiers. They're usually patrolling near the end of this street."
"Thanks," Ailer said and left.
He met with the soldiers , they were none other than the Jonathans , he saw their badges
"Oh, both of you are named Jonathan? That's sweet."
"Yeah, thanks," said the fat Jonathan.
"But I think you guys have mixed up your uniforms."
"You people are always like this, huh? Let me explain it for your dumbass," said fat Jonathan.
"See his shirt? What does it say?"
"Jonathan," Ailer replied.
"And what's that guy's name?"
"Jonathan," Ailer repeated.
"See? I told you—it's his uniform." Fat Jonathan beamed proudly.
"These guys' IQs are in single digits," Ailer thought, wearing a confused, surprised look.
"Ahhh… yeah, yeah, you're not wrong. I see now. My bad."
"It's good as long as you understand."
"Anyway, I'll be going now," Ailer said as he walked away.
He decided not to ask them about Carlos. Instead, he made his way to the junkyard on the second mountain, still searching.
"I should've asked them—just in case. And a little peek in this paper wouldn't hurt, right?"
"Right?"
"RIGHT???"
But he had already opened the bottle.
The first line read:
"A letter to my friend, Frie"
He hesitated, feeling that reading personal letters was wrong. But as he closed it, he caught a glimpse of the last line:
"From your dear friend,
~Abern Markist"
~[DATE: 52 Hempes 2072, LOCATION: Hikin Steam Production, Earth, 3rd Parallel Universe (relative to the current universe)]~
NARRATOR: According to "Time-Travel Log"—a mysterious book written by an unknown author—certain time and date can only be reached by traveling from specific time and date. The book catalogs these target date and time and their corresponding access points. Some dates have more than one entry point.
A rainy early morning. Water splashed over the road as a steam-powered mechanical car zipped through the misty streets.
The old man inside asks the driver to drive fast.
"Sir, we've already crossed the speed limit. Any faster and we'll be caught by the traffic sensors. Please understand," said the driver.
"Sorry for the ridiculous request," the old man replied.
"I can't believe I forgot about it… Will those guys even remember? Not a chance. They told me to remember," he muttered to himself.
Steam smoke cloaked the streets as the vehicle glided through an eerily empty road. This was a STEAMPUNK civilization—different from our modern world.
After a while, they reached their destination: a vast mansion, with men in formal suits and umbrellas standing out front.
The old man stepped out and carefully counted the coins from his purse, handing the fare to the driver.
"Uhmm… gr-greetings. May I meet the owner of this mansion?"
"May I ask who you are, sir?"
"Let's just say… we go way back."
"I'm his butler. May I have your name?"
"Richie G-Garfield," he said, hesitating.
"Ah. A pleasure to meet you, respected sir."
"I-it's okay, it's okay. May I meet him now?"
"Please come inside, sir," said the butler, eyes sharp.
As Richie entered, he noticed the strange glances from the men outside.
Inside, the butler asked him to wait on a central sofa surrounded by lavish decorations and paintings , it is designed carefully from floor to ceiling.
"Ohhh, Richie! It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
"O-oh yeah…" he replied softly.
"Man, why so formal? This was your house a few years ago."
One of the paintings on the wall was a portrait of Richie Garfield.
"That's one memory I don't want to revisit, Kevin."
"Oh… sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I just wanted to cheer you up from those formal-."
" Yeah I know it. But listen—we have to time travel today. It's the specified day to reach July 22nd, 2000." said Richie
"Oooooh, right. So… what are we doing exactly?"
"I don't know...Th-the diary's missing." he uttered with a worried face , wiping his sweat of his face with his handkerchief.
~[DATE: 21st July 2000 , TIME: ~10:30 PM]~
"So… you believe me now?" asked Dr. Dan.
"Y-yes, sir," said Sam.
"So, I can only disclose few of the inventions from my side" said Dr.Dan and added "you see these things , they are the invention of GOD"
He gestured to a small structure of gears, livers, steam chambers, and wires.
"Its very rare to find a scientist who believes in God,"
"What does it do?" continued Sam.
"The possibilities are never zero, right? I respect both science and faith. As for this thing—it's a universal communication device. You can hear anything from anywhere through this device, though it has its limitations. But that's boring stuff, so I'll skip it. Next question?"
"Why did you jam all global communications?" said sam.
"I mean this is a definitely a risky question, but I think I should just sneak it this way. Will he fall for the bait?" thought sam.
"So finally you have decided to ask it."
He smiled.
"These universal communication devices? There are more out there—and they can't be jammed. To locate them, I jammed everything else."
DATE: July 22nd, 2000 – Morning
A robot marched toward the group.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," said Pickle.
"oi , it's the right time to show off you know?" thought Mike.
Kevin looked anxious.
"not you too Kevin, worry about that doll not about her"
The robot suddenly collapsed on its own.
"What is this thing , it was talking right??" asked Alice with confusion.
"we don't know too, and Henry , what is connection with that thing, it clearly said "I am your invention" are you its father or something?" asked Carlos.
"Shut up, womanizer," Henry mumbled, embarrassed.
Carlos, randomly:
"There's a flowerbed on the eighth mountain. We should go tomorrow—after the rain it has a beautiful view."
"hey you guys , just think about the situation we are in, What are you guys teenagers in love phase...Well yeah we are teenagers , but again , what is happened to us just now is not a normal thing." thought Mike.
Even Alice, confused about the robot case, felt she understood the atmosphere around her. Though she knew she shouldn't be happy, a small smile crept onto her face. She thought she should make her choice soon.
~[Few days before the T.H.I.N.G.S's fall ]~
In a desert pyramid, a man resembling both Mr. Dan and Carlos's grandfather—yet younger and taller than both, wearing a monocle specs(one eyed specs) and having more hair—discovered a green rum bottle sealed with a sponge cork.
Inside was a torn newspaper clipping.
Opening it, he read:
MAP to #3, it is not a complete one but this will work good enough for this case
it had a picture of a big circle , contain a very small black circle a little to the left the center of the circle.
and this picture contained many specification in a different language, but it does looked like some length measurements.
~[22nd july 2000 , morning .after the incidents of T.H.I.N.G.]~
William sat in his car, lighting a cigarette with his lighter. He pulled out a small notepad from his pocket.
It had a checklist written on it:
1. Rescue the Run Bottle from Mars.
2. Look into the T.H.I.N.G. case.
3. Investigate the old mansion on San Altos, Greenwich Street.
4. Raid the plantation house of the Reinhard family.
The first two items had already been crossed off. Now, what was all the ruckus about this bottle?
He opened it. Inside, a note read:
"BLUEPRINT to the miniature model of the display system in Wings."
Attached was a detailed blueprint of a particular model—written in the same cryptic language found on the newspaper cutout discovered in the pyramid.