Chapter 3

For the first time in a long time, Jun woke to the sound of silence rather than his alarm clock. Nothing felt right. A dull stinging in his ear was dragging him into consciousness. A sticky yellow crust like resin had sealed his eyelids shut. His body felt achingly sore from sleeping in the train seat. Lizard boy was right. The seats were hard. Carefully, Jun moved Ren off his lap and into a seat then stood to stretch. Suddenly a darkness scrambled across his vision like frantic ants having their nest disturbed. For a second a floating sensation overwhelmed him until he found himself losing his balance. Jun stumbled back but pushed himself back up, fighting away the lightheadedness. He blames the episode on his empty stomach. They hadn’t received food or water ever since they boarded.

Unlike the previous night, the compartment is peaceful. The shades emit soft white with morning light and the floor lights have turned off. In the struggle to sleep in the smooth seats, many children have assumed contorted positions, some of them probably are too deep in sleep to notice the terrible pain their bodies are in. One lies face down in the aisle with arms and legs splayed about, probably jostled out of a seat during the night. R4-Z is curled up with her knees pulled to her chest. Her braids are even more unraveled than before as they cascade over her fetal form. In the gentle lighting, Lizard Boy somehow looks less obnoxious. His complexion is milky white, ghost-like. Even his hair seems white-ish, a weak blonde at best. He leans back against a shade, about to vanish into the pale glow. It’s a shame. If it weren’t for his face, he’d be quite angelic.

Now that he thinks about it, Jun realizes he doesn’t recognize anyone in the train car. Surely, they must’ve all been gathered from A-09-12, Jun and Ren’s town. A hazy memory floats to the surface of his mind. He and Ren were some of the last to board. The compartment could have already been partially filled. So where were the other kids from? His town was in an inner zone, so were these kids from the outer zones? He hated how much it made sense. Communications from the border zones could’ve been hijacked so that Zone A, his zone, had no idea of the approaching attack.

Pulling his gaze away from his surroundings, Jun stretches his heavy limbs. His back pops in several places, but no one stirs. As far as he can tell, he’s the first one awake. SNS-404 might come in soon to rouse everyone else. Jun whips around towards the window behind where he and Ren were resting, the tag scraping obnoxiously against his jaw. Cautiously, he attempts to lift the shade. It’s stuck. Gritting his teeth, he pushes up harder. The shade gives a few inches. Squinting against the sudden light, Jun bends over to peer out of the slit he’s made.

A wall of trees rush past, melting into a blur of green. The occasional glimpse of the silky morning sky. The colors spin together like water swirling down a drain. Tree. Sky. Tree. Sky. Spin. Blur. Melt. Completely unrecognizable. No memorable landmarks. No sign of human life. They could be anywhere.

Subconsciously, Jun’s fingers carefully wander up to the offensive ornament, wary of aggravating his ear. The cord is made of some sort of hard material. A horribly durable one, difficult to cut or remove. It makes him antsy, having something stuck in him. An itching desire to get it out of his ear tingles at the ends of his fingertips. The sudden image of ripping a chunk of his ear out makes him cringe. And the thought of having to do something like that to Ren folds his stomach in knots.

Jun jerks the shade back down and slumps into his seat, cursing the hopelessness of the situation. He strokes Ren’s head absentmindedly, the motion becoming a new habit. Like him, Ren naturally had a head of straight, black hair. As of now, Ren’s hair was dyed a light indigo in celebration of him beginning elementary school. Ren had cried at first about the ceremony, afraid his hair would never change back. He only stopped crying when their father offered to buy Ren ice cream after the ceremony. All Jun had received was a pat on the head for bearing his new hair proudly three years ago. Such petty worries were useless now. Or maybe they always had been. Jun just didn’t have the luxury to pretend they mattered anymore.

Click.

Lizard Boy and some of the other kids stir at the sound of the light beyond the door turning on. Yawns filled the cabin along with the scuffling of feet and rustling of clothes as they rose to face the day and what it would bring.

…

Click. The absent-minded messenger was back.

Ren sleepily rubs his eyes and looks up at Jun. “What’s going on?”

“The AI is back,” he whispers.

Bam. The shades all fly upward, sending golden rays scattering about. Enthroned in radiant beams, SNS-404 glides into the compartment. Golden morning sunlight shimmers up and down its body, mesmerizing against the dark metal. A devil under the guise of an angel. It offers no salvation.

“Good morning, everyone! I’m back!”

The screen fizzles with pops of yellow amidst the normal static and a cutesy animated character appears and waves. “You like my avatar?” giggles SNS-404. “I made him last night! Isn’t he cute?”

The character on screen waves and strikes a pose similar to one an idol might make.

“I put a lot of thought into him!” continues SNS-404. Its text is so bubbly and yellow it hurts to read. “Humans have such varying appearances that it was difficult to make one, but I’m happy with how he turned out. The neon hair accents my text colors. See? I decided to go with off-the shoulder overalls to emphasize my playful personality. Aren’t they fun? I even named him 404, after myself of course.”

A sleek arm folds out of SNS-404’s side and gestures towards Lizard Boy who scoots back with a disgusted look on his face. “Your facial freckles were so intriguing that I just had to add some to my avatar. Hope you don’t mind! Hehe.” All text and static vanish so 404’s smiling face can wink at them shamelessly against a white background.

Lizard Boy is absolutely mortified. Shaking, he folds himself further into his seat, his face somehow paler than before.

“Now,” claps SNS-404, a second arm unfolding from its body. “Let’s begin our first roll call.” Its arm waves toward Lizard Boy, “You are L1-Z! Nice to meet you! Hopefully you’ll overlook our rough start. I know I will. Heh. Heh.”

L1-Z rolls his eyes and mutters, “Yeah. Sure. Nice to meet ya.” He crosses his arms and slouches down, focusing on his toes.

SNS-404 repeats the same motion and introduction format for everyone, moving up and down the compartment. When it reaches Jun and Ren’s seat, it bends over them. Examining. The screen is so close to his face that Jun feels like it will fall down and crush them. The colors and static are overwhelming. 404’s smiling chibi face is closer than close, so much so that its features are distorted in an effect similar to a fun house mirror.

What does it want?

It straightens up, 404’s face reverting back into something passably cute. The metal arm pats Ren gently on the head. Stunned, he simply stares up at the machine and wonders at the softness of its gesture. “N0-N. You’re the youngest one here, but I’m sure you’ll do your best to keep up.”

“S3-N,” it gestures to Jun. With that, the glittering being glides on to the next child.

Jun isn’t sure what to make of what just happened. He nudges Ren. “Don’t forget your number. Okay?” These numbers are important, that much is for sure.

Ren nods, “I won’t. N0-N, N0-N, N0-N…”

Several other kids are murmuring their numbers over and over to themselves too. Jun repeats them in his head.

S3-N. S3-N. S3-N. S3-N. S3-N. S3-N. S3-N. S3-N. S3-N.

…

Once roll call is over, SNS-404 assumes a position at the front of the compartment by the door. “Now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Thank you for your patience and cooperation. We will be making a stop shortly, and that is where your work will begin. As long as you can prove your worth, you need not fear expiry anytime soon. Any questions?”

Someone up front who Jun can’t see very well pipes up, “Will we get to eat? I don’t mean to be rude, but we humans…we, erm, need food.”

Hunger and the light of day have made this one bold. Some of the other kids nod their heads in silent agreement. Jun’s stomach chimes in too.

SNS-404’s arms meld back into its sides. The words bubble yellow, “Good question! You’ll get to eat once we stop. Supplies have been a little short, but you need not fear once we reach our destination.” 404 drools digital saliva and waves an oversized knife, a rather poor choice of cutlery to show a bunch of disturbed kids. Especially after making jokes about eating humans previously.

“Oh, erm, well, thank you,” stammers the hungry kid, uncertain from the exchange.

“If that’s all,” chirps SNS-404. “I’ll duck out to take care of some things before our stop. Please feel free to move around the compartment. We don’t want your legs to be too stiff.” It floats out the door, static buzzing with excitement. Jun thinks he catches hints of a familiar tune in the irritating noise, but he can’t recall what it is or if he actually heard anything of meaning at all. He dismisses it as his tired mind playing tricks on him.

With SNS-404 out of sight kids begin to slowly get up and move about. A few are more hesitant than others, but eventually everyone is moving around. Surprisingly, Ren runs off to talk to a girl that looks close to his age. Jun can only catch snippets of their conversation as everyone begins to talk.

“My name’s Ren. I’m from A-09-12. Yesterday a bunch of AI attacked our home. I came with my brother Jun, he’s right over there. What’s your name?”

The girl smiles back the open, innocent smile all young children bear when first meeting someone. “I’m C4-P. That boy over there says I shouldn’t tell you my real name.” She points to a lanky boy who stands quite a few centimeters taller than Jun.

Jun doesn’t catch the rest of the conversation because the boy starts striding towards him, grinning a cocky half-smile and tossing his asymmetrical locks back. “I saw you open the shade,” he smirks.

A chill runs down Jun’s spine even though he technically didn’t do anything wrong. At least he’s pretty sure he didn’t.

The smile shrinks and the boy’s eyes narrow like those of a cat. “I’ve been on this train longer than anyone here. At least several months. Everyone else is fresh. If I, were you, I’d be more careful.”

“Several months?” wonders Jun. “So that means you know what’ll happen to us?”

“Of course,” the boy frowns. He crosses his arms and silently looks down at Jun.

Hesitantly Jun asks, “Could you tell me what?”

Ignoring him, the boy offers a hand and says, “I’m S1-N. No one will recognize you by your name here. What are your numbers?”

“S3-N,” answers Jun. He accepts the hand, it’s rough and dirty. There’s a gash that has partially scabbed over on the tip of S1-N’s thumb.

“Hmm,” frowns S1-N. “Your numbers are too similar to mine, but I guess it can’t be helped. I suppose people might mix us up.”

Jun crosses his arms. “Why can’t you just call me by my name? And why do you use your numbers?”

“It’s easier,” shrugs S1-N. “Your numbers are the only identification you’re listed under. To management AI like SNS-404, your name doesn’t even exist. Having too many names is a bother to keep track of for me, so I just go by my serial number. If you don’t want to be called by your number between us humans, then you can make up a nickname based on your numbers.”

Jun isn’t sure what to say. It seems to be more of a bother making up a nickname and remembering it than keeping the name he was called by his entire life.

S1-N examines him. “Well, if you can’t decide… how about Sen?” He holds up three fingers and grins. “Because the three looks like a capital “E”? Get it?”

“Sure, I guess.” It’s not like Jun had any ideas anyway. Might as well go along with it to see if he can learn anything from this guy. “Do you have a nickname?” he asks S1-N. This guy seems to like nicknames so maybe a more personal question will get him talking.

A faraway expression comes over S1-N’s face. “Yeah. I used to. Someone once called me ‘Sin,’ but it’s just S1-N now.”

“Oh, sorry for asking,” Jun awkwardly apologizes.

S1-N waves his hand up and down as if swatting at a pesky fly. “Don’t worry about it. You can call me that if you like.”

“But ‘Sen’ and ‘Sin’ sound basically the same. You said people might mix us up,” reasons Jun. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t want to have a similar nickname to someone he just met. It would imply a lack of creativity or that they were close or something.

“Eh, that doesn’t really matter to me,” S1-N drawls lazily. “We probably won’t be together very long anyway.” He aims a piercing stare at Jun and waves his hand harder. “It’s alright, really. Call me ‘Sin,’ I insist.”

“Okay,” stammers Jun. “We can be ‘Sen’ and ‘Sin’ if you think it’s okay.” If he agrees he might finally get some answers.

“Great!” smirks Sin. “I’ll tell you more when we stop.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and saunters away to stare out a window. The trees are still spinning around like laundry in a washing machine in a transfixing but nauseating way. Jun didn’t notice earlier, but Sin’s clothes are noticeably dirtier and more worn than everyone else’s. He has a pair of sturdy work boots unlike the more civilian tennis shoes and sandals the other kids wear. And the way he holds himself. He stands tall but there’s a noticeable slump in his shoulders, like a salaryman doing his best to stumble home after a long day at work. Like someone who is ready to collapse after being forced to keep going for too long.