Chapter 1
Detroit 2343 was a world stuffed with technology and buildings, buildings stretching so high they seemed to touch the sky and so numerous they formed other tiny islands on different levels above the ground. And it so happens that when our building blocks are crowded so densely, they have a tendency to ignite in fire caused by the tiny insect-people that live inside of those buildings. Those people poison its air with infinite cigarettes, some of which are carelessly tossed on the ground; they consume almost infinite amounts of electricity to supply their calculating devices. And when one such device catches on fire, or when the carelessly-thrown cigarette burns the window blind, they complain in disbelief at the flame consuming their blood-earned possessions. Waiting for immediate help, they wave their hands in anger and watch at the self-inflicted pain.
There happened to be one such instance of a fire outbreak on Livonian mega-prospect. There was a building caught in the whirling tongues of flame. The immediate fire team arrived too late, and the fire had already spread throughout the entire building as the entire neighborhood scrambled to put out the fire. Random pedestrians gathered in a circle and watched the scenery. It was practically a miracle how the fire brigade did not allow it to spread onto other buildings nearby. What's worse is that they couldn't enter the building for one critical inconvenience. This restriction, which compelled the helpless firemen to stay away and bombard the burning structure with streams of water instead, was not due to an extremely dangerous heat or concentrated fire. No, there was a much greater danger inside that prevented them from entering—there was a black hole inside. Ripping a fabric of space around it and, together with that, other surroundings, which fell further into fire and fed it more, the black hole would suck in any uninvited guest and was fostering the fire further.
It was not until another car arrived that faces of desperate firemen, who had been wrestling with that fire for an entire hour now, filled with hope. The car belonged to the fire department but was of a different designation, which could be seen from its black and white colors. Outside stepped a man in heavy equipment. He was wrapped in heavy armor around him, of mostly white color too. To his chest and back were attached an installment connected to a gun of rigidly metallic structure—also painted in white, of course.
The man in the armor made several steps in the direction of the burning thing and let its flaming tongues greet him by reflecting in his shiny snow-white helmet, where his 43rd number was printed on. And only his eyes could be seen through his golden visor. They were glaring sharply into the burning structure, preying down the hole, seeing it through the scarred concrete of the building. For how small he had worked, he had already gained a substantial record. Yet, every time for him seemed like a new one. The sound of collapsing bricks and other portions of that dying structure crushing against the ground were the sounds of rising thrill. There was the crowd almost cheering for him, and some of his colleagues sprang up with excitement. The man, having fully absorbed the appreciation he was so used to in his job, started slowly walking towards the building. Firefighters who had either nothing to do or were healing their wounds at the side sprung up and threw compliments.
"Hey there, 43rd!"
"Where have you been, 43rd?"
"Nice to see you, man..."
"Show 'm, 43rd."
The 43rd raised his hand and let other fighters, either passing nearby or specifically rushing to greet him, give a nice manly five on his palm. Them hurrying to greet the 43rd almost formed a tunnel around him. Albeit the urgency of the situation, of the immediate danger that the black hole was, the 43rd was in no hurry. He would never interrupt this preliminary process of gloat and vanity. Besides, his almost immobilizing armor, which weighed over 200 kilos, provided him a great excuse to walk slowly with a more triumphant gait. Even the official holefighter guide stated it with an utmost explicity not to exhaust oneself prematurely and only start moving rapidly once inside the sacking building. Otherwise, the holefighter might fall short on breath whilst eliminating the black hole.
So he was approaching the nearly-crumbled entrance. The firefighters who were just finishing clearing the way for the 43rd had their faces all sweated out due to the immense heat of the inside. His, the 43rd's, was a face that has not yet felt that relentless heat. His armor made sure he wouldn't ever feel it and would be as isolated from the fire as possible. It was not his job, after all, to put out the fire. His was to fight the black cosmic demons.
He had preliminarily been instructed on the location of the "singularity leakage"--where it should be, what floor it is, what are the approximate dimensions of the room, what is its magnitude, and whether it has some other "vulnerable" objects surrounding the hole. But, only nodding slightly, he didn't really need this information. He only followed the protocol when he was listening to the operator. Walking through half-burning ashes and scrambles of this 10-staged building, he could feel the gravity of that little black bastard pull his very veins and heart. He felt it was somewhere on the 4th floor. And it wasn't just a hypothesis possibly drawn from the fact that nothing burned below the 3rd floor and firemen couldn't just proceed any further. Neither was it thanks to the instructions. The 43rd number could just feel his blood circulating in a  funny way as his entire circular system was almost bending around the point of singularity. It was not far, he was already on the 2nd floor. He was coming for it.
Going across those deserted office cabinets and ignoring all the clickings and interface sounds of the reading meters, he arrived on the 4th floor. And to no surprise, he was right in his guess. Holefighters are instructed to always look at their readings to not lose time searching for the singularity and track it down using the readings from their devices. But that was not the game the 43rd liked to play. Unlike others, here he was on the hunt. He was here to eliminate the black hole, a power so cosmic in its capacities, it used to be thought of as a power of cosmic God. Yet, here he was, smelling its gravity with his own blood. "You're calling me in vain," he thought, "you expect me to be a helpless lamb that you are luring in your gravity only to gobble it up, but, in fact, I am your very murderer." he chuckled and resumed following the trail of gravity that he could sense through the wall. He was running his armored fingers across its surface. Yes, the wall was cemented and filled with hard bricks, but he, the slayer of cosmic devils, felt it through.
This must've been a really important administrative center, he thought. Perhaps, even somehow connected to the mayor himself. And to think that none stood their ground but him, against this devil that emerged out of neglect... It's been a long time since humanity tamed the power of black holes and learned to cast it at every whim, those cosmic devils. But there were still those devils that refused to be tamed. Erupting, once in a while, out of hurt arrogance, they tried to rebel against human's physical colonialism. But it was in vain, for the 43rd was here to punish them, to reestablish the pride of humankind. He was here to wrestle down devils like the Greek half-god he was, the 43rd number.
The 43rd was entering a wide auditorium where the hole froze in the air and was sucking in everything it could find at its proximity. Unaware of its nearing end, the black hole danced slowly in confidence of a cosmic wind, as if it was bringing havoc upon the entirety of humanity. The 43rd grabbed a special cube that, due to its sizes, could only be held in both hands. He placed it carefully on the floor, and adjusting different parameters on his wrist, pressed the only panel-button sticking out of its shape. After that, the cube began to transform into a technological fabric comprised of nano-technological particles, allowing them to fully engulf all horizontal and vertical space on the walls behind him, creating a reflecting surface of absolute black. He then took a tube that was attached to his suit and connected it to a newly-formed opening on the surface of this reflecting black fabric. The other end of this tube, stretched over the entire building and out through the entrance, was connected with its other end to the car that brought him here, now fully transformed into a mobile station of sorts.
Aside he installed various devices that were registering different numbers. One such number indicated (1.61E-13), which meant the gravity generated by this black bulge of concentrated mass was equivalent to 1.61✕10-13 of that of the earth, which meant you’d need roughly six trillions of identical black holes to mock an object with the same gravity as that of the Earth. That also meant the safe distance for a regular person from that black hole was somewhere around 3 meters, whereas for the suited holefighter 1.5 meters. But the 43rd already knew that. He only calculated those values out of formality, to be certain.
He then adjusted values on his big double-wielded gun and pointed it accusingly towards the black hole, which was irritatingly hissing at his presence. "Hope you don't have regrets in what short life you had." he thought sarcastically, peering at this black gnome, which was gobbling all light in the room, making it darker than it should be. Yes, this was an all-familiar sight he was so used to: moments before it realizes its own death, the black hole tries to encapsulate as much light and space as possible, forming a weird-looking crown of light, forever caught in proximity of the black hole's event horizon, a space of black orb where all time and space seize to exist. Seconds after, having caught a better look at the anguished beast, he turned on his gun and started machine-gunning the orb with his bullets. Instantly, with the first bullet exploding slightly before being succumbed into the hole, a pulverizing explosion was released in the room. But this explosion could only be felt through an impact and could not be seen, for the entire room was being flashed by constant emissions of light and energy of photons of such high frequency it could instantly vaporize any being without a proper armament.
Half an hour passed before he put out the black hole with a series of changing shots. The entire room was aflame and the burning matter surrounded the 43rd's figure as he was watching the black gnome take its last breaths before spitting out the last parts of matter it had sacked. Some parts of burning garments and ashes were resting on his heavy armor. Once the black hole got to almost non-existent sizes, the auditorium suddenly regained all the brightness it had lost to the hole. Yes, it is easy to forget how much light a fully-burning room of 30x40 m^2 can generate. He allowed himself to rest among this orange chaos, his white space-suited figure trembling in a densely-heated air. He felt himself invulnerable. Who wouldn't on his place? Only the short-sighted fire didn't believe in his invulnerability, desperately carrying out attacks on his static white armor. Its tongues of flames would, no doubt, suffocate and burn through the entire body of any other human. But it wasn’t just a human. Didn't it know? The man standing there had just defeated a black hole. What can a fire do against a man who had just defeated a black hole? He wished he could capture a video of himself standing amongst the fire of burning papers and business tables, melted-down slide-projectors and crisped wooden doors.
This contemplative silence of destruction got interrupted when a group of firemen rushed and peering out in blobs of curious and urgent heads asked the 43rd, "did you eliminate it?"
The 43rd, slightly turned his head from this brief chaotic oblivion and, attending back to his device on the wrist, which had just contracted out a special screen, looked at a virtually mapped-out area of the room. The readings did not detect any fluctuating concentrated matter. If it did, it would place a signaling three-dimensional dot in the virtual space, indicating a potential black hole warping in this location. Moving himself to the exit, he raised his hand and placed a thumb up, signifying the area was safe to go, to which the firemen immediately rushed further into the room, extinguishing burning left-overs of the hole. He folded back together the black surface he had dispatched here earlier and headed for the exit in his familiar slow-walking fashion.
Exiting the building, the 43rd was greeted with flashing lights of pedestrians who were either filming him on the video or taking photos. Perhaps, some of the material they make today can be then uploaded on the internet, so that some edgy youtuber can make a edgy music-spiced compilation of holefighters.
Standing slightly in front of the entrance, not to hinder the path for other firemen, he received the ratification like a gladiator who had just strangled a beast from far off-lands and once again proven the decency of a human being. He slowly returned to the car that birthed him, which was in the middle of mobilizing. And as he walked, he felt as if the spectators were throwing laurels and roses at his shoulders–that much was the ritual.
Everyone knew him, the 43rd number, or at least heard about him. He was somewhat of a legend. It was not a small city by the standards of that time, Detroit. But even in that dense population of roughly seven hundred million people, it only employed about ten holefighters, evenly spread around the eight super-districts, two being extra in case of increased number of holes in any region. And even then, the holes would usually emerge about once or twice in a single district, rarely exceeding this frequency.
Pulling the backdoor of the white and black truck he was greeted by a vacuum from where he had emerged to fulfill his task. Inside was gloomingly dark, and pin-pointed light of different buttons and other wires were the only things shining through, like many downsized stars on the vast fabric of cosmos in a clear unpolluted sky at night. He entered it pulling himself in with the help of an operator who had been sitting inside this whole time. Just before he shut the door and they offed back to the station, he gave one last glance at the burning top of the building and the crowd that, he knew, would soon disappear as they had already witnessed the best, the most enticing that an event like this could offer.

***
In accordance with a standard procedure, after arriving at the station, from the room filled with various other trucks and equipment hung on skeletal metallic constructions he slowly walked into a long corridor. The space around it was sterile and white, with the exception of long, black, horizontal lines stretching across the room and forming squares with other vertical ones. In his slow gait, pompously-burdened with a heavily-plated suit, he walked slightly forward and stopped just before one of the thicc lines that were slicing the white floor beneath him. Out of this opening emerged a wall with a rectangular porthole in the center of it. Then, from the sides of this segregated portion of the room, from the panels that were thinly drawn on the walls, emerged two long mechanical tentacles. They sprayed him with water at pressure that could’ve easily left a bruise on the skin. After that followed another liquid, instantly vaporizing upon hitting the surface of the suit. All in all, it took approximately less than a minute. The tentacles reverted back to the wall.
It was now turn for the second section, where he stepped in next. Out of the panels on the walls appeared two rectangular fans, one for blowing and the other for sucking in. Together they created a flux of unnaturally strong heated air going past the suit and drying anything left of the previous liquid.
Once done with the second section, which always takes no more than fifteen seconds, he walked towards the third one, which featured a series of pipes popping out of the panels. Those pipes, of conical shape, filled the room with a vapor. At the same time, the 43rd started to undress himself and, having removed the armor, stepped on a tender surface of the floor, softened by this mist of cooled-down steam. It was a strong tactile contrast for his skin after having walked for so long in this technically fashionable and appealing yet functionally robust exo-suit. His hair was pressed compactly in such a way that was evident he sweated up under the suit. Underneath he was wearing a tight swimsuit-like dressing. Eyes closed and head raised, he stood in the room for about a minute, letting the tender, almost milk-like vapor take his exhaust away. Then, pressing a special button beside the last door, he opened it. Along with accumulated white mist, outside of this steamy room stepped an asian man of a sensible beauty. His body somehow maintained this rare balance of both physical beauty and a visible presence of a mind, a mind that is so aware of its distinguished status, it becomes a decoration itself. His asian eyes were so piercing in their nature, they were always on the hunt. His body was ripped. Perhaps, the swimsuit he was dressed in helped underline the muscles that were flexing with his each move. Unzipping the swimsuit, he was simultaneously moving for the shower. On his badge a name could be seen. It spelled “Lloyd Kim, 20 years old”.

***
The rest of the day he spent, as usual, idling around the station and playing cards with other firemen who could not find themselves a better use when off-the-call. Unlike Lloyd, other firemen never showered before the end of their shift because there always was a possibility they might’ve been called on a second fire scene shortly after putting out the fire in the first. But the frequency of urgency was, again, different with holefighters, which was Lloyd's case. With a rare frequency of a black hole emerging in his district once or twice per week, he almost never had to put out two black holes in a single shift. The only time when he was pulled out to do that was when there were two simultaneous black holes erupting in a neighboring district and the local holefighter was occupied. 
When playing cards became so unbearably boring that he had to force himself to continue another party, he would take a break and read a book, preferably of inappropriate content.
The day has passed and closer to the late evening, when his shift was approaching its end, Lloyd’s replacement arrived.
“Hey there, 43rd! Saw the report. You were being slow, as always.” said the arrived man with an 85th number printed over his jacket.
“Woah. You think you’d be faster than me?” replied Lloyd, exiting the building and greeting the 85th with a strong handshake.
“He must’ve been taking pictures of himself, as always.” remarked one of their colleagues with a strong nasal voice, passing by to help the 85th with his stuff.
“Hey, we only have so many perks at our job!” replied cockily Lloyd.
“Whatever you say, Powerpuff. Next time it will cost you your life.” warned him sarcastically the 85th.
“I pray to God it will!” he answered with hands folded for a prayer while exiting the station.
Good in stature, he stood outside of the fire department, fresh-looking and, although dressed differently now, his clothing was still complementing his essence. His neck carried on itself an amulet and a christian cross, much in catholic fashion (though Lloyd’s parents were adherents of Lutheran church). On his chest one could see an apt nylon jacket with flowered labels printed over his back, reading, “the emergency team”. The jacket would always adopt the good outline of his manly figure, of his good muscles in accordance with cannons of Greek homoeroticism. Underneath he was wearing a sleeveless with a really cartoony character in punk clothes, delivering a very nihilistic line. His trousers were a medium-tough denim material with different other tissues and fabrics sewn across some of its areas like patches, attributing a very classic punk touch. On his trouser strips could also be seen hanging different chains intended for belts.
But as with any individual, the most striking element in his appearance would be found in his shoe wear. Ironically, over time of humanity's existence shoes—an element originally intended as the most robust element aimed at working with dirt and in no way a show of class—have become the most grossing element in one’s wardrobe, often exceeding the cost of all other elements seen on one’s clothing combined. Lloyd was no exception to this rule. But unlike some other of his richer peers, his were not just overpriced Nikes from a famous vendor, blandly thrown into the outfit and expecting their price alone to lift the prestige. His were sneakers that offered an interesting final touch, a tip of idea where the dressing artist ought to resolve his taste for fashion.
The sneakers were white in sole, foxing and its high-arranged collar. Its overlay, which filled the sides, was colored in burnt umber and featured a pin-sized geometric pattern. Across it one one of the sneakers was a customly-drawn insignia: a sword of Mars—obviously drawn there by Lloyd.
That was not the essence of the holefighter that was ultimate in him after all, but the Lloyd Kim himself. Of course, undeniably, it was the celebrated 43rd holefighter who wrestled down entire black holes and here was, in reality, standing just some well-dressed punk. But Lloyd Kim was stronger and with some other, richer inborn talents subjugated the 43rd into serving in Lloyd’s name. The 43rd, no matter the prestige, became only an asset to the man. The man himself was a lot more.
 Essentially, his outfit comprised well-arranged brands of recognized fashionable rarity, meaning the brands that the common folk could’ve been only half-aware existed but that others, more experienced teen-couturiers, would evaluate decently.
And that was really the permanent state of Lloyd’s character. No person would ever be able to walk in on the man and have him caught off-guard, stripped of his assets. No… Even in his worst days he would raise twice more appeal than the second best man in the room—always.
Nonetheless, outside he was approached by two familiar silhouettes, in likewise rocky and patchy clothes as he was. “Hey there, douchebag!” said one of them. The boy (as he could hardly be called a man) was of Pakistani heritage and, even though was slightly older than Lloyd, often had people assume he was still in the first classes of high school. This impression was mostly due to his puny figure, almost entirely devoid of any muscle shape, which came into a greater contrast when put side by side with Lloyd and the other kid, Daniel.
“Hey there, Awan.” replied Lloyd, bumping fists with the lad. “Hey there, Daniel.” he said, turning his head to the second man, visibly more mature.
“Yo!” the second guy, Daniel, was a faintly stout white man with a somewhat good facial bone structure. He was not slim under his t-shirt, but he had fat to such an extent when it becomes faintly attractive to a particular category of women. And Daniel also had this look in his eyes, which always is kind of knowledgeable but goes in heavy contrast with the person’s down-to-earth perspective.
“Man, you don’t know how much we’ve been waiting for you,” said Awan.
“What’s the talk?” asked Lloyd, immediately turning his head toward Daniel and gesturing with his hands to give him a cigarette.
“Dude, we’re diverging about what club to go to right now. Daniel insists we go to Good Stripes so that he can see that barista he’s been eyeballing for a week now. And I proposed we should go to El Zibre.”
“And what is there?” asked Lloyd, taking a deep inhale on a freshly-lit cigarette. They started to move along the sidewalk, Daniel with hands tucked in his pockets, Lloyd casually smoking, and Awan energetically articulating his hands in the air.
“What, in El Zibre?”
“Yes.”
“Dude, they’re having a new DJ tonight.”
“So?”
“SO I went over his tunes, man. He’s got the boop. I’m predicting he will be one of those ‘overlooked talents’ and will make a record, like two years from now. Trust me, you won’t regret going there.”
“Hold on. Why do you guys need me for this?”
“You’re the final vote.” replied shortly Daniel. “It is all up to you.”
“Yes, it’s all up to you,” rejoined Awan, “currently, our votes are split in half with me for El Zibre and him for Good Stripes. So your vote will be the definitive one.”
“Is this DJ really so cool as you’re saying?” inquired Lloyd.
“I mean, yeah. He’s been known around our block for making really cool gainz lately.”
“Well, I don’t seem to know the man.” remarked lightly Daniel. “Neither, I think, does Lloyd.”
“Ok, he is known among the musical circles. Everyone who follows the social life of this city or is interested in music to a certain extent knows him.” replied Awan with a light scowl of irritation. “The problem is that he has announced he’ll be leaving the town soon, moving to LA perhaps. And his play at Zibre is going to be his last in this place. But her… what was her name?” he asked Daniel, pointing at him with his palm.
“Kalla.” Daniel couldn’t help but release a soft grin.
“Yes, Kalla. So Kalla, this barista girl who Daniel is simping so hard about, isn’t moving anywhere. She will be working there the next week, she’ll be working there the week after. She won’t be going anywhere, unlike Pala Kachis, whom we can go and see only once. Because then he’ll be gone.” he made a suggestively strong exclamative gesture with his hands as if he had just concluded a long lecture.
Lloyd glared far into the distance and made several inhales of the cigarette, drawing together his brows as if he was going through really deep thought. Then, resolving it with a cunning lopsided smile, asked Daniel if the Kalla girl really was worth it.
“I mean, dude. Her boobs might not be the best…” started Daniel, “...but her face is among the best and most refreshing faces I have ever seen on a girl. Underneath her clothes, I’m sure she has a solid figure. If she did sports, she would easily be able to start an Internet porn career. But these are not her main strengths. No, that alone wouldn’t be enough to make her my new queen, brother.”
“What is it then?” asked Lloyd.
“Du~u~ude, it’s her voice. I swear when I first met her behind that bar where she was tossing those drinks, I noticed her cute face, yes. But when I heard her voice, man. It was just something plucked straight out of heaven’s clouds. My giant and instantaneous wood pressed hard against the wood of the bar counter, if you know what I mean. And when she asked me for my order… I was dizzed with her… couldn’t speak straight.”
“Woah, man. You aren’t so passionate about girls. Sounds like she’s a real.”
“She is, man. You know, I am an audiophile. I don’t need anything more when a woman has a voice as soft as hers. But coupled with her decent looks, man… I’m striking a jackpot here. You know, because of how loud and noisy it was that day in the club, we had to whisper in each other’s ears. And, oh boy, was it the most erotic thing a girl did to me! Dude, you know a woman’s voice changes when it’s close to your ear!” said Daniel, to which Lloyd pleasantly nodded and Awan tossed a slightly tired gaze.
“Remember I said her voice must’ve been plucked from the heavens? When you hear her voice giggling and spelling ‘vodka’ right in your ear, it’s like hearing angels tell you the most lovely words you can find in the Bible.” said Daniel, which Lloyd met with a wide, ambivalent smile.
“Yeah… If God spoke in sex, it would be that…” pleasantly suggested Lloyd.
Hearing these two arguments, Lloyd again turned his head facing forward and let two arguments sink in. Daniel didn’t turn his head towards boys even once this whole time, even when he was brewing with astonishment for newly-discovered affection, and instead let it aimlessly stare somewhere forth. Meanwhile, Awan locked his eyes on Lloyd, patiently waiting for the latter’s decision. Suddenly, as if Lloyd remembered something, he asked, “Is it Lawrence’s shift today?”
“It is,” replied Daniel with an unconcealed smirk, facing Lloyd at last.
“Oh please…” said Awan, “don’t tell me you’re going to buy stamps from him…” remarked Awan, to which Lloyd uncontrollably grinned even wider. Lawrence was a male barista working at Good Stripes, and he could also get his hands on some of the best LSD stamps circulating around the city. He would offer them to Lloyd for a lowered price, the reason being, of course, the latter’s status of a holefighter. But he would always wrap it into one of those “special guest” treatments.
“It’s decided, I’m voting for Good Stripes!” announced Lloyd.
“Man, I really can’t believe that I’m friends with a simp and a drug addict who just so happens to fight black holes on rare occasions.” commented Awan with a bitterly sarcastic voice.
“Hey, no one’s holding you here,” replied Lloyd, “you can go see that DJ on your own if you want…” inserted Lloyd.
“Nah, forget it…”
“Is she really that beautiful?” asked Lloyd after a long pause.
“Oh, man. She is! You’ll see it for yourself in just an hour!”
“You’ll have to go without me. I’ll drop in later.”
“How much later?” asked Awan.
“Like, about two hours later. I’m heading to visit my mom right now, guys.” Lloyd was renting a flat, not far from his work, but far from his family. And, being the careless adult he was, he did not make enough money through the elimination of black holes to cover his other expenses. Mostly, these expenses included essential attributes of his hedonistic lifestyle, which, he felt, contributed to his charisma.  In any way, his mother, an outstandingly kind-hearted woman, was always willing to grant her son this strongly-needed financial aid. Every month he would pay a visit (often secret) to receive an indefinite sum roughly equal to his salary.
“Two hours?!” exclaimed Awan. “Why is it going to take you so long?”
“Mom asked me to stay for dinner with the rest of the family today.”
“Can’t you, like, turn it down or reschedule it for tomorrow?”
“I wish I could. I’d do anything to avoid the vicious chiding of my father… But the bill’s not gonna pay itself. And I need to appease my mom for that reason. And I can’t postpone it because they always have family dinners on Saturdays.”
“You know, if you quit buying drugs, you wouldn’t need to grind from your mother.” remarked Awan.
“Even if I quit drugs, the money I make from holefighting would still not suffice for my other mandatory needs.” answered Lloyd with a noticeable exasperation.
“Yeah, whatever.”
They continued strolling along the street, talking about other extraneous stuff and turning corners every 5-10 minutes. Upon reaching the train station, which permeated the entire city like any functional train system inside of a medium-sized metropolis, they parted their ways. Lloyd took a train to the location of his parents while Awan and Daniel headed for the Good Stripes club.

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