‘Sup, Warren?’ asked Theodore approaching Warren in a mall in the evening. Theodore was Warren’s best friend. He had an athletic built, an inch taller than Warren and was blonde. His eyes were the same colour as Warren’s except that they were a shade lighter.
‘Not much,’ replied Warren exchanging money for a couple of chocolates at the “La Chocolat Shoppe”. ‘I gotta buy some T-Shirts.’
‘Yeah’, nodded Theodore. Both walked past a few shops in the mall without speaking another word which was absolutely abnormal for the duo. At other times they were busy exchanging conversations and laughing their heart out. Warren stopped at a shop and said, ‘Let’s look in here’. He asked a boy working there to show some T-Shirts to him. While the boy went upstairs to get them, Theodore said to Warren, ‘Listen, hey, in case you’ve got some data stored in your cranium I don’t know about, spill the beans, will you?’
The boy returned with a set of T-Shirts. Warren replied to Theodore rather unconcernedly rummaging a best T-Shirt for himself, ‘No, it’s really nothing!’ ‘Hey, what d’you think about this one?’ asked he, picking out one from the set.
Theodore analyzed it and expressed his opinions ‘It’s good.’ He handed it over to the boy. Picking out another, Warren said, ‘May be I can have this one as well.’ He ordered the boy to pack them. Theodore, once again, without losing his cool, tried to get the truth out of Warren, ‘Your mum says you’re quite quiet these days.’
‘When did you talk to my mum?’ asked Warren drawing his full attention towards the conversation. ‘Well, yesterday I was at your place with Ben and Rick. Hey, you never told me ’bout the HTCT,’ frowned Theodore. ‘The HTCT, where did you get to know ’bout it?’ asked Warren, alarmed in almost the same fashion as he had been when his mother had asked him about the HTCT. Theodore said, matter-of-factly, ‘From your mum, of course! She told me it’s a committee in your organization.’ Warren’s breath took to normal while his heart still raced, as he said, ‘Oh… you just…just tell me wha’ever my mum had said to you yesterday and fill me in with every single detail.”
Meanwhile, the boy handed the packed T-Shirt to Warren who deposited cash on the counter. After taking the receipt, the duo left the shop. Warren enquired of Theodore about his conversation with his mother, again. After walking up to a certain distance silently, Theodore stopped and said to Warren with full concern, ‘What’s up with you? I mean… why on earth do you want to spy on your mum?’ Warren was taken aback. He said, hurriedly, ‘Wha’? I never said I want to spy on my mum.’ ‘What did you mean by “fill me in with every single detail”?’ blurted out Theodore with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
‘Theo, you don’t understand. It’s very important. No time leftuh stay cool. You dunno something serious is goin’ on o’er ’ere. And each ‘n’ every mo’ is important to me. When Terror 909 will commence, there’ll be so much destruction that you can’t even picture it. When Hurricane will step in our world, everyone will step outta their lives. You don’ understand that millions of lives are in danger. You don’ understand that destruction is heading towards us. You don’ understand anything, do you?’ said Warren venting out his frustration in a single breath.
‘Er… rewind to the part where you mentioned Terror 909 and Hurricane. What are they?’ asked Theo, baffled and amazed. Warren clenched his fists and said with gritted teeth, ‘Darn! When will I realize I should keep things to myself instead of giving them away out of sheer aggravation?’
Theo chortled rather disdainfully and said, ‘Wow, so you do hide a lot many things from your best friend. That explains it.’ He resumed his pace. Warren hurried to catch up. He knew that he was at a moot point now and whatever he said would be queried and held wrong.
Before he could frame something that would avert the worst that could happen, Theo broke into a speech which startled him, ‘You know what? Chuck it. It’s OK. You’re my frien’ ’n’ I know that you’ll tell me wha’ever you want to. And I understand that everyone has the right to hold their secrets.’ Warren felt petite and was at a complete loss of words. He knew he had messed it up. He took a few seconds to say, ‘I’mma make it up to you, I promise. Don’t mention Hurricane or Terror 909 in front of anyone, ‘kay?’
Theo smiled and said, ‘Take my word for it. And now - the answer to your question: I went to your house yesterday with Ben and Rick. Thought we’d hangout. But Mrs. Hudgens said that you were asleep. She said that you seemed a bit changed as in a bit more grave and were fretting about the HTCT, the new committee in your organization. That’s all.’
Warren sighed and thanked Theo and apologized. Theo shrugged, ‘You know you don’t stand a chance in front of Dungeon when it comes to unleashing my fury. That moron irritates every bit of me. Hell knows why he studies in the same institution as I do.’ ‘Yeah,’ Warren joined in, ‘He crafts a heavy accent and says- “I’m Dungeon the Dangerous Devil”; what a pathetic way of using alliteration!’
‘Seriously,’ snorted Theo. He announced, ‘I gotta go. Almost time for my classes.’
‘What topic’s on?’ asked Warren, casually. ‘Besides the tutor’s usual trash talk about his old pal- the robot dog, Inter-stellar Mechanics of Galaxy 4.0,’ replied Theo. Warren chuckled, ‘OK. See you then. Bye.’
Warren still had a lot on his mind when he was home, yet he was cheery. His mother remarked, ‘Glad you’re not as apprehensive as you were yesterday. You have classes today?’
He threw himself on a sofa, unlaced his shoes and said, ‘None.’ He watched his mother arrange a book shelf. Whenever he thought of her, he couldn’t help but recollect what Mr. Flog had said. He gathered his guts to bring himself to ask of his mother what it was all about. He even held the presumption that she knew about the HTCT and if that was true, she would know about Hurricane as well because that was all his organization was about.
‘Er, mum?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You know Bruce Flog, don’t you?’
Mrs. Hudgens turned towards Warren who was sitting firmly with his poker face. He added, ‘He’s the head of the HTCT.’ He knew that it was time to let the cat out of the bag. His mother was astounded and she asked rhetorically, ‘He’s the head of the HTCT?’ ‘That’s what I said’, stated Warren, his heart racing. ‘You work for the Hurricane Terror Combat Team,’ sighed Mrs. Hudgens.
Warren knew that it was coming, yet his heart skipped a beat. He was persistent to know more. He did not utter another word. His mother understood the cue and went on, ‘Well… I have been an agent of the HTCT. I have been in the Advanced Level Panel and I have been the head.’ She beamed, looking relieved as she sat on a settee. Warren was utterly confounded. Mrs. Hudgens said, ‘And Bruce was an agent as well. My contemporary.’ Warren asked, baffled, ‘How did he know that you were looking for me this morning?’ ‘Oh, I reckoned you were at the headquarters and so I contacted Bruce. He never told me he’s the head. He said he’s in the Advanced Level Panel,’ said a disappointed Mrs. Hudgens. Warren enquired, ‘Yeah but how did you contact him? I didn’t see him check any communication gadget then.’ She turned scarlet when she said, ‘I’m not supposed to tell you. It’s for the Advanced Level Panel.’
‘Why didn’t you ever tell me you’ve been associated with the HTCT?’ asked an amazed, astounded, elated and bewildered Warren. Mrs. Hudgens was about to state the raison d'être but Warren lay motionless on the couch. It seemed as if he had frozen or turned into stone.
Warren witnessed his mother, the settee, the walls and the furniture disappear from view. He now stood behind a translucent drape. He was restive for a while till he realized he was seeing his Visionary Sequence. He looked around and grasped the panorama. It was a magnificent hall with several round tables arranged at regular intervals in an exquisite fashion. Around a hundred people were enjoying a lavish feast. Warren felt his nerves relax. It was eerie because he knew he was thrilled and terrified a second ago and all of a sudden he was in high spirits. He knew he had felt the ambience in the hall change.
It took him another moment to construe these were Homo sapiens and not nens.
Before he could take in other details, something changed. He felt the adrenaline rush as he saw his mother facing him with apprehension. He was in the living room of his house sitting on the familiar couch. ‘How much time has it been since I was motionless?’ he queried, standing up. He realized he was breathless and his feet were shaking. The ambience in the room was colder than that in the hall where it felt warm and serene. However, Warren knew that the ambience there had been crafted. It wasn’t natural.
‘Ten seconds, approximately,’ answered Mrs. Hudgens. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, concernedly, ‘What happened?’ ‘Sit,’ she added. He did as she said, shut his eyes, breathed and began, ‘A’ight, there’s this visionary sequence that I see. It’s not hallucination. I’m certain about that. It’s like I’m teleported to another time. I see Homo sapiens sapiens, you understand? They aren’t Homo sapiens nens. It’s happened twice with me. At 9:30 hr today, I was in a sort of a forest and there were two of them dueling. And now, I was in a hall, a real big one. There was a lavish feast. And the time is…’
He opened his eyes, looked at a rectangular screen on the opposite wall and questioned, ‘What’s the time?’ A micro-phonic male voice replied, ’21:33 hr’. ‘Oh boy,’ he said and turned to his mother who had a painful look etched on her face. She said, ‘I have no idea what it is. It’s not normal. You couldn’t be breaking the time continuum all of a sudden. You can only break the space continuum.’ ‘Right! Well, it didn’t even feel the way it does when you teleport. That’s sudden and jolty while this… this was like… the things here… all of them just disappeared but in a different way. The visionary sequence blended with the present and separated very unlike teleportation.’
His mother nodded. ‘You say you saw the first one at 9:30 hr. After about 12 hr, you happen to see the next,’ she said. Warren scowled, ‘This ain’t right ‘cause it has a pattern and is inexplicable, if you know what I mean.’ ‘Scientific,’ stated Mrs. Hudgens. ‘Obscure!’ remarked Warren’. ‘Oh c’mon, be glad it has something you can understand, a pattern, that is. Science is meant to simplify things,’ said his mother firmly. Warren, still scowling, said, ‘It first complicates things, then simplifies ‘em,’ ‘You’re digressing!’ said an annoyed Mrs. Hudgens. Warren heaved a sigh.
He stated resolutely, ‘Let’s get down to work. I’m going to look for nens who know anything about Hurricane.’ ‘What about the…’ said his mother but Warren cut across her sentence, saying, ‘I know there are SOH’s. I’ll be careful.’ ‘Good,’ she said giving Warren a piercing look. ‘Oh and by the way, when I said… quote, let’s get down to work, unquote, I did not mean “us”. It’ll be just me, of course. We should be well-versed with clarity. I’m not risking you,’ he said, determinedly. ‘Kid, you’re an agent in his second year at the HTCT. You’re talking to the ex-head of your organization. And you are in no position to impose commands upon me,’ said Mrs. Hudgens coolly but with her brows raised, ‘Be all ears to my statement. We have to get down to work tomorrow. Go to bed.’ They stared at each other blankly and burst out chuckling at the same instant. Warren hugged his mother, wished her goodnight and climbed the stairs up to his room.
‘Lights,’ he said entering his room, ‘My digital notebook, please.’ The same flew over to him from his desk. Warren went to his bed, unlaced his shoes and lied upon it. Looking at the notebook, he said,
‘Record.
“A Visionary Sequence:
Day 94, 1454 W1.
21:30 hr
A grand feast in a magnificent hall.
Homo sapiens, about a hundred of them.
Enigmatic sudden alteration in the ambience.
No scientific explanation.
Observable hypothetic pattern: The visionary sequence occurs at an interval of 12 hr.”
Stop.’
‘Evans, are you keeping a track of things? Creating back-up files?’ Warren asked. ‘Yes sir,’ replied the micro-phonic male voice. ‘Create ‘em one on disk and one in your memory,’ commanded Warren. ‘I will,’ replied Evans. ‘Thanks and I guess I could do with dim lights,’ said Warren and his orders fulfilled, he dozed off.
*
‘Warren, wake UPP now,’ shouted Mrs. Hudgens at the top of her lungs.
The nineteen year old woke with a start. Wiping off the state of oblivion from his eyes, he landed his feet straight into his shoes and approached the window, following which, the window pane slid into the wall. The twittering of birds broke the silence of the morning, reverberating across the clear blue sky. Not letting any thought penetrate into his mind, Warren traced the path of migratory birds gliding high in the sky.
He was absorbed in the moment so much so that when the chimes played and Evans said, ‘Someone’s at the door’, he jumped up and yelped out loud only to catch the attention of the pedestrians on the street below.
‘What’s wrong?’ shouted an old nen. Everyone else around stopped to learn what had come to pass.
‘Oh don’t bother Mr. Thomas. Staggered by the ringing of the chimes,’ shouted back Warren with a chuckle, half hanging out of the window.
‘Oh…you kid…’ frowned Mr. Thomas and everyone resumed their pace.
Warren turned away and strode across the room, across the dining room and across the living room to the front door to respond to the bell, only to end up discovering Dungeon at the door.
‘Dungeon, Hey!’ exclaimed Warren.
‘Warren’, answered Dungeon.
‘Come on in’, Warren beckoned Dungeon into the house.
‘How’s life?’ asked Warren.
‘Good, technically,’ said Dungeon.
‘Ahan. And, philosophically?’
‘Brilliant, er...’
‘”Er”?’ Warren looked at Dungeon questioningly.
‘Hello, this is - ?’ enquired Mrs. Hudgens as she came in the living room. Withdrawing the conversation with Warren, Dungeon beamed at Mrs. Hudgens, ‘Hello, Mrs. Hudgens, I’m Dungeon. Your son’s schoolmate’.
Mrs. Hudgens beamed back, ‘Oh, yeah…I remember Warren mentioning your name at times. So, you’re “Dungeon the….’
Warren cut across her as he said aloud, ‘SO! Dungeon, how is it…I mean what brought you here?’
‘I need to talk to you about er…’ said Dungeon hesitatingly. ‘Something,’ he added. For a moment, the three nens stared at each other in turns. ‘Please excuse me. I have to leave for work in a while,’ said Warren’s mother, following which, she headed towards her room.
They watched her go. Dungeon said to Warren, ‘About the HTCT.’ Warren hadn’t seen it coming, apparently, for when he heard the words which he could never associate with the most aggravating nen on Earth, he froze. It took him what seemed like ages to resuscitate his intellect when he said, ‘What do you know about the HTCT?’ He might not actually know about it. He might be thinking of it, like Theo does, as a committee in the organization wherein I study, reckoned Warren.
‘The Hurricane Terror Combat Team,’ stated Dungeon. It’s not like I thought. This is getting worse, Warren couldn’t help saying, ‘I’d never supposed “you” would say it.’ ‘Never expected that you would,’ replied Dungeon, matter-of-factly. ‘Take a look at my registration card, if you don’t believe it,’ he suggested. ‘Definitely, yeah. Your R-card,’ said Warren aggressively, not wanting to believe truth to be true. Dungeon passed the R-card over to Warren who, looking at it, could sport nothing but a poker face. He hated the sudden change of circumstances through and through.
‘So even if you are an agent, how come you don’t attend the meetings? How come you’re in the institution where Theo studies when you should’ve been enrolled right in the pseudo-institution-for-a-secret-organization where to I frequent?’ interrogated Warren, thinking it best to keep logic alive. Smiling, Dungeon said, ‘Ever heard about The Geek Technique?’ ‘You’re a member of The Geek Technique of the HTCT?’ asked Warren, adding what more, now? to his train of thoughts. ‘Yes, buddy. The equipments, gadgets and gizmos, satellite imagery and communication to the extent of intruding privacy, if required. The Geek Technique,’ said Dungeon with an expression that said “outsmart me if you can”. ‘Well, then. To my psyche’s content, you’ve explained why you do not attend the meetings. Mind answering the second question?’ asked Warren, prudently. ‘None of the members of the faction is enrolled as a student of the HTCT,’ asserted Dungeon.
Warren heaved a sigh as Dungeon scrutinized his expressions. ‘The purpose of your visit?’ questioned Warren. The other replied, ‘I have a list of SOH’s with their contact address. We’ve searched every nook and corner of World 1. Could get our hands on a few names.’ Handing over the list to Warren, he said, hurriedly, ‘Mate, I need to go. There’s a whole lot of stuff to be done.’ Warren forced a smile and said, ‘Yeah. Thanks for the list. See you.’ ‘Bye,’ said Dungeon as he walked out the front door.
As he shut the door, Warren shouted to his mother, ‘Dungeon’s brought a list of SOH’s with him.’ Mrs. Hudgens rushed into the living room, bewildered and alarmed. He narrated the conversation he had exchanged with Dungeon. ‘Let me have a look at the list,’ she said, taking the list from Warren. She read aloud, ‘SOH’s: Ciara Gill, Patrick Richards, Jason Jones, Sylvester Robin, Theodore Collins, Jasmine Parker, Samantha Rose……er, what? Theodore Collins?
As every expression had been drained out from his face, Warren thought, the worst that could come to pass. I’d love to believe that Dungeon is lying, that every word he speaks is a lie. My best friend who’s more of a brother to me cannot be an SOH. But then, the R-card wasn’t a fake one and nobody can ever make out if the person they’re spending their life with is an SOH.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Chapter 1 : HTCT Headquarters
‘Is he still alive or dead?’ asked one of the members of the HTCT.
‘I believe he’s dead,’ replied another, point-blank.
‘Don’t be so sure. He isn’t showing up, anyway’, interrupted a third.
‘Yeah, right! But where is he?’ asked the first.
‘Recently when he appeared, we had Combat 16, and that was the previous year,’ calculated the third one.
The second one said after a moment’s contemplation, ‘As long as he doesn’t show up, don’t lose the hope of him being dead. During Combat 16, the HTCT had given him a tough time. Do you forget how we’d defeated him?’ He grinned conceitedly at the mere thought of the organization he worked with being able to fight back a power as strong as Hurricane.
‘Do you forget Hurricane is invincible?’ stated the first raising an eyebrow.
Discussions and debates were being followed by unsatisfactory conclusions that revolved around the same theme- the current whereabouts of Hurricane. Not one single head was spared of not musing upon the subject. Every member sitting across the table in the central meeting hall of the HTCT headquarters was downright perplexed and perturbed. The murmurs which had filled the entire hall were withdrawn when the Secretary announced, ‘Mr. Flog, our head, will be here in a few seconds. Your patience shall be appreciated.’
A nen in his late forties appeared out of nowhere seated firmly in a chair next to the Secretary on a platform in the northern part of the hall raised higher than the floor of the hall. In a gray and white suit and neatly trimmed dark hair, he gave the impression of a stern nen.
Someone among the nens at the table got up all of a sudden, wearing a horrid expression, turned towards Flog and blurted out anxiously, ‘Mr. Flog, where is Hurricane? What is he going to do next?’
Frowning slightly, but maintaining a tranquil pose, Flog said, ‘Yes, Mr. Wickes. Hurricane is my buddy. I meet him everyday. We chat about his plans and intentions with an ancient poker game to get along. He’s even told me the date and time correct to a nano-second when he’ll be sweeping off nen-kind.’
Everyone chuckled. Abashed, Wickes said in a small voice, ‘Sorry, er, sir, Mr. Flog. I…er, just…’
‘Sit down, please,’ said Flog with a nod. He stood up and addressed the hall, ‘Agents present and those not, I call for your complete attention.’ He paused and glanced around. There were about a hundred nens and twenty moving holograms of those absent bodily, attending the meeting which was to reveal about the existence of 10 Earth Worlds.
Flog continued, ‘So I proceed. I’ll make you acquainted with a few very important facts related to Hurricane. Time- It has been divided into ten parallel worlds. World 1, 2, 3and so on. You and I… we live in World 1. Hurricane belongs to World 4. World 10 is highly advanced. World 1 is the least. Therefore, comparatively World 4 is more advanced than us. I don’t call us under-developed because we are still more advanced than a world that existed long before on the Earth which was annihilated by the same being our organization has been fighting against since long. These ten parallel worlds replaced that world on Earth. We don’t know how these worlds run simultaneously at the same place but a nen from any of these worlds cannot cross the threshold to another world. At this very place, there might be a city, a forest, a mountain, a lake or machines. Someone might be walking through us. A hundred possibilities. It’s the only truth. Or, truth might still be breathtakingly away from us, for the good, as we’d like to believe. At any rate, Hurricane happens to be able to invade our world and the rest of the worlds because he has achieved a power called “Hantagen”. This is the power of the highest level. A World 10 nen, though more advanced than a World 4 nen in terms of technology, cannot vanquish Hurricane because he has this “Hantagen” power.
'Hantagen was a person who belonged to the pre-annihilation world, as we refer to it. What was so special about him? What supernatural quality was in his possession that a power of the highest level has been named by his name? Inexplicable questions.
‘Having carefully analyzed the previous Terrors that have been caused by Hurricane, the HTCT Advanced Level Panel has concluded that Terror 909 is going to be lethal, ghastly. It means the end of life on Earth with no hope of its revival. Hantagen is the only one who can slay Hurricane. But just as we do not know where Hurricane is, we do not know where Hantagen is, either.
‘That doesn’t mean we, the Hurricane Terror Combat Team, will not make every effort to fight Hurricane back. Hurricane is likely to attack any of the worlds he wishes to. He may not necessarily attack us but if he’s on a mission to wipe out nen-life, he’ll find a way to destroy each World. Therefore, we must prepare.
‘Hence, I will now conclude the meeting. By any chance you get a clue that might lead us to Hurricane or Hantagen, press the blue button on your HTCT sepad to call an urgent meeting. Also, think of ways and means by which we can win the battle- Terror 909. The Advanced Level Panel, meanwhile, is sketching a plan. You shall be informed about it later, when the plan is all set, so we can gear up in time. Thank you, agents. You may leave,’ ended Flog with an informative speech.
The speech left everyone in a trance. The holograms disappeared into nothingness and the nens were teleported to their homes. Amongst the agents who attended the meeting, there was one who had a different feeling altogether. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t irate. He wasn’t caught in a transitory spell of misplaced confidence. He was rather bemused. And excited. And thrilled. And connected. Yes. He had a strong sensation of being connected with Hantagen.
A tall and thin figure with brown, almond-shaped eyes that revealed innocence, the lad worked as an agent of the HTCT or the Hurricane Terror Combat Team. This guy, Warren Hudgens, nineteen, had short, dark hair and carried himself emitting spectrums of charm and energy all around.
*
‘What’s wrong with them? How can nens be so unfeeling?’ objected Mrs. Hudgens watching a video in a magazine. Warren reached for the magazine, said ‘Stop’ so that the video stopped playing and sitting beside his mother on the couch in the living room, asked her concernedly, ‘What happened, mum?’
Mrs. Nola Hudgens, a tall brunette with long wavy hair, was Warren’s mother. She had a white complexion which was in an absolute contrast to Warren’s rather tan skin. She had sharp features and was a gorgeous middle-aged lady. The only thing she and her son had in common was the colour of their eyes- brown.
She started in an infuriated tone about how some 11 year olds had smuggled petite robots into the Arine Territory and sold them at quarter rates and that how robot life is cut down to half if they get into the Arine Territory. Warren soon lost track of the conversation. While he flipped through the pages of the magazine, his thoughts pursued another direction. He whispered, ‘I dunno why I do not want to be a member of the HTCT anymore.’ When he said this, it was audible enough for his mother to catch the words. Bewildered, she realized that Warren was no longer listening to her monologue.
She enquired, ‘What is the HTCT?’ ‘The HTCT?’ asked Warren, alarmed, breaking off from his reverie. ‘You just said you do not want to be a member of the HTCT’, asserted Mrs. Hudgens. ‘Was I a bit too loud?’ he asked, wide-eyed. ‘Perceptible’, said his mother. Warren heaved a sigh. ‘Erm...’
Mrs. Hudgens raised her eyebrows. Warren turned to his mother and said in his husky voice, ‘It’s a committee in our organization’. She narrowed her eyes and said, ‘But it sounds like a name of an organization. Have I heard of it?’ ‘No’, Warren blurted out, ‘It’s just a committee, mum. No organization. You haven’t heard of it. It’s just… very… new!’ Mrs. Hudgens nodded. Apparently, she did not know her son was an agent of a secret organization which was especially designed to fight back Hurricane. And, apparently, she was oblivious to the fact that there was a dreadful danger lurking somewhere in the name of Hurricane- a danger that threatened to destroy nen-kind, or may be something more than that.
Warren thought he saw a smirk spread across his mother’s face. But he pushed away the thought from his mind. He watched her get up and go to her room. She called back, ‘Will you stay up late tonight?’ Warren replied, ‘I don’t think so.’
He went to his room and stood at the door for a moment to take a good look at the mess lying all over his bed and on the floor board- papers, books, files. His room was spacious with a bed in the south, two tables and a wardrobe in the east. A computation device- a micrometer thick screen was loaded on one table. There was a window in the north which gave the view of streets zigzagged and clusters of houses amidst a panorama of greenery. Warren glanced at his window and said, ‘Evans, dude, I don’t like the window shut.’ An electronic male-voice replied, ‘Oh, of course sir, you love the view.’ The window-pane slid into the wall. Warren indeed loved the view. It was tranquil and arresting.
Evans was the name Warren had given to the tech-help software of the Hudgens’ residence. Every house had to have tech-help software installed as per the norms of the Clears’ Territory-A Board. This software enabled voice-prompt-command feature which meant- “You say it, it’s done.”
He opened his shoes and piled up the books and papers in several stacks and placed them on the unoccupied table. He threw himself on the bed and put out the lights. His eyes turned towards the moonlight. It was a full moon day. He stared at it in quiet contemplation- I had read in Level 20 in school that the Earth has always had one moon. Planetary interchanges couldn’t change this particular fact. I’m glad about that. Humph… Mum thinks I study in an organization that deals in robotic software and stuff. Well, I am supposed to do that. But I am in the HTCT for a year and have participated in Combat 16 against Hurricane. I would’ve been studying in institutions within standard organizations like the rest of the nens of my age do, after crossing Level 20 of school. Here I am, studying and working in a secret organization that’s all about fighting some supernatural entity. How did I get here? If only any of us could remember or question.
Warren remembered about Flog’s speech. He wondered how life might be in the other worlds. Then, he speculated the life-style of the pre-annihilation world. Nastus Hantagen, he thought and drifted into a sleep.
The next day, as soon as he woke up, Warren turned his computation device on and began with his search on Hantagen. No significant result was displayed. He was startled to see the words flash on the screen in a jiffy: “Error: You may not have the permission to view the content.” ‘Darn!’ he exclaimed.
Although Warren did not study about computation devices anymore, he did have a good knowledge about them as he had always been interested in them and had given enough time of his life to experiment with them. He struggled and tried out various ways to open the page, disposing trivial files off into the trash box carved in the table which made a lot of noise every time he dropped a crushed file into it. Annoyed, he said, ‘Evans, The trash box is full, I reckon. Could you please empty it for me? The noise is getting on my nerves.’ With a soft puff, the files disappeared. Warren heaved a sigh of relief and continued with the search. After about an hour, he met with success. ‘Victory’, he sang.
He read through the information, “Hantagen is the power of the highest level. Achieving this power is next to impossible. Nastus Hantagen belonged to a world that is no longer there on Earth. That was a world which was a home to numerous and a wide variety of species which they referred to as biodiversity. Human beings did exist but they were not nens. They were Homo sapiens. The worlds that exist now are more advanced than Hantagen’s world. But some supernatural quality that Hantagen possessed made him more powerful than even a World 10 nen. Nastus Hantagen is immortal. His current whereabouts is a mystery.
“It’s supposed that a few nens, besides the HTCT agents, do know about him. But they’d rather not talk about it because of Slaves of Hurricane (SOH’s) present practically everywhere.
“Hurricane has achieved Hantagen power, somehow. He’d threatened during Combat 16 that he would unleash Terror 909 soon and that he’d realize his intentions.”
After about a moment’s reflection, Warren said, ‘OK… That’s not much information but the key point is- I now know there are nens who know about Hantagen. How do I get to them?’ He pulled out the file from the screen and double folded it. ‘Back it up, dude.’ Having said that, he threw it like a Frisbee it into the ceiling and added, throwing his hands into the air, ‘What’s costing you a reply?’ Evans said, ‘It’s done.’ ‘Well, thank you,’ said an irritated Warren. He got up and swiftly walked up to the door but before he could turn the knob, he froze. It went blank.
Now, he stood in the woods, hiding behind a huge trunk of a tree. He witnessed two individuals dueling with swords. They did not look like nens. Warren remembered the picture of Homo sapiens on his computation device and it hit him that these two had features exactly like that in the picture. Even though they were clashing against each other, they had a friendly look in their eyes.
Seconds later, Warren again stood in front of his door, hands clasped in a firm grip around the knob. He was awfully horror-struck and it took him a moment before the realization that his heart was pounding against his chest and his breathing was apparently very fast dawned upon him. He decided to get the adrenaline back in control first lest he should swoon, and then he would chew upon it. He breathed in and out till the rate was normal and the parasympathetic system had re-established normal body conditions.
He went out the door, climbed down the stairs that led to the wash room. He brushed his teeth and took a shower in a hurry and got back to his room. Mrs. Hudgens had already left for work.
With a digital notebook in his hands, Warren stared out the window sitting on his bed. The lines on his forehead deepened as he was straining hard to think about one thing at a time which he apparently wasn’t able to. His thoughts shifted from one topic to another, sifting through them, the central theme being Nastus Hantagen.
He looked at his notebook and said…
‘Record.
“A Visionary Sequence:
Day 94; 1454 W1.
09:30 hr
Two Homo sapiens dueling in the woods.
Looked like they were friends.
The vision occurs all of a sudden, Warren Hudgens being the spectator.
No scientific explanation.”
Stop.’
‘Brilliant… so here I am hallucinating,’ construed Warren with a scowl on his face. He threw himself back, his head hitting hard at the pillow. He thought, can stress have such a bad effect? May be, yeah. I must tell the HTCT that there are nens who know about Hantagen.
He sighed and rummaged under the pillow for the HTCT sepad. He almost got flabbergasted looking at the numerous push buttons on a slim rectangular piece of metal. Spotting the blue button, he took in a deep breath and let it out. He kept it down on the bed and took a few minutes to get dressed in his formals. He pressed the button and a message flashed on the screen of the digital wrist belts of every agent of the HTCT to muster in the conference room of the headquarters.
Meanwhile, Warren was teleported to the headquarters. He killed time until the agents materialized in the conference room. A second later, Mr. Flog appeared in his chair. All heads turned towards him while he stared at Warren with a discerning look. He said, ‘Please be seated, everyone.’ After a split second, he added, ‘Yes, Mr. Hudgens?’
Yeah, of course he’d know who’s called the meeting, thought Warren. He cleared his throat and said, nervously, ‘Mr. Flog, sir, it so happened that I searched for information regarding Hantagen this morning on my computation device. Most of it was what we already do know but I found a very imperative point that is worth considering. It said that there are a few nens, besides us, who know about Hantagen but they dare not say anything because of Slaves of Hurricane.’
‘Hmm,’ nodded Flog. Warren gulped, fearing that he was about to be chided over by Flog like a Level 18 student getting scolded by his teacher for bringing out a worthless point in front of the class. Before his fear culminated into the feeling that he was now about to actually get detention, Flog said, ‘Interesting’ and he heaved a sigh of relief. Flog smiled slightly and addressed the agents, ‘Keep your eyes open, agents. Try to locate such nens. Perform research… investigate… do whatever you can that can help us find them.’ Turning to Warren, he said, ‘Good work, Mr. Hudgens.’ ‘Thank you, sir’, smiled Warren. Once again addressing the agents, Flog said, ‘And the Advanced Level Panel has almost sketched the plan. We’ll soon start priming ourselves accordingly. Thank you, agents.’
All of them were teleported to their homes except Warren and Flog. Warren wondered why he wasn’t teleported. It was unusual. At other times, all of them were teleported together when the meeting ended. He looked at Flog and tried to maintain a calm posture. Flog said, ‘Warren, I’ve been watching you for a year. You seem to be doing a pretty good job in the HTCT. You’re concerned about the organization. I appreciate your work.’ Warren was in a trance. He managed to say, ‘Thank you, er… sir.’ Flog smiled and said casually, ‘OK, I’m holding you for long. You must go now. Nola is a bit worried about where you are.’
Before he could read between the lines, Warren was teleported back to his room. He realized that Flog had called him “Warren” this once instead of “Mr. Hudgens” and that he’d said “Nola is a bit worried about where you are”. Before the words could sink in, Warren dashed to the living room. His mother asked him apprehensively, ‘Where were you? You weren’t in your room.’
Warren got control over his breath before he spoke, ‘I was right there, mum. How come you’re here? You’re supposed to be in your office at this point of time.’ Mrs. Hudgens said, ‘I had to come back to retrieve some papers I’d forgotten to take with me.’ ‘Oh,’ said Warren, ‘Well, I’d get back to my room. I have to study.’ ‘In your formals?’ queried Mrs. Hudgens. ‘Yeah, er, I had this sudden idea of studying in formals. I reckon I can concentrate better, you know,’ said Warren in a single breath. Amused at the words he’d said in spite of himself, he added, impatiently, ‘See you later,’ and dashed back to his room, leaving a bemused look on his mother’s face.
Lying on his bed, Warren thought, Flog knew mum was home? How on the face of this earth does he know my mother in the first place? His thoughts lingered on the theme till he planned to go to the mall in the evening. He thought he needed some time out to get some refreshing air as much as he needed a few T-Shirts. He said to himself, I’mma push every thought outta my head today. The contemplation thing can wait for tomorrow. And now, I’m up for forty winks.
‘I believe he’s dead,’ replied another, point-blank.
‘Don’t be so sure. He isn’t showing up, anyway’, interrupted a third.
‘Yeah, right! But where is he?’ asked the first.
‘Recently when he appeared, we had Combat 16, and that was the previous year,’ calculated the third one.
The second one said after a moment’s contemplation, ‘As long as he doesn’t show up, don’t lose the hope of him being dead. During Combat 16, the HTCT had given him a tough time. Do you forget how we’d defeated him?’ He grinned conceitedly at the mere thought of the organization he worked with being able to fight back a power as strong as Hurricane.
‘Do you forget Hurricane is invincible?’ stated the first raising an eyebrow.
Discussions and debates were being followed by unsatisfactory conclusions that revolved around the same theme- the current whereabouts of Hurricane. Not one single head was spared of not musing upon the subject. Every member sitting across the table in the central meeting hall of the HTCT headquarters was downright perplexed and perturbed. The murmurs which had filled the entire hall were withdrawn when the Secretary announced, ‘Mr. Flog, our head, will be here in a few seconds. Your patience shall be appreciated.’
A nen in his late forties appeared out of nowhere seated firmly in a chair next to the Secretary on a platform in the northern part of the hall raised higher than the floor of the hall. In a gray and white suit and neatly trimmed dark hair, he gave the impression of a stern nen.
Someone among the nens at the table got up all of a sudden, wearing a horrid expression, turned towards Flog and blurted out anxiously, ‘Mr. Flog, where is Hurricane? What is he going to do next?’
Frowning slightly, but maintaining a tranquil pose, Flog said, ‘Yes, Mr. Wickes. Hurricane is my buddy. I meet him everyday. We chat about his plans and intentions with an ancient poker game to get along. He’s even told me the date and time correct to a nano-second when he’ll be sweeping off nen-kind.’
Everyone chuckled. Abashed, Wickes said in a small voice, ‘Sorry, er, sir, Mr. Flog. I…er, just…’
‘Sit down, please,’ said Flog with a nod. He stood up and addressed the hall, ‘Agents present and those not, I call for your complete attention.’ He paused and glanced around. There were about a hundred nens and twenty moving holograms of those absent bodily, attending the meeting which was to reveal about the existence of 10 Earth Worlds.
Flog continued, ‘So I proceed. I’ll make you acquainted with a few very important facts related to Hurricane. Time- It has been divided into ten parallel worlds. World 1, 2, 3and so on. You and I… we live in World 1. Hurricane belongs to World 4. World 10 is highly advanced. World 1 is the least. Therefore, comparatively World 4 is more advanced than us. I don’t call us under-developed because we are still more advanced than a world that existed long before on the Earth which was annihilated by the same being our organization has been fighting against since long. These ten parallel worlds replaced that world on Earth. We don’t know how these worlds run simultaneously at the same place but a nen from any of these worlds cannot cross the threshold to another world. At this very place, there might be a city, a forest, a mountain, a lake or machines. Someone might be walking through us. A hundred possibilities. It’s the only truth. Or, truth might still be breathtakingly away from us, for the good, as we’d like to believe. At any rate, Hurricane happens to be able to invade our world and the rest of the worlds because he has achieved a power called “Hantagen”. This is the power of the highest level. A World 10 nen, though more advanced than a World 4 nen in terms of technology, cannot vanquish Hurricane because he has this “Hantagen” power.
'Hantagen was a person who belonged to the pre-annihilation world, as we refer to it. What was so special about him? What supernatural quality was in his possession that a power of the highest level has been named by his name? Inexplicable questions.
‘Having carefully analyzed the previous Terrors that have been caused by Hurricane, the HTCT Advanced Level Panel has concluded that Terror 909 is going to be lethal, ghastly. It means the end of life on Earth with no hope of its revival. Hantagen is the only one who can slay Hurricane. But just as we do not know where Hurricane is, we do not know where Hantagen is, either.
‘That doesn’t mean we, the Hurricane Terror Combat Team, will not make every effort to fight Hurricane back. Hurricane is likely to attack any of the worlds he wishes to. He may not necessarily attack us but if he’s on a mission to wipe out nen-life, he’ll find a way to destroy each World. Therefore, we must prepare.
‘Hence, I will now conclude the meeting. By any chance you get a clue that might lead us to Hurricane or Hantagen, press the blue button on your HTCT sepad to call an urgent meeting. Also, think of ways and means by which we can win the battle- Terror 909. The Advanced Level Panel, meanwhile, is sketching a plan. You shall be informed about it later, when the plan is all set, so we can gear up in time. Thank you, agents. You may leave,’ ended Flog with an informative speech.
The speech left everyone in a trance. The holograms disappeared into nothingness and the nens were teleported to their homes. Amongst the agents who attended the meeting, there was one who had a different feeling altogether. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t irate. He wasn’t caught in a transitory spell of misplaced confidence. He was rather bemused. And excited. And thrilled. And connected. Yes. He had a strong sensation of being connected with Hantagen.
A tall and thin figure with brown, almond-shaped eyes that revealed innocence, the lad worked as an agent of the HTCT or the Hurricane Terror Combat Team. This guy, Warren Hudgens, nineteen, had short, dark hair and carried himself emitting spectrums of charm and energy all around.
*
‘What’s wrong with them? How can nens be so unfeeling?’ objected Mrs. Hudgens watching a video in a magazine. Warren reached for the magazine, said ‘Stop’ so that the video stopped playing and sitting beside his mother on the couch in the living room, asked her concernedly, ‘What happened, mum?’
Mrs. Nola Hudgens, a tall brunette with long wavy hair, was Warren’s mother. She had a white complexion which was in an absolute contrast to Warren’s rather tan skin. She had sharp features and was a gorgeous middle-aged lady. The only thing she and her son had in common was the colour of their eyes- brown.
She started in an infuriated tone about how some 11 year olds had smuggled petite robots into the Arine Territory and sold them at quarter rates and that how robot life is cut down to half if they get into the Arine Territory. Warren soon lost track of the conversation. While he flipped through the pages of the magazine, his thoughts pursued another direction. He whispered, ‘I dunno why I do not want to be a member of the HTCT anymore.’ When he said this, it was audible enough for his mother to catch the words. Bewildered, she realized that Warren was no longer listening to her monologue.
She enquired, ‘What is the HTCT?’ ‘The HTCT?’ asked Warren, alarmed, breaking off from his reverie. ‘You just said you do not want to be a member of the HTCT’, asserted Mrs. Hudgens. ‘Was I a bit too loud?’ he asked, wide-eyed. ‘Perceptible’, said his mother. Warren heaved a sigh. ‘Erm...’
Mrs. Hudgens raised her eyebrows. Warren turned to his mother and said in his husky voice, ‘It’s a committee in our organization’. She narrowed her eyes and said, ‘But it sounds like a name of an organization. Have I heard of it?’ ‘No’, Warren blurted out, ‘It’s just a committee, mum. No organization. You haven’t heard of it. It’s just… very… new!’ Mrs. Hudgens nodded. Apparently, she did not know her son was an agent of a secret organization which was especially designed to fight back Hurricane. And, apparently, she was oblivious to the fact that there was a dreadful danger lurking somewhere in the name of Hurricane- a danger that threatened to destroy nen-kind, or may be something more than that.
Warren thought he saw a smirk spread across his mother’s face. But he pushed away the thought from his mind. He watched her get up and go to her room. She called back, ‘Will you stay up late tonight?’ Warren replied, ‘I don’t think so.’
He went to his room and stood at the door for a moment to take a good look at the mess lying all over his bed and on the floor board- papers, books, files. His room was spacious with a bed in the south, two tables and a wardrobe in the east. A computation device- a micrometer thick screen was loaded on one table. There was a window in the north which gave the view of streets zigzagged and clusters of houses amidst a panorama of greenery. Warren glanced at his window and said, ‘Evans, dude, I don’t like the window shut.’ An electronic male-voice replied, ‘Oh, of course sir, you love the view.’ The window-pane slid into the wall. Warren indeed loved the view. It was tranquil and arresting.
Evans was the name Warren had given to the tech-help software of the Hudgens’ residence. Every house had to have tech-help software installed as per the norms of the Clears’ Territory-A Board. This software enabled voice-prompt-command feature which meant- “You say it, it’s done.”
He opened his shoes and piled up the books and papers in several stacks and placed them on the unoccupied table. He threw himself on the bed and put out the lights. His eyes turned towards the moonlight. It was a full moon day. He stared at it in quiet contemplation- I had read in Level 20 in school that the Earth has always had one moon. Planetary interchanges couldn’t change this particular fact. I’m glad about that. Humph… Mum thinks I study in an organization that deals in robotic software and stuff. Well, I am supposed to do that. But I am in the HTCT for a year and have participated in Combat 16 against Hurricane. I would’ve been studying in institutions within standard organizations like the rest of the nens of my age do, after crossing Level 20 of school. Here I am, studying and working in a secret organization that’s all about fighting some supernatural entity. How did I get here? If only any of us could remember or question.
Warren remembered about Flog’s speech. He wondered how life might be in the other worlds. Then, he speculated the life-style of the pre-annihilation world. Nastus Hantagen, he thought and drifted into a sleep.
The next day, as soon as he woke up, Warren turned his computation device on and began with his search on Hantagen. No significant result was displayed. He was startled to see the words flash on the screen in a jiffy: “Error: You may not have the permission to view the content.” ‘Darn!’ he exclaimed.
Although Warren did not study about computation devices anymore, he did have a good knowledge about them as he had always been interested in them and had given enough time of his life to experiment with them. He struggled and tried out various ways to open the page, disposing trivial files off into the trash box carved in the table which made a lot of noise every time he dropped a crushed file into it. Annoyed, he said, ‘Evans, The trash box is full, I reckon. Could you please empty it for me? The noise is getting on my nerves.’ With a soft puff, the files disappeared. Warren heaved a sigh of relief and continued with the search. After about an hour, he met with success. ‘Victory’, he sang.
He read through the information, “Hantagen is the power of the highest level. Achieving this power is next to impossible. Nastus Hantagen belonged to a world that is no longer there on Earth. That was a world which was a home to numerous and a wide variety of species which they referred to as biodiversity. Human beings did exist but they were not nens. They were Homo sapiens. The worlds that exist now are more advanced than Hantagen’s world. But some supernatural quality that Hantagen possessed made him more powerful than even a World 10 nen. Nastus Hantagen is immortal. His current whereabouts is a mystery.
“It’s supposed that a few nens, besides the HTCT agents, do know about him. But they’d rather not talk about it because of Slaves of Hurricane (SOH’s) present practically everywhere.
“Hurricane has achieved Hantagen power, somehow. He’d threatened during Combat 16 that he would unleash Terror 909 soon and that he’d realize his intentions.”
After about a moment’s reflection, Warren said, ‘OK… That’s not much information but the key point is- I now know there are nens who know about Hantagen. How do I get to them?’ He pulled out the file from the screen and double folded it. ‘Back it up, dude.’ Having said that, he threw it like a Frisbee it into the ceiling and added, throwing his hands into the air, ‘What’s costing you a reply?’ Evans said, ‘It’s done.’ ‘Well, thank you,’ said an irritated Warren. He got up and swiftly walked up to the door but before he could turn the knob, he froze. It went blank.
Now, he stood in the woods, hiding behind a huge trunk of a tree. He witnessed two individuals dueling with swords. They did not look like nens. Warren remembered the picture of Homo sapiens on his computation device and it hit him that these two had features exactly like that in the picture. Even though they were clashing against each other, they had a friendly look in their eyes.
Seconds later, Warren again stood in front of his door, hands clasped in a firm grip around the knob. He was awfully horror-struck and it took him a moment before the realization that his heart was pounding against his chest and his breathing was apparently very fast dawned upon him. He decided to get the adrenaline back in control first lest he should swoon, and then he would chew upon it. He breathed in and out till the rate was normal and the parasympathetic system had re-established normal body conditions.
He went out the door, climbed down the stairs that led to the wash room. He brushed his teeth and took a shower in a hurry and got back to his room. Mrs. Hudgens had already left for work.
With a digital notebook in his hands, Warren stared out the window sitting on his bed. The lines on his forehead deepened as he was straining hard to think about one thing at a time which he apparently wasn’t able to. His thoughts shifted from one topic to another, sifting through them, the central theme being Nastus Hantagen.
He looked at his notebook and said…
‘Record.
“A Visionary Sequence:
Day 94; 1454 W1.
09:30 hr
Two Homo sapiens dueling in the woods.
Looked like they were friends.
The vision occurs all of a sudden, Warren Hudgens being the spectator.
No scientific explanation.”
Stop.’
‘Brilliant… so here I am hallucinating,’ construed Warren with a scowl on his face. He threw himself back, his head hitting hard at the pillow. He thought, can stress have such a bad effect? May be, yeah. I must tell the HTCT that there are nens who know about Hantagen.
He sighed and rummaged under the pillow for the HTCT sepad. He almost got flabbergasted looking at the numerous push buttons on a slim rectangular piece of metal. Spotting the blue button, he took in a deep breath and let it out. He kept it down on the bed and took a few minutes to get dressed in his formals. He pressed the button and a message flashed on the screen of the digital wrist belts of every agent of the HTCT to muster in the conference room of the headquarters.
Meanwhile, Warren was teleported to the headquarters. He killed time until the agents materialized in the conference room. A second later, Mr. Flog appeared in his chair. All heads turned towards him while he stared at Warren with a discerning look. He said, ‘Please be seated, everyone.’ After a split second, he added, ‘Yes, Mr. Hudgens?’
Yeah, of course he’d know who’s called the meeting, thought Warren. He cleared his throat and said, nervously, ‘Mr. Flog, sir, it so happened that I searched for information regarding Hantagen this morning on my computation device. Most of it was what we already do know but I found a very imperative point that is worth considering. It said that there are a few nens, besides us, who know about Hantagen but they dare not say anything because of Slaves of Hurricane.’
‘Hmm,’ nodded Flog. Warren gulped, fearing that he was about to be chided over by Flog like a Level 18 student getting scolded by his teacher for bringing out a worthless point in front of the class. Before his fear culminated into the feeling that he was now about to actually get detention, Flog said, ‘Interesting’ and he heaved a sigh of relief. Flog smiled slightly and addressed the agents, ‘Keep your eyes open, agents. Try to locate such nens. Perform research… investigate… do whatever you can that can help us find them.’ Turning to Warren, he said, ‘Good work, Mr. Hudgens.’ ‘Thank you, sir’, smiled Warren. Once again addressing the agents, Flog said, ‘And the Advanced Level Panel has almost sketched the plan. We’ll soon start priming ourselves accordingly. Thank you, agents.’
All of them were teleported to their homes except Warren and Flog. Warren wondered why he wasn’t teleported. It was unusual. At other times, all of them were teleported together when the meeting ended. He looked at Flog and tried to maintain a calm posture. Flog said, ‘Warren, I’ve been watching you for a year. You seem to be doing a pretty good job in the HTCT. You’re concerned about the organization. I appreciate your work.’ Warren was in a trance. He managed to say, ‘Thank you, er… sir.’ Flog smiled and said casually, ‘OK, I’m holding you for long. You must go now. Nola is a bit worried about where you are.’
Before he could read between the lines, Warren was teleported back to his room. He realized that Flog had called him “Warren” this once instead of “Mr. Hudgens” and that he’d said “Nola is a bit worried about where you are”. Before the words could sink in, Warren dashed to the living room. His mother asked him apprehensively, ‘Where were you? You weren’t in your room.’
Warren got control over his breath before he spoke, ‘I was right there, mum. How come you’re here? You’re supposed to be in your office at this point of time.’ Mrs. Hudgens said, ‘I had to come back to retrieve some papers I’d forgotten to take with me.’ ‘Oh,’ said Warren, ‘Well, I’d get back to my room. I have to study.’ ‘In your formals?’ queried Mrs. Hudgens. ‘Yeah, er, I had this sudden idea of studying in formals. I reckon I can concentrate better, you know,’ said Warren in a single breath. Amused at the words he’d said in spite of himself, he added, impatiently, ‘See you later,’ and dashed back to his room, leaving a bemused look on his mother’s face.
Lying on his bed, Warren thought, Flog knew mum was home? How on the face of this earth does he know my mother in the first place? His thoughts lingered on the theme till he planned to go to the mall in the evening. He thought he needed some time out to get some refreshing air as much as he needed a few T-Shirts. He said to himself, I’mma push every thought outta my head today. The contemplation thing can wait for tomorrow. And now, I’m up for forty winks.
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