The new safehouse was dark, reflecting the ambience of the world outside. When the snowfall strengthened, they opted to seek shelter before they ended up underneath the white blanket building up on the street. They settled with an old brick house with dirty walls and boarded windows. It was easy to unlock the gate from the outside, and the key lay in a random pot on the patio. What was up with that? Couldn't one's enemies break inside the house with that practice?

They did a quick round, listening for any sign of sentient life inside. The lights were off, weeds grew in withered flower pots and choice cracks on the pavement, and ivies leeched up the wall hidden from street view. When Thirteen tried cranking the door handle, the mechanisms released. The door swung inside without any issues, albeit the hinges complaining the whole time.

Some good luck they have.

The rest of the night passed by with them settling in the house. Whoever owned this property wouldn't be back any time soon. How did Thirteen know? A note lay in a faded mess, spiked through a small metal pole. On vacation in Klemensker. For emergencies, call 081-939-XX-XX. Will be back by the 10th of Oct '94.

'94. Something about that nipped at Thirteen's senses. He searched for a calendar, or something that'd tell the time. Sixteen found one inside a restricted bedroom after picking the lock. As expected, the pages were frozen in September 1994. No one had been around to turn it to the right date or replace the calendar altogether.

Another plausible explanation was that something happened on that vacation and resulted in a tragedy. The bedroom was kept as it was, and everyone simply moved out, freezing the place in time. The house, as a consequence, was left to its own due to bad memories. Well, Thirteen had a thing or two on those, so he understood.

The pantry was their next target. Everything was from 1994, and after more than twenty years, it would be a miracle if something was edible. If there was a wine bottle in place, probably that.

A spark from the living room caught his attention. Sixteen and Slate argued about the best way to have lit up something, the latter coughing and waving an arm in front of her. A black plume of smoke and ash curled from an alcove. What happened?

"Fine, have it your way!" Slate coughed once more and retreated from the alcove.

Five stomped into the scene and snatched the lighter from Sixteen. "This is a gas fireplace. There must have been a buildup from so long ago." She sighed. "Lighting it up could be dangerous, and Primeva might be able to track us due to the smoke. Looks like we're sleeping with coats on."

"It's not the first," Thirteen muttered, veering away from the drama. The younger boys found solace in the moth-eaten couch, throwing themselves into the fray. Didn't they consider it might be infested with mites and other unholy substances? Thirteen shook his head at the sight of Two's eyes shutting the moment his orange head hit the cushion. If Two woke up with head lice, it wouldn't be Thirteen's problem.

Eight settled on a window alcove, overlooking the street at nighttime. Behind them, Five, Sixteen, and Slate's argument has devolved into a series of tirades and passing of the lighter, each one afraid to flick a flame into the pile of rotting wood. Those wouldn't burn even if they tried. They wouldn't even last an hour.

He settled next to Eight and pulled out the screen Five got him. She told him earlier how she nabbed it from a random victim. Would the owner be this woman plastered all over the screen whenever he typed the code?

The screen's blue glow was almost white against the dim light in the street. His eyes scanned the icons, each one showing him what it contained. They resembled the fields where he accessed the hidden files in the chips' database, one he made to accommodate the data and other display requirements. Did this mean that even normal people have access to such a device? And they used it for...taking pictures?

His finger clicked the icon resembling a shut file. He scrolled through the endless throng of file names and types. None looked remotely interesting. To prove himself right or wrong, he clicked on one. It was...a picture of a cat. Or at least, he thought those fluffy animals were called that. El gato y la gata. There were two kinds, it seemed.

He shook his head to clear it. What was he doing again? Oh. Exploring this thing. A series of arrows and bars blinked at the top bar, distracting him. What was that? He touched the top panel and an entire menu rolled down. More icons. More buttons. Some were lit up. Others were gray. On and off? Probably.

"So, what's the plan?" Five said, barely stepping out of mediating the silly argument between Sixteen and Slate. The white-haired girl strode towards the more peaceful side of the living room. "We need to be out of here by tomorrow."

Thirteen reached a field after clicking an icon resembling a globe. "Define tomorrow, and define here," he replied, clicking the empty bar at the top of the new field. A keyboard popped from the bottom of the screen, displaying glyphs he was used to. There were less letters, but it would have to do. With his thumbs, he typed a random word. La localidad. It might betray where they were. The entire screen went white, and after a few seconds, a new interface filled with gibberish flashed. Two words caught his attention. Veyrier, Geneva.

And this flimsy device was able to pinpoint that with ease. Who was to say those chumps in Primeva wouldn't be able to track this? Even if he jammed the signal or blocked EM waves, as long as certain functions were left functional, it wouldn't buy them much time.

First things first though. They had to figure out a name for themselves. Blending in would be the best first option. He doubted people outside the grounds named themselves after a number, hence the bewildered girl in the cafe earlier.

"Thirteen? Are you even listening?" Eight's annoyed tone bled into his focus.

His head snapped up from the device and regarded his companions. They looked at him in expectation. Were they discussing something?

A sigh tore off Five's lips. "That thing ate your brain too? I knew it." She scratched her forehead. "I proposed we leave this place before noon, and get anywhere on foot. We can't be in one place for too long."

"Agreed, but we need to learn about this place before we make any rash decisions," Thirteen answered. He waved the screen at them. "I'm close to figuring out this thing. Apparently, it can tell us where we are. Some place called Geneva."

"Aren't you concerned about that?" Five asked. "What else does that thing tell you?"

Thirteen erased what he typed using the x button on the keyboard. "All kinds of things," he said. "If we're lucky, it can tell us something about Primeva or Jacqueline Shaw. This is like my portable screen, only a bit more user-friendly and filled with useless things. Give me time, and I can re-route the whole thing into something we can use."

"Another thing." Slate raised a hand. She had settled next to Seven and Two on the couch. These people truly didn't mind six-legged creatures. "Where will we get supplies? If this place turns out to be bigger than what we're used to, we need a lot to survive. And this time, Primeva won't be sending us anything."

A valid point. If not for Two and Slate's abilities, they would still be freezing penniless on the streets. Now, Thirteen was full to the brim with a cup of cold coffee and the others enjoyed a pastry or two. Already, the wad of bills had thinned a considerable degree. They couldn't go on like this, or they would need to rob an unsuspecting soul again.

Not that Thirteen cared about welfare. Rather, too many transactions in those ATMs would get them tracked. At least, that was how he understood these systems. Every move was surveilled, and there were a handful of things to do to ensure one's activities weren't.

"One of us will gather all the data they can every day," Thirteen instructed. That was the plan. For now. "Come back here after making sure you're not tailed. If you are, don't hesitate to use your ability. Once you shake them, return here. We'll get going then."

Seven bobbed his head. "Always be prepared to bolt, you mean," he said. "Got it."

Thirteen stuck a lip out and turned back to the screen. "I've still yet to figure out what this connection system is, but it appears it can tell us anything we ask for," he said. "Look at this."

He typed, Names for people, or at least, that was how he understood it. A series of gibberish lines and clickable fields greeted him. His thumb selected the first one, and immediately, a huge list of names flashed. Everyone crowded around him, each dying to get a chance to get their turn on the device. This wasn't Thirteen's gadget, so he let them. Eight got the device first, and her fingers tapped angrily on the keyboard as she searched for something. Finally, Five plucked it out of the girl's hands and resumed marshaling them for what they wanted to search for.

Thirteen stayed in the corner, watching these children act their age. For once, they weren't trying to kill each other just to survive, and that alone was a huge relief.

"Just so you know, I'll remain as Slate," she said over the scuffle and flurry of excited voices. "It's a good enough name to blend in. I think."

Thirteen hummed. "Suit yourself," he said. "Has any of you chosen something yet?"

Seven raised a hand. "I found the first word in the list when I searched for my ethnicity's most beautiful words," he said. "Alon. Meaning 'wave', apparently. Tides."

"Why? Because you ripple under the sunlight?" Two asked, earning an irked glare from the other boy.

"How about you? What did you choose?" Alon, or Seven, fired back.

"Five chose for me, since we're close to each other, kinda," the boy answered. "She named me Kevan. It's Irish."

"As if someone cares about where it's from," Eight scoffed from the couch. For some reason, the device ended up there. "I can't find the characters I recognize, so Five had to search for any name that I like the sound of. I settled with Ji-yeon."

"I'll be Dishari," Sixteen prompted. " 'Who Shows Way', at least according to that website."

Thirteen raised an eyebrow. " 'Website'?"

"Apparently, it's what the fields popping up every time we select something are called." Five stood up from the couch with everyone's requests fulfilled. She settled next to Thirteen on the window bench and showed him the recent website she had opened. "These unfamiliar terms bothered me, so I had to ask the device to teach me."

"Wise," Thirteen mumbled. "What name did you choose?"

Five frowned. "I searched my birthplace, and all that comes up is this." She handed the screen back, and he found himself staring at a field full of nothing but random faces and snippets of information. None were understandable, since they were in the language this device's user knew. "How do I get back to those name websites?"

Thirteen scratched the side of his head. "I have no idea," he said. "Maybe spell out something else?"

Five did, and more gibberish popped out. She clicked the topmost result and stuck with it. With all the nonsense, her eyes settled on a fixed point. "That word. I like the sound of it," she said, a smile creeping into her lips. "Jocasta."

"What is that?" Thirteen snatched the phone up and scrolled the website. The name was listed among a huge list, all beginning with J. Did she just input a random letter and stuck with it? Well, he'd do that too. "Give me a random letter."

Jocasta, or Five, tapped her chin. "M for mushrooms," she said. "I found some growing on the logs by the fireplace. They reminded me of you."

Thirteen didn't know whether to be offended or amused by that. Instead, he punched the letter even though he had no idea what she talked about. What was a mushroom? If it grew out of rotting wood, perhaps it was la seta, like those white bumps on the fireplace. Whatever.

Maybe it connected to what Jocasta searched before, but when he clicked on a list, they all had something to do with people and places he wasn't familiar with. He scrolled to the very end and pointed to the last one on the list. "This one," he said. "Markel."

"So, we just call each other by these names?" Alon scratched his head and closed his fist. "I feel kind of strange. And confused."

"It'd even out," Jocasta replied. "We have been responding to one thing for so long that the change feels bizarre."

Thirteen stood and turned the device off. He'd learn what it was called tomorrow. "Let's catch up on some sleep." He dusted his hands off. Even that window couch wasn't forgiven by insects. "We need it."

"I claim the bed!" Kevan ran off into the direction of the restricted bedroom—the only one in the whole house—and shut the door.

Thirteen looked at the rest. Seven people with one bed. Couldn't they just sleep together? It would be nonsense to split up in this situation. "Well, good night," he said, sinking to the floor. This would have to do. He'd deal with the soreness tomorrow. "See you in a few hours."

"Wait," Jocasta said. She peeled off the window couch and strode towards his spot. "You never told us what happened when Eighteen slammed your head into the wall. It must have hurt and affected your brain."

Thirteen shrugged. "I remember what happened to me before I ended up in the Game," he said. "No big deal. I died. At least, my family thought so, and the Corrector found me."

"What would it take for us to remember our memories too?" Alon prompted.

"If you're up for it, bang your head against a wall—"

The sound of bone knocking against thick bricks rang across the space. Thirteen whirled to see Jocasta walking back to them, staggering. A thick, red liquid dripped from her nose. "That wasn't so bad," she said, rubbing the sore spot on her forehead. She turned to Ji-yeon. "Come on. Try it. Rather therapeutic."

Thirteen blinked at the abundance of idiots slamming their heads voluntarily into solid surfaces. They were loud enough to draw Kevan out of his proclaimed room, and soon, with Alon's urging, joined them in their madness.

"—but I doubt it'd work with you," he finished when all sat on their haunches, rocking as a wave of dizziness overtook them. All it did was induce nosebleeds. It wasn't the sight he wanted to see before going to sleep. He shook his head and waved a hand in the air. "Well, whatever. You guys have a lovely shut-eye."

He plopped to the floor, closed his eyes, and was soon lost to the world. Tomorrow will come, as always. What's uncertain will be what comes along with it.