The Sketch Survivors: The Enemy Among Us

Paper-Brained

Soal had been limping for at least an hour now in search of Irene. He was now simply roaming the Facility grounds, hoping for a sign. Iminentia had been located in a storage department right next door to the Articulus vault, where it had been rather secure. Soal had picked it up, stared at it for a moment, and began his trek. The Facility was eerily devoid of any signs of life. The cameras near the Congregation Chamber were not even active. He pondered over what this could mean, but he pressed on, somewhat prepared to deal with a threat that never appeared. His injuries from Articulus's destruction of Fort Whal were still prevalent, but he was strong enough to wield a sword. That was enough for him. Not only that, but it was a miracle for him that no one had exited Iminentia while he wandered. Perhaps the time in Iminentia was much slower at this point in his own perception of time.

He crossed lifeless, spacious rooms, and lengthy stone corridors, until he finally found his destination. It from first glance appeared as a typical Revolute base, with an unnaturally high ceiling from which natural light spilled from a small window at the summit. But this one was much more compact, and all that remained here was a single raised bench in the center. The walls were coated with ivy, and the light fell clearly onto one easily identifiable figure, sitting on the bench, and facing the wall opposite to Soal.

"Of course you came," Irene scoffed. "This is a place I come, alone, to think. It's a personal thing. Only for me."

"What about me, Irene?" Soal asked weakly, and she finally turned around to face him. "It may be a miserable occasion, but do you think we can at least regain our lost hope?"

"Well, what do you think?" she crossed her arms as Soal walked over to try to sit down beside her, only to be rejected. "According to Perry, there's no need for hope anymore. Now, it's time to give up on everything we've worked so hard for. It's the end of the Revolution, Soal. Lint Corp will never let us go. Ever."

"But there is one hope left," Soal suggested as Irene finally rolled her eyes and allowed him to sit down, although she scooted over to the far end of the bench to avoid him. "If we convince the Facilitators to spread the news of Polygmius's true failure, maybe they'll let us wait until the default detonation date. You know, when we'll have to change ourselves completely."

"That's just not convenient for everyone," Irene's eyebrows expressed a profound depression. "My original plan was to get the Keys and unlock Death's Door. Then, we would storm the Grids and take the Sketches, and free all of the other Un-Characters before we make our ultimate escape."

"But what then?" Soal questioned. "Would we rejoin civilization? Probably not. Would we hunt and gather? That would be terrible. Would we hide ourselves forever from this world, and exist as Un-Characters in the Sketches forever??"

"You're thinking too much," Irene began to smile, inexplicably. "Thinking too long is against my personal policies."

"I can never think enough," Soal naturally responded, which attracted a peculiar reaction from Irene. "I can't stop thinking of my old friends in this trying time."

"Friends, hm?" Irene was curious, like Soal often was. "Tell me about them."

"They were called the kiwis," Soal reminisced. "They were short, flightless birds that had developed this incredible society. They respected me immediately. They took good care of me, and fought valiantly at my back. I wish I could stay there forever... er... ah... What about you?"

"Well, in Tynee I took special interest in the Drigits, giant ants with a funny way of speaking. That, of course, was before I met George." That brought them back to the current scenario. "Oh, oh no. I miss George."

"Me, too," Soal could agree. "And, well, I've been hearing a lot about this Kalver person," he was wary of entering a touchy subject here, but jumped right in anyway. "Who was he? People are telling me that I remind them of him."

Irene's mood sank immediately. "You... you do, too," she told Soal. "You remind me of him, too. It pains me too much to think of him all the time. So... I think of you instead."

"Flattery is my ultimate weakness," Soal's cheeks were victims of this conversation. "I have trained myself to avoid its strike."

"You don't have to be afraid of me," Irene admitted. A long silence penetrated the cold, dank air. They spent the next minute staring at one another.

"Well," Irene quickly altered the topic. "In the meantime, I want to take you someplace I spend a lot of my time."

"I'll follow you there," Soal decided. "Anywhere."

"Then, follow me," Irene bit her lip anxiously. She ordinarily went to this spot independently. She was very fearful of what would happen if Soal, in particular, found out what lay concealed among its buried.

The cemetery beckoned.