Through the wide window screens stretched along the otherwise white wall there beams a cyan sunlight into the rather large lecture hall room, for it has five rows of semicircular tables along a structured terrace. Those tables are occupied densely with hovering chairs seated by a vast array of students who wear casual clothing such as hoodies and shirts, though they vary rather drastically in age upon closer examination as while there are some teenagers like normal students there are also adults both in their middle ages but even some elders given their white hair and compressed stature as a result of senility.
Regardless they all have their own holographic screens on the desk in front of them that is gradually being filled with their written notes, but they make sure to also focus at the very center of the globe, the back wall which has three larger holographic screens along it exhibiting various diagrams and graphs along with text down the center, though the centermost screen oddly has a distinct yellow outline along the edges that draws attention to it. Standing in front of that screen, though below as the screens are elevated well above the floor, is a man in front of a podium who is dressed in formal attire that being a black blazer paired with samely colored pants, who has been lecturing confidently over the room: "Now how you choose to departmentalize should be very much dependent on what service it is providing, and of course you can have sublevels that mix and match these different structures but ultimately the higher levels should be based on what is prioritized in production. For example if you're multimedia, maybe you want to separate those different mediums into a high level department so everything can fit below as to not mix together managers working on entirely different types of products, and maybe below that you'd to branch off based on a product-based divisional structure for the specific products of those medias, really you'll find there is no end-all be-all template everyone uses," before the center screen loses its highlighted edge, and instead the edge of the rightmost screen brightens with its own similar highlight.
At the center of attention, the lecturer bears a minor scar along his right cheek below gray eyes, his short brown hair well groomed, carrying himself with an elegant posture despite having a rather bold physique in terms of broad shoulders at six and a half feet in height.
He continues to explain with his hands extended in accompanying motions, "Either way you should strive to understand all of these divisional structures, not only do many corporations these days employ nearly if not all of them to some extent, but even jumping between different positions of the same role might lead you somewhere where the significance of a low level divider is suddenly towards the top. As I said, companies will develop their own order based on what is best fit for them, so you will need to be ready to adapt to their structure to stay on the wave," before his attention quickly shifts to the right.
That shift in focus is due to the fact that one of the audience members in the middle row has raised their hand, that being a man older than the lecturer given that he has gray receding hair, dressed in an old blue blazer. A few of the students beside him turn focus upon realizing he was the reason for the strange pause in the lecture.
Noticing the request for a question, the lecturer smiles softly before nodding his head and asking: "Yes, Hammold?"
His presence acknowledged, the old man lowers his hand back to his side as he earnestly inquires: "Thanks Walker, I was just curious how matrix and circular structures fit into this. Like is that also a sublevel or…something?"
Huffing through his nose in slight amusement, the lecturer referred to as Walker shakes his head with a smile, not one judgmentally humiliating but instead a genuine one in pride of the man's curiosity as he takes a step back from the podium before admiring, "We haven't gotten to that part yet, I see you read ahead on the material, that's good. It's never bad to get ahead."
He places his hands on the podium stand before following, "Though I will say that is a different topic, well it is still of course a structure of organization so it is in the same orb park but these divisional structures we've been going over follow a shape like a tree where you have different branching spurring off at each level, and these different divisional structures are simply a way we determine the meaning of each level and how it breaks down the organization. What you're talking about is actually alternative structures that are not shaped like trees, ironically enough these alternative structures do incorporate the dividers we've been talking about so they are related in that way, but they aren't dividers themselves. We're going to get to that in the next lecture actually so hopefully I can explain some things better, but again good for asking, I'm glad you're looking ahead."
Walker then glances around the room for a moment before asking with a gentle smile, "Any other questions?"
Though during the panoramic scan of the hall, not a single one of the many participants raises their heads, a few of them in fact shaking their heads in assurance.
After completing the scan and providing an additional few seconds just in case, Walker claps his hands together before concluding, "Well that should wrap this lecture, I hope you all learned something today and I'll see you same time tomorrow."
All the sudden hordes of the participants stand up from their seats, letting their screens deactivate before they shuffle around on their way to the aisles segmenting the rings, allowing them an exit while Walker announces over the sounds of their departure: "Make sure to read up on Chapters 18 and 19, we'll start with a group discussion before heading into lecture!"
A few of the students turn back to face him and nod their heads, one of the younger teenage girls even providing an innocent thumbs up before turning back to the exit, assuring that they had all heard though it's clear they're eager to leave the room.
Watching the students leave, Walker maintains his soft smile, standing behind the podium with his hands still resting, leaning forward slightly though still maintaining a solid posture.
However while observing the students, his innocent smile begins to shift as his expression becomes one of intrigue in contemplation, frowning subtly with sharpened eyes that begin to bounce around.
He then pushes himself backwards, standing upright once more with his hands slipping to his side, turning his head slightly with raised eyebrows as his contemplation grows more curious, as if suspicious of his surroundings. The sounds of shuffling footsteps and distant chatters continues, though it reduces gradually as more students leave, providing the lecturer more peace to think, taking a step back.
That's when all the sudden his eyes widen in horror and he exclaims to himself, "Shit I forgot about the picnic," before he suddenly turns and begins walking hastily off to the right, tapping on his wrist which results in the three holographic screens on the main wall vanishing one after another from left to right. As the rightmost screen flickers, a door etched into the right wall by the podium vaporizes into a whooshing cloud, allowing him to continue his way through.
Out of the cloudy door before said clouds are drawn over the doorway, compiling dense enough that they solidify once again, Walker sharply turns to the right and continues down the white hallway where in the distance many other doors can be seen vaporizing, allowing floods of people to step out. This prompts Walker to quicken his pace, glancing again at his wrist before his speeding steps shift to a subtle jog, swaying his arms back and forth but making sure to maintain a low profile as to remain professional.
He exits the hallway into a wider lobby room where a mob has developed, swarms of people of all ages including some at the edges dressed in blazers that have striking green accents along the lapels. He slows down upon entering this room, shuffling through the crowd, trying to continue onwards while muttering, "Sorry" repeatedly, apologetic yet still persistent. The lobby has a few elevation pads that raise up and down, carrying groups of others, some dressed in those green-accented suits, for the whole lobby is like one of a high school in its size, perhaps large for one too.
Regardless the man pushes through, reaching the other end where there are wide doorways already open, letting him shimmy through the crowd out into the open where he can raise his pace once more into a blatant jog, bordering on a run as he passes everyone away from the silver walls of the wide yet smooth building, the surface just that one tone without any visible windows or such. There is a cyan tint however from the sunlight reflecting off it, though it's fragmented due to the many umbrellas of leaves raised by the trees that surround the building's front, not so dense to block the sky but enough to provide a natural environment.
Walker passes a black metallic road same as many of the others exiting the building, passing them hastily onto a silver path down that forest, for only that path obstructs the otherwise natural floor with fields of grass among scattered flowers of varying colors beside the trees. The path is decently wide, a little more than enough for a pod to drive through which allows for many to stroll alongside one another. This does result in what feels like walls that Walker has to swing around by side stepping on the grass and back on the path, apologizing again knowing he's cutting off the others who offer strange glances.
Nonetheless Walker doesn't slow his pace, in fact if anything he raises it into a full sprint as he approaches the edge of the forest, passing the final trees as the cyan light becomes nearly blindingly intense, soon consuming his whole peripheral vision.
Blazingly intense is the cyan supersun behind the clouds, its circular shape bleeding its tone onto the sky that has a similarly cyan shade as evidence of evening. The portion of the sky closest to the sun especially had the strongest cyan shade, perhaps still a shade of blue though it's clearly distinct from the regular sky blue tone, darker than the source itself.
That shade is reflected in the gleaming water that rises in tides, waves that ascend in a curl before diving, splashing into itself with minor particles flung off from impact as it covers the water in a layer of white foam moving with the rest. The sea body these tides rise from cover a great range, so much so that only that flat water plane can be seen all the way to the horizon where the blue waters cross with the cyan sky, bleeding into a similar hue. There's no visible borders on its sides either, not constrained like a river or lake, free to flow in all directions for further than what the eye allows sight of.
The only boundary in fact is the single shore that the washed tides flood onto, darkening the sand by the line into a brown shade distinct from the golden tint of the untouched grains. While being closer to the tides may allow for the presumption of grand scale, in actuality by the time they reach the shore they've depleted most of their momentum, only crawling up so slightly before being pulled back into the sea. Tides follow from the sea to the land every few seconds in the same manner, waves from towards the open body accumulating into a rising tide that reaches the maximum of its crescendo before collapsing forward, releasing its energy into a final push that accelerates it to land. These tides have similar power as the brown line differentiating where the water has touched does not change drastically, the edge of the waves reaching generally the same point before regressing, not claiming more land in any quick succession nor struggling to maintain that consistent distance.
Past the extent that the tide reaches are crowds of people dressed in various attire, many of them seated on hovering chairs designed similar to beach chairs in that they're naturally reclined slightly, tall enough to offer head cushioning. Each of them are accompanied with a hovering table, which stands beside the chairs that are unoccupied.
The chairs are scattered in circles, letting people sit around together, the tables in front of them rather than at the side, a little above waist level at the proper height to hold plates of food, visible burgers and chicken tenders among batches of smoked vegetables. Beside the plates are cups which some of the people hold, taking sips of it before placing it back on the table to continue eating, speaking to one another.
Floods more of this community make their way towards the shoreline, spreading out as there's a surplus of these seat clusters scattered around the beach, allowing many options as while some people walk on their own, others form groups who chat together while seeking a place to sit down.
This crowd, while dispersing quickly, does funnel out from one specific line, that line emerging out of a large food booth composed of a wide square of tables on the outside and two long tables in the center, though not too long as there is still spacing from the edge. The outer tables are lined with trays holding various food items, several trays carrying batches of hamburgers, others with hot dogs, chicken tenders, ribs, and brisket. There are also bowls containing coleslaw, potato salad, and black beans with green beans beside it. These trays surround the station, where there are also stacks of cups already filled with water on corners beside stacks of plates and smaller trays for utensils.
This station is surrounded by people grabbing plates and occupying them with the provided foods, selecting their meals all while one man inside the station's walls dashes around busily, monitoring the two tables as segments of the table carry their own functions, for there is a black block where a grid of hamburger patties topped with melting cheese sizzle over as though it's actually a grill, and on the other side is another black block holding steaming pots of beans like a stove. Attached to the tables are what appears to be dispensers similar to the ones used for napkins, and beneath the tables are cabinets though they still linger above the ground.
The busy man in the center is dressed in a white buttoned up shirt with orange pants, about six and a half feet in height with broad shoulders for he has a muscular build. His fair blue eyes dart around to find a tray of burgers nearly empty, a scar along his left cheek above a well groomed black beard. He frantically faces the patties sizzling on the inner table, but his attention is raised upon the hasty approach of the man in the black blazer who the man in the booth shouts to, "Walker where were you?!"
Rolling below the square of tables to pop up in the middle, Walker begins incessantly apologizing, "Sorry Vincent sorry, I forgot the date," while he slips his blazer off by reeling his arms out of the sleeves, revealing a white buttoned up shirt underneath. After fully taking off the blazer he folds it over his arm before glancing around in search for a spot to leave it, but he's quickly shown that there was no space as the outer tables were full of food trays and the inner tables were either filled with cooking food or supplies such as knives and burger buns that sat next to the grill.
"Yeah yeah Walker you really got to start keeping track of these events," absolves the other man identified as Vincent before he directs, "Go restock the burgers I think they're done cooking but the beans are getting finished," while Walker groans from the realization that he was stuck with the excessive outerwear before deciding ultimately to unfold his blazer and instead wrap it around his waist as a skirt, tying a knot with the sleeves before tightening it with a single strong tug. He nods his head with a sarcastic, "Yes yes boss," on his way to the grill, grabbing a grill spatula to dig one of the cheesy patties while his other hand picks up a bottom bun, bringing it close to the spatula to then flip the patty on the bread surface, placing it on the surface beside the grill and topping it with the appropriate second half of the complete bun. He continues rapidly peeling patties off the grill to repeat this process while Vincent grabs the pot of beans off the stove which he carries to the bowl holding the few green beans left, dumping the whole pot of steamed beans inside which strangely enough doesn't flood any water as if the pot doesn't require such even though the beans itself are wetted.
After filling the bowl which empties the pot, Vincent returns the pot back to the stove before reaching for the cabinet beside the stove. As a conal blue light emits from the cabinet onto him before bestowing a large white bag held in both hands, Walker tops the last burger from the grill and runs around to retrieve one of the nearly empty trays that has just a single burger left, though just before he snatches it an old man approaches that tray to which Walker reels his hand back, signaling for that man to take the last burger which he does with a smile before nodding in gratitude. After the man places the burger on his plate and continues up the line, Walker grabs the newly emptied tray and runs with it back by the grill, using the spatula to scoop each complete burger and place it on the tray in an even grid.
While Vincent opens the bag with a simple tug to then pour its contents –that being a great abundance of additional green beans– into the pot already back on the stove, Walker finishes rapidly filling the tray with this new batch; he picks up the tray and runs it back to where he had taken it from to then slide it on the table just in time for a younger teenage boy to walk up to it, grabbing one of the burgers with a soft spoken, "Thank you," to which Walker stops with a smile, nodding back and responding, "Of course Ren, take as much as you want." The boy continues on to keep grabbing more food, allowing Walker to return back to the center of the station with haste, surveying the edges of the station to find the tray of brisket nearing emptiness.
While Vincent tends to another pot on the same stove, this one preparing brown beans in a soupier form which he stirs with a spoonula that helps calm the steam emitting from it, Walker steps over to a brisket chunk already sitting on the table beside the grill with a large steak knife beside it. He picks up the knife and begins slicing the brisket into reasonable pieces during which Vincent glances over to find the hot dog tray low on quantity before mentioning such: "Hey Walker, we need more hot dogs when you can."
Sighing from the additional task as he's clearly being strained from the stream of work, Walker nods his head with the confirmation, "Got it yeah," before muttering more quietly, "It'd be a lot faster if I could use even one other set of hands though…."
Despite the mutter being at a near whisper unintelligible to anyone picking up the food along the station, Vincent's head perks up and he turns to face Walker before suddenly reprimanding, "Hey you know you could get in trouble even saying that right? You're lucky they even let you off the inhibitors that quickly."
Shocked by the response with his head raised, eyes widened, Walker turns his head not completely around but at least to the side before assuring, "Hey hey I'm just joking, you know I am."
Taking a deep breath in and releasing it in a sigh, Vincent lowers his head as he glances past Walker's shoulder.
Beyond the station the line eager for food continues to move from the continuation of the beach for further out, the golden sand forming minor hills, it ends at a vibrant green forest the trees only about a story or two tall relative to a building, not super dense but instead spread enough that there are gaps between the umbrella of leaves for adequate sunlight to touch the grass below. Only glimpses of the silver facility can be seen in the forest, only a few stories tall thus not towering over the trees unlike most of the other buildings with that external identity.
Among the line are people dressed in those business suits with the distinctive green accents, though many of them have quite the athletic figure, broad shoulders or otherwise fit builds. Many of them are stationed in place while others patrol around, surveying the area somewhat like guards, many of their expressions stern, namely one who takes a glance at the station itself, exchanging stares with Vincent.
Breaking that eye contact slightly nervously, Vincent sighs again before more calmly lecturing, "I know it was but still, if they hear you that could still lead to punishment. I mean really we were lucky to have gotten this kind of community service this early to begin with, we don't want to stretch our luck."
After considering the criticism while placing the sliced strips of brisket on the grill which immediately begin sizzling, Walker lowers his head before more ashamedly apologizing, "Sorry Vince…I get what you mean. I don't want to lose this either…I even heard they're thinking about shifting us in a couple months to a service in some spots around the city, I mean it'd be on the outskirts but still, I wouldn't want to mess that up, I know it'd drag you down too."
Frowning due to the shift of tone he had triggered, Walker continues to work as he steps to the other side of the grill where there are open bags of uncooked sausages beside hot dog buns, and he begins picking up sausages to toss them on said grill, keeping a distance from the brisket. He lets them roll slightly too, able to fit six of them before the space becomes insufficient for any more.
His head stays low to which Vincent frowns too after the mention, diverting his gaze off to the side in meditation, his eyebrows scrunched in deep thought. His voice drifts like an outspoken stream of thoughts: "Oh huh…closer to the city? That's…I didn't think they'd do that for at least a year if not more…I mean I'm sure people haven't just forgotten our faces. There might be people there who still remember what we've done…the damages we made…the people we dragged down. I'm…not really sure if they should have to see us this soon ...."
Using a griddle spatula to flip the brisket for even heating same as gently nudging the sausages around as by now the line has shortened, most people seeming to have already collected their food though a few from the beachside do reenter the line for additional servings, Walker hums to himself for a few seconds in thought from the provoking statement.
He keeps his gaze to himself, his eyes focused on the grilling meats but his mind scattered elsewhere, a location that he visits in the gentle agreement, "I guess that's true…when people see my face they'll think about the rifts I reopened. I mean if anything I just made Exhumans believe they were no longer welcome again…I just undid decades of progress and did it for so long that people just figured it was the status quo. I mean neither would want to see me, on one hand I isolated other Exhumans and on the other hand I made everyone else look bad, would they really want someone like that walking their streets again?"
Huffing from the heavy statement, Vincent tilts his head before straightening it, pondering that question. He turns his body halfway around, letting himself study the food trays along the table, noticing that at the very least the rate of consumption has slowed down due to the lower volume of traffic.
His gaze remains on the trays despite his thoughts already glided to a place where he retrieves the reassurance, "Well I was the one who actually rallied Exhumans to start fighting, I got them to revert to their old stereotypes, to reinforce what people once thought them to be, I damaged their look so much more. And I wasn't even one of them, I mean they got to see me as a betrayer, for all the camaraderie I garnered it was all fake. All while having hurt, murdered so many humans like myself, everyone would fear me. I mean they wouldn't feel safe around me, I'm sure if we do service there we're going to have to be seen, I mean that's the whole point. But yeah…I don't even know if we should be seen. I mean even after we serve our sentence and we're free, who'd want us? Who's going to want to be friends with us, who's going to want to hire us, when our faces have been directly associated with that much violence?"
Unable to deliver a quick response to that depressive debacle, Walker instead flips the brisket once more, confirming that they've reached a state of crisp signifying of adequate grilling. He comments, "One mil," before he strolls off towards the brisket tray now with only a few slices remaining.
During the retrieval of the tray to bring it over to the grill in order for restocking, Vincent turns around once again to continue stirring the brown beans before ultimately grabbing the pot by the handles, unbothered by any temperature despite there being no visible rubberized grips, simply carrying it over to the bowl on the square tables. He gently pours the beans down the bowl, not dumping it suddenly but cautiously tilting the pot to let it stream through, precise with his movements.
After using the griddle spatula to scoop the batch of brisket slices and place them on the tray to refill it, Walker places the spatula on the table and ambles back to where the tray originally was, that being on the side facing the beach between the burgers and chicken tenders. He slides the tray on the table once more, straightening his posture and beginning to swivel in the process to return back to the grill, though he halts that spin for his attention has been caught past the station.
His body pauses before slowly swiveling straight again, his head fixing on a group of people closer to the waves, some of them still seated on the chairs composing the closest cluster, a handful of those chairs empty but the accompanying tables house plates and cups likely of the group now on their feet. Among the group is a younger boy, perhaps younger than even a teenager from a glance, racing along the edge of the shore beside an older man in his forties or greater, old enough to be his parent in fact. The remaining group, composed of a mix of elders, teenagers, and adults in between cheer on the sidelines of the race as the young boy begins to pass the man, approaching an adult woman well ahead who waves a wooden branch in the air like a flag. They race alongside the sparkling sea beneath the burning cyan sun, shadows of the competitors running beside them.
As the two racers approach the woman with the waving stick, the cheering rises even greater, causing those further away to break attention from their eating or conversations in interest to the roars. Some people even throw themselves off their chairs, some of them leaving their platter on the tables and others carrying it with them in a walk towards the crowd, some at a calm pace and others at an enthusiastic sprint.
Quickly the crowd grows and so does the rallying, some of the crowd even throwing their fists in the air while roaring as the gap between the two racers begins to shorten, the man picking up speed. Anticipation swells within the audience, the distance from the end closing quickly while more inhabitants turn their heads or pace towards the mob in intrigue. With the amassing group, those in the back have to either stand on their toes or try walking around to get a better view of the competition, resulting in a growing clump though there is still a decent clear sight from the food station.
At least it is enough to watch the two runners neck to neck in the last stretch of the race as the boy swings his arms back and forth intensely, pushing all his energy into his legs, just enough to push ahead of the man seconds before passing the woman with the stick to which the crowd simultaneously breaks into unbridled roars as the boy throws his arms up and lets himself fly into the sand, diving victoriously as the man slows to a stop and raises his head up to begin panting heavily while the woman with the branch tosses the stick in the air.
Watching this somewhat random competition that had garnered a sizable audience, Walker's initially apprehensive expression morphs to a gentle smile of serenity, the sun beaming on his gray irises and the scar along his cheek. He doesn't speak but instead silently views the reactions at their peak, for the cheering reaches Vincent too who has already returned the depleted pot of beans back to the stove, helping now with the sausages still on the grill which he grabs with tongs to gently place in hot dog buns that sit on a tray that has a few hot dogs uneaten from the former batch. After placing all the grilled sausages on buns already sitting on the tray, he picks up the stock and carries it back to where it was stationed before, sliding it in place. He then turns around and strolls towards the pot in contemplation of starting another batch, although there hasn't been anyone coming by for more food in the last few minutes now, for perhaps the current supply was adequate.
He's distracted however from this pondering as his head turns towards the cheering ahead, leading him to instead pace over to that same beachside view with an intrigued befuddlement. He stops beside Walker with scrunched eyes first uncertain of the events occurring as he rolls his wrists.
Past both Walker's and Vincent's shoulders is the scene of the race's aftermath, a few of the audience beginning to return back to their seats though many more remain in the area, still excited. Beyond them though the man who had participated in the race straightens his posture before noticing the boy face planted on the sand, to which he strolls up to him before extending his arm down.
The boy raises his head from the sand before shining a smile and grabbing onto the hand, letting the man tug the boy up off the ground, dragging him to his feet as the sand slides off his admittedly covered clothing. Neither the boy, man, nor any of the audience show concern for the mess though as they all instead smile cheerfully, the woman who was previously waving the stick running up behind the boy before grabbing him by the waist and hoisting him in the air. The boy instinctively raises his arms up as the remaining spectators continue to congratulate with claps and hoots, celebrating the race as a few of the audience pat the man on the shoulders, some of them reaching for an embrace which he reciprocates.
Both of the convicts watch as Walker tenderly comments, "I'm not sure you knew this, but there's hardly any families in this shelter. Hardly anyone is actually related here, I mean it's not even like they're all from this Earth, there's people from all over the place, some from the Core Worlds, others from further out."
Beaming a smile while observing the celebration as Vincent's eyes dart over to him, Walker appends in a tranquil tone, "And I mean I know most people here probably wouldn't want to have to be here, they all probably had some ambitions in one way or another and this isn't really what people see as 'making it.' I'm pretty sure if anything there are parents out there using them as an example to scare their kids into studying harder."
Despite the conversation's contents being rather grim as it actually exposes the depressing truth of the community, that bright tone persists in the thesis the man finds in this natural stream of consciousness while examining the mob: "But they don't frown a lot. I mean honestly we're pretty bad at cooking so I'm surprised they keep putting us on that job, but it's not like they complain or anything, if anything they keep coming back for more and they're happy with it. They're just…happy being together. They all have problems, some pretty bad problems but it's like as long as they're together they're fine with it. Or maybe they're not fine with it, but they're still able to get by without suffering. They're safe together."
Slowly Vincent turns his head to Walker, providing his full attention while the man maintains his gaze on the group, his smile oddly shifting back to a frown as his head tilts down slightly in shame before admitting, "It's…something like what I thought I was doing with the Watchdogs…I thought I was rallying hurt people together and helping protect all of them but…I just influenced them all to put themselves in needless danger, risk their lives if not lose it, all while tarnishing that entire half of humanity."
Drawing in and releasing a heavy breath from the shift of tone, Vincent frowns once again too with a hanging head before acknowledging, "I was under the impression that I was keeping Exhumans safe together, that the world would be out to get them and I needed to help them fight back. I don't know why I thought I deserved that say…I just got used to seeing the underground hate that still existed for them and I thought without the mediator they'd start fighting again. I felt ashamed of the kind of people I was a part of and I wanted to do something right…but damn I don't even know where I tripped but wherever I did I screwed everything up. I just made that underground hate look justified, some people even thought I did what I did to intentionally screw over the whole of Exhumans and some people in the group felt the same way from what I saw…. I tried fixing the climate and just completely burned it."
Excess slabs of brisket remain beside the grill as do hot dog buns unused, though none of them are being attended to as instead the two cooks stare in the other direction past the square's edge as the man with the blazer skirt huffs before crossing his arms over his chest. He raises his head back up before contemplating in a voice still sentimental though with a rising bold hint: "We did…and I'm glad both of those factions don't exist anymore. I heard about a few rogue branches for a while but it seems they've more or less died off. Which is good, and I wish it broke off so much sooner, I wish I could've prompted myself to break it off instead of needing to wait ten years for Him to tell me to. It was ten long years practically wasted, ruined…and yet…."
Most of the audience has dispersed by now, returning to their original cluster of seats including the competitors who were actually from the same group along with several others who were part of the initial crowd. While the roars have since ceased, the buoyant attitude has not as even from afar their smiles gleam and their laughter rumbles like shockwaves. The cyan sky darkens more towards a turquoise tone presumably due to the approaching day's closure, the supersun still high above the horizon but sunset perhaps will soon follow.
Returning his gaze to this sight, Walker reflects in a voice growingly more bullish, "We still have so much time left, I mean we can't really 'fix' what we did, we can't bring back the people we brought down, but we can spend the rest of our time trying to help. There's no point trying to compare, even if we help triple the amount of people we hurt it won't really make things 'right,' but if we try to help communities who are in need then maybe we can genuinely do something good. We could keep feeling bad for ourselves and thinking we shouldn't be allowed back in public for everything we've done…but doing that would just prevent us from doing anything good. I mean, is it really a good thing staying away from everyone if we could actually help them? I'm not naive enough to think they'll accept us from the start, it might take years, in fact it might never happen and we might just be immortalized as devils for as long as we're remembered, but if we can improve lives then what does it really matter?"
At last Walker turns his gaze away from the beach, back to Vincent to lock eyesight, his expression firmer, his colorless eyes carrying a glint of determination echoed in his voice that declares, "We were lucky to even be given this choice for another chance, to be allowed to come across other people and get the privilege to help them. I want to do the most I can with this service, and when we're eventually let out I want to keep helping however I can. It'll be a challenge to persuade anyone to let us help, but I want to try my hardest to, and I want to do the most good I can. Even if I'm forever remembered a monster, I want to live the rest of my life serving the people who need it so at the very least they can live better lives," as the sky continues to darken.
Staring back at Walker with a contemplative expression that warms to a sincere smile, Vincent raises his hand and places it on Walker's shoulder before confidently retorting, "Damn well, I got you a second set of hands. You're right, they're giving us this opportunity, we got to make the most of it. And even if they don't thank us, at the very least we might be able to get views like these, that alone I think is worth it."
Both of the men standing with their postures straight, Walker extends his own hand to place on Vincent's shoulder in a sign of camaraderie, smiling back at him. The two stare at one another for a few moments before Walker lets his hand slip back to his side and he turns to face the other way to which Vincent does the same, noticing many of the people at the beach standing up, their plates now empty as well as their cups, some people rapidly chugging the remainder of their drink to finish up their meal. Groups start to walk together towards the forest, chattering in smiles, some visibly exhausted though as they yawn and stretch their arms including the boy that won the race. Behind them the teal sky continues to darken at the rate it would during a sunset, although the supersun remains well above the horizon, not having moved significantly or rather proportionate to the reduction of casting sunlight.
Scattered around the beach, the personnel with the green-tinted suits glance to one another before strolling in towards the beach chairs as the platter is left behind during the mass exit as the sun begins to set towards the horizon.
One of the personnel walks past the food station and glances at the two men before directing, "Let's pack up for the day, we'll store the leftovers," before continuing onwards to aid with the cleanup at the beach.
Both Walker and Vincent glance at each other after the order before Walker echoes, "Well you heard him, let's get to it," before he strolls towards the center tables, ready to start clearing up the equipment. Vincent first surveys his surroundings in a panoramic gaze, examining the excess food and equipment that needs to be cleaned, but simultaneously he admires the environment with a soft smile, a sense of hope instilled within him after the long, stressful day.
At last he returns his sights to the center table and ambles towards it to assist Walker who has already begun picking up the many spatulas beside the grill, holding them out in front of the cabinets before a blue light projects onto them, consuming the equipment in a flash to which he repeats the process.
Along the shore, the remaining folk stroll towards the forest where the facility is situated, most of them moving in groups that converse during their walk, leaving the personnel in the suits to begin waving their hands at the beach chairs, commanding to rotate towards them before autonomously hovering forward. The chairs form a line akin to a shopping cart row, able to identify each other and group up neatly, still carrying the plates, cups, and any leftovers on them as the tables follow the chairs intimately.
While those personnel continue summoning more chairs to their group and folk pass the station, the two cooks inside said station clean up their supplies, Walker focused on returning utensils back to the cabinets while Vincent picks up trays and bowls along the edges, carrying them to the center tables for storage.
Above all, high over the glistening sea stretching past the horizon is the cyan supersun which begins to darken the same as the sky towards black while a gently lit ring of cyan sunlight vaguely brightens along the horizon.