Before Hunter headed home, he stopped by Mrs. Margaret's, letting her know he would be gone for a while. She gave him a big hug and told him she appreciated all the work he had done for her, and that he had made her life much easier.They laughed over how they'd first met. Hunter was 12 years old at the time and had told them that his dad was an artisan who had just moved to the city and was looking for work. He asked them how much they pay for artisans and said he'd do it for half the price. They were skeptical at first, but Hunter said he'd do the first job for free. Rejection was a familiar friend by then. It was hard to stay motivated. He was about to give up and try to find another strategy when he finally came across Mrs. Margaret's shop.Mrs. Margaret and her family had shown Hunter kindness and support. It encouraged him to continue looking for new clients. Soon enough, Hunter had at least two minor jobs a week, which would be enough to feed himself. By the time he had to pay rent for the house, he had more than enough jobs to keep him going. It all started here, at this toy store.The reminiscing touched Hunter, and it reminded him of how strong he could be when it counted. It also reminded him it was important to have good people to rely on in hard times. Where Hunter was going, he had no one. He would start from scratch. But he knew that ruminating over what he would lose wouldn't do him any good. He'd had a few moments like that over the last few years and was trying his best to avoid a self-sabotaging spiral. He had to stay positive.Hunter wanted to stick around for longer and make sure that all of Mrs. Margaret's constructs were in good shape, but he had little time. Before he walked out the door, she handed him another 50 credits and told himself to come and visit if he ever came by their part of the city in the future. She assured him that the store wouldn't be going anywhere so long as she was still alive to fight for it. He needed to get home and pack, tonight he would leave for the Capital. The competition was going to be difficult, but he wasn't worried.Joyce emphasized that the competition would solely revolve around designing and creating constructs. The first round would be about pushing their fundamentals to their limit, while the next two rounds would be about pushing the team's creativity and problem-solving skills. Joyce said most teams spent the entire year preparing for this competition—though they would announce the specific makeup of each round just before the rounds started, the overall pattern remained consistent.Know your basics inside and out, is what she said. They weren't just focused on results; they wanted a reliable product and an experts touch. The artisans' skill in merging art and craft would be evaluated. He was going to be going up against future industry leaders, and the Council of Corporations knew it. This time, it was Oberon's show, but this contest and others like it would cycle around the various Council Domains, the hosting corporation gained the advantage in the first offer to the young talents, and that's on top of the prizes for placing in the top 3.So although Hunter would be more visible than ever before, and he was sure that the men and women behind his father's death would know about his existence once more, Joyce assured him that Oberon would keep a close eye on how the contest unfolded. Corporations valued young talent and preferred to recruit these youths from good schools, transforming them into obedient workers as quickly as possible.While she didn't say it explicitly, Hunter understood her real meaning. These are the mega-corps, after all. Vast, bureaucratic dreadscapes, built to pierce the sky and cast shadows that suppressed the creative soul of the world.That being said, working for one of those would be a better fate than being a victim of the Comics. At least he could guarantee some degrees of freedom as part of the Oberon's corporate structure.Increased security would balance out his increased visibility during the competition and its aftermath. This was Oberon Enterprises, not a local, family-owned convenience store. The amount of resources the company possessed would make any overt action against any of the youths at the competition an ill-advised operation. It occurred to him that if he wanted, he could have had his freedom even earlier without signing a contract with Oberon. Maybe during his time at the Barnum Academy of Excellence, he would his change his mind about his next move.The Comics wouldn't allow him to change his mind. Neither would any of the alternatives he could think of. He assured himself — for the thousandth time — than this was his best option. Hunter felt the pressure, but he wasn't afraid. His textbook knowledge might lack, but constructs were his lifeblood. Synergies had presented him with opportunities to take shortcuts that would improve the result of most projects that were put in front of him. It's what kept people coming back to him — he did good work despite his handicap. Despite what the world thought about affinity ratings, he would prove that his expertise was valuable and that his affinity rating was irrelevant.When he got home, he nodded at the Comics, who waited outside his door. It was important to respect them, no matter how much disgust and anger their presence inspired within him. No one in the neighbourhood would challenge the Comics. They sneered at him as he walked by, and he heard the words 'skeleton' and 'stick bug' muttered under their alcohol-stained breaths. Hunter was used to it. It still stung. Old memories of rejection that he didn't like to touch would aggravate.He had always been tall for his age, but the AR deficiency, or whatever caused it, seemed to inhibit muscle growth. That, and the fact he could only afford enough food to survive, and not much else in the way of luxury, meant that he seemed unnaturally thin and frail. Hunter had always had problems with bruises, broken bones, and dislocations while growing up. He'd learned how to be careful as he grew older, and his bones strengthened a bit, but he still needed to be vigilant about where he stepped. He never went out after dark, and he always carefully arranged his environment.A severe injury could mean that he couldn't work, and no work meant no food.So it was best not to give the Comics any reason to find trouble with him. He accepted the insults with as much grace as he could. If he triggered their aggression, he would find no saviour. The cops wouldn't be called, no one would complain. Hunter tolerated the jeers as he walked past them and unlocked his door, and ignored them when they told him he had one more day before they made his choice for him."32nd Street ain't a place for fools, kid. You think we're fools? You think you can ignore us forever?"Hunter felt tempted to comment on the irony of a comic denouncing a fool, but his self-preservation instincts took over and he focused on unlocking his door and getting inside the house in one piece.As the door closed behind him, Hunter took a deep breath.They would leave in a few hours, like they normally did. And then he would never have to deal with them again.Hopefully, he'd be out of their reach for good. Although he was loath to admit it, working his ass off to impress the corps was more desirable than having to be associated with these clowns.Besides, winning the competition and joining Oberon Enterprises would just be the first part of his plan.Getting out of Sanctuary was his true vision. That's what he needed to focus on.Before this competition landed in his lap, the dream of leaving the pull of the world's gravity seemed like nothing but a dream. He could still innovate, and push the boundaries of being an artisan, but he would do it locked to the ground — forever unable to step foot on strange new worlds, and see things no one had ever seen before.But everyone knew that Oberon Enterprises pride themselves on their out-world expansion. If there was anywhere else that Hunter could have such a high chance of achieving his dream, he didn't know about it.He clapped his hands to cut interrupt his train of thought, shifting his focus towards what he had come back home to do — get the hell out of this city. To do that, he would need to pack.Hunter had little in the way of bags or boxes to pack his stuff into. He strained to think of anything that he could use to bring what he needed to the capital city. He had a backpack that he could fit some of his tools into, and a few small boxes lying around the basement from old deliveries of spare parts. There was also a small carry-bag he'd brought at a grocery store a couple of years ago on a whim, convincing himself that he was doing his part to contribute to a better environment, and then forgetting that he'd bought it until now. He could fit a couple of pairs of clothes into that.A backpack, 3 small cardboard boxes, and a carry-bag.He nodded to himself. It would be enough. The competition would only last the weekend, so he only needed three sets of clothes to last him Friday to Sunday. If he needed anymore after that, he figured he'd just use the prize money to buy some more. The doubt rose again, the ever-present tension in his chest trying to let him know that what he was doing was insane, but he forced his attention away from it. It was irrelevant at this point.Once more, he felt the need to remind himself that he'd committed.During the short pause, he remembered that there was another item he'd be carrying with him. In the corner of his room, fit between his workbench and his closet, was a dark silver-grey briefcase. The same one that Jimmy had given to him all those years ago. He'd said that his father had given it to his boss, but refused to tell Hunter who his boss was and what his relationship to Hunter's father had been. He'd spent some time trying to open the briefcase, but the material was too strong. The only way he'd be able to open it would be to unlock it, but a passcode locked it. So far, he hadn't been able to guess what it was. Once every few months, he'd search his memories as far back as he could to find anything that could be a clue.There were many times where he doubted whether the briefcase ever came from his father at all, and that it wasn't some elaborate scheme concocted by Jimmy and his employer.Not that Hunter could deduce what that scheme might be, but he was certain of three things: his father's innocence, the Council corps' self-serving nature, and Jimmy's employer's influential position within such a corporation. Maybe Hunter served as a means to frustrate a business rival's plan. As far as Hunter knew, over the last few years of his life, he'd served as an unwitting pawn in some grand game of political chess.He couldn't prove it, and his 'benefactors' had asked nothing of him, or threatened him. In fact, it was almost as if Hunters' wellbeing had been a chore they'd checked off of a list and then forgotten about. It was out of character for any corporation that Hunter had heard of.So, either they overlooked Hunter, or they'd been keeping track of Hunter's situation the whole time. Hunter could only hope for the former option, yet something within him recoiled at the thought, and he laughed.It was absurd. He just couldn't wrap his mind around it, and yet there it was. How had he never seen it before?He couldn't tolerate being forgotten, nor could he tolerate being known. But all he could do was shrug it off. It didn't matter, did it?He had an aim, and he'd decided that it was worth the risk. That was what mattered now.Packing took longer than he'd thought. He warred with himself over what he'd wear, and which tools he'd need. In the end, he would take all of his custom stuff, and he would bring some of his own batteries. He had a few that were charged, and some were with partial charges. He'd leave the ones that were discharged back home, as recharging them to a state of usefulness would take too long.As far as his custom tools went, the most useful ones that he'd built into his workbench would have to be left behind as well, except for one that he could detach and carry over his shoulder. He couldn't justify leaving it behind, as it acted as something of a third arm which could speed up his workflow. It was a heavy piece of equipment for Hunter, but he figured he could get someone to help him move it.After getting everything packed up and placed by the door, he read an old novel to kill the time before Joyce's people arrived.Hours passed, the sun went down, and the Comics left. Hunter waited. He kept looking out the window, waiting, hoping that every passing headlight would turn towards his cul-de-sac.Hunter felt tempted to give up hope as the hours passed by, convincing himself that it had all been a hazy dream born of a desperate mind. He let the familiar feeling of dread live in his chest for a while. He deserved it for getting his hopes up. But as soon as it rose, the grief dissipated.He felt an odd sense of relief. His fate was determined. He would have to give the Comics his answer tomorrow morning.Yet, he remained glued to his seat, watching out the window. That soft ember of hope, refusing to lose its flickering glow for long. Hour after hour, it would flicker, but it always came back.At just before 10pm, a large black SUV turned into the cul-de-sac. Hunter's heartbeat felt like it had sped up a hundred-fold in a second. He felt a surge of adrenaline.This had to be them, right?Sure enough, the SUV stopped in front of his house. The driver and his passenger stepped out and walked to his front door. Hunter had the door open before they could knock.They seemed taken aback. Hunter could imagine how he looked, wide-eyed, winded from the arduous jog across the 25 feet between the corner of his living room and the front door. He could see them now from the light that shone out from his home. A man and a woman, both dressed in casual attire. They both wore denim jeans, the man wore a white Oberon Enterprises' t-shirt, and the woman had a studded leather jacket. She seemed the friendlier of the two, with feathered hair, large hoop hearings, and a calm smile. The man appeared a bit more visibly guarded. Scanning the surroundings, eyes analyzing every detail."Hunter Koar?" The woman asked."Please tell me you're here to take me to the Capital," Hunter said between breaths."Yes, sorry for the delay. I take it this is all the stuff you're taking with you? You know it's only for a few days, right?"Hunter decided not to tell them the entire story.He considered the home he'd lived in for the last few years and felt a sense of sadness. This was the last time he'd ever seen it, and as much as he'd grown to hate the neighbourhood, this house had sheltered him during the worst of times and the best of times. He'd had so many minor victories here, so many discoveries, so many dreams of what the future could look like if he somehow got the chance to soar.The sentimentality took him by surprise. He would miss this place, but he figured that as far as those surprise second chances go, this was as close as he would ever get.Hunter turned off all the lights and locked the door, got in the SUV, and left the cul-de-sac at the intersection of 32nd Avenue and Truss for the last time.The key to that house felt heavy in his hand. Not physically, but there was a sense of significance to it. He studied it as the rays of passing streetlights strobed through the windows; the shadows cast through, shifting along the same track and then resetting.Before, the key in his hand had just been a key. He'd always been careful with it, knowing that if he'd lost it, he wouldn't get another one. He'd been close to losing it a few times, each time felt just as apocalyptic as the last. But this was a different weight.He was glad that he'd decided long ago to create a necklace out of twine, threading through the head of the key. His father had once said that it was important to remember your story, who you were, and who you'd become. The key would be his way of remembering this place, the circumstances that brought him here, and his dreams of something better. He placed the key back around his neck and relaxed.In two days, he felt like his life had changed. He knew he was just imagining it. The future was still unwritten. He would still have to push himself to win the competition. However, he couldn't help but feel like he'd just done something important. He'd trusted himself. He'd found an avenue to improve his situation, and he'd taken it.No matter what, he'd make sure that this opportunity bore the fruit he hoped it would.