He had woken up in a dimly lit room, had moved to a bright classroom, and now Wilson found himself treading back into darkness as he descended the stairs. His fingers brushed against the walls as he cautiously crossed the stairs, but his steps grew more confident as his vision adjusted to the shadows. As he reached the last step, he drew his hand away from the walls and peered around. Where was his partner?

“Is anyone here?” he called out, his gaze sweeping across the room once more before he paid closer attention to the walls. Wilson had expected the walls to be rock, or perhaps dirt, but they contained numerous grooves and indents. Curious, he stepped toward the walls and leaned forward. It didn’t take him too long to realize that the walls were actually compiled of tiles and lots of them. He ran his fingers over the tiles and their runes, but as he looked closer he found runes that eerily resembled weapons: swords, bows, guns. Eyebrows furrowed, but Wilson quickly undid them as he wondered. What if—

[Hey, you! Youngin’! Take your face out of mine!]

He hastily stepped away from the wall, arms half-drawn up in front of him. “Woah.” It was a quiet voice, a very very raspy one. It reminded him a lot of someone he knew. The tone, the diction, what did it sound like…? His expression shifted from startled to contemplative to innocently curious. “Gramps?”

The disembodied voice sounded severely displeased.

[Youngin’, don’t you dare call me Gramps. I’m Dabir.]

Wilson couldn’t reply at first. He was talking to no one, after all. Fortunately, Dabir noticed.

[Over here.]

“Where?”

[Here.]

He shifted awkwardly as he continued to stand in place. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Dabir wheezed an angry wheeze. [The tablet, youngin’. The tablet. Take me out.] It sounded tired, but Wilson remembered that it had been sounding exasperated and out-of-breath the entire time.

Again, Wilson brushed his fingers over the tablets. He aimlessly explored the walls with his hands until he felt a quiet hum in the back of his mind. The man backtracked his movements until he found it. Although he attempted to identify the rune to a weapon, he heard the voice huff impatiently.

He sheepishly smiled. “Sorry.” His grip on the tile tightened, and as he eased it out he could feel it moving, changing its shape beneath his touch. Wilson’s eyes grew wide when the tablet finished its transformation, and all of a sudden there was a heavy weight in his eyes. Startled by the sudden change in weight, he dropped the thing and let it fall into a pile of heap.

[Whippersnapper! Don’t just drop me like that!] protested Dabir.

Wilson bent down. “Sorry!” He didn’t know when, but by now he had come to realize this was his partner: a talking weapon. A glowing weapon, in fact. Parts of it lit up, emitting a pale green glow that illuminated the area. The light made it plain to see that Dabir wasn’t a conventional weapon. Dabir was…Wilson didn’t even know. He appeared to be a tank, with wires that connected to a pair of hand cannons that also had blades attached to it. Wicked –though in the back of his mind he had wished for a gun and suddenly he missed his guns back home. He leaned forward and reached for the straps.

“Am I supposed to carry you around like this the entire time?” Wilson frowned, already imagining the back sores and aching shoulders.

[No, I won’t always look like this, but let me stretch for a bit.]

That sounded reasonable. He stood up, swung the weapon over his shoulders and began to adjust the straps, but something else plopped to the ground. Wilson moved to pick it up, but froze when he saw what it was.

It was a gas mask.

The style was similar, if not the same, to the one he had worn during the test. Its lenses were even a similar shade of pale green, almost as if to mock him. Wilson took his hand away from the mask.

[Youngin’, what’s wrong?]

He didn’t reply. He just sat down and stared at the mask, debating whether or not to take it.

[It’s just a gasmask.]

“No, not really,” Wilson answered softly. He sat there for a few moments. Or was it minutes? Maybe even hours? He didn’t know. He didn’t have a watch.

After a while, Dabir broke the uncomfortable silence. [Youngin’, I don’t know what’s wrong but you’re gonna have to pick that up because you’re gonna need it. Trust me.]

Wilson mustered a smile as he got back to his feet again, swiping up the mask and hesitantly putting it around his neck in the process. “You’re probably right. My name's Wilson, by the way. Not 'youngin'".” He didn’t have the time to sulk. At least, not here.

Gripping the cannons—wait, how was he going to use his hands now?!—he ascended the stairs. “Gramps, do you have a gym around here or something? I’d like to do some stretching myself.”