There was a large sign that identified this area as NLQ – Neurovance living quarters.
This neighborhood seemed to already be more or less empty, and without the crowd bogging us down, The Forgotten broke out into a jog.
I stumbled to keep up, and my feet immediately got tangled in my laces, causing me to trip.
Almost as if he expected it, The Forgotten jerked me up and straightened me out before I could go down.
Suddenly, I was airborne, and it took me a moment to realize that he wascarrying me.
Like, in a full-blown fireman hold, as if I were some damsel in distress.
He tucked me close against his chest, and I was hit with that overwhelming woodsy scent of birch and oak.
‘I’m not going anywhere, Milo.’
The Forgotten’s sharp voice snapped me out of the strange trance I’d succumbed to.
“NOVA, how much time?”
“T-minus two minutes, then the wall will go down. Hurry up.”
“Copy.”
The Forgotten broke out into a full-blown sprint, and I instinctively threw my arms around his neck to steady myself as he ran.
We passed what looked like grassy, residential streets lined with white, cube-like homes.
The Forgotten began to slow his pace after turning down an even quieter street, and I caught sight of the green street sign as we approached two cubes that were wrapped in what appeared to be caution tape.
Amygdala Avenue.
My scalp tingled.
The Forgotten snorted and shook his head.
“They put all that up for his benefit, I guess,” he muttered, I assumed to NOVA.
“Yep. In case he ever accidentally wandered down here.”
The Forgotten set me down and pointed to the roped-off homes.
“I wanted you to see this before they’re gone,” he said, and I frowned, glancing up at him in confusion.
“What do you mean before they’re gone?”
“T-minus one minute,” NOVA chimed.
“Wait, did you set…bombs?”
“Don’t worry about that, worry about this. See those houses? When you look at them, what do you see? What do youfeel?”
I turned my head to face the small, quaint, unassuming structures.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, as a painful lump formed in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes, and I found—for some reason—it was hurting me to look at these little homes.
I didn’t understand it, but there was this aching sort ofloss,something that felt close to nostalgia.
How could you feel nostalgic about something you’d never seen before?
