Chapter 2 — Assignment
And thus begins Chapter Two.
Now, children.
Picture this.
University.
Classroom.
Teacher at the front.
Students scattered around.
Some paying attention.
Some pretending.
Some already mentally elsewhere.
And then
the teacher said the word.
“Assignment.”
The council immediately grows tense.
Children.
I did not enjoy assignments.
Assignments required effort.
Effort required planning.
Planning required a version of Nuo who attended university for reasons related to education.
That man was unavailable.
So the moment the word entered the room,
I became nervous.
And visibly annoyed.
The council watches my face fall.
Because there are few things more offensive to a university delinquent
than discovering the university expects him to do university things.
Then the teacher continued.
“Group project.”
The council pauses.
And suddenly
hope.
Children.
Group.
Project.
Two of the most beautiful words in academia.
Because “project” means work.
But “group” means
other people.
The council erupts.
LABOUR ACQUIRED.
Exactly.
My mood transformed immediately.
A solo assignment?
Tragedy.
A group assignment?
Delegation.
Children.
The others could do things.
Research.
Write.
Photograph.
Think.
All the exhausting parts.
And I could
exist nearby.
The council nods.
A role you would later perfect.
Indeed.
So groups began forming.
People turned toward friends.
Chairs moved.
Names were called.
And naturally,
I looked toward the one person in that classroom who already occupied a meaningful position in my social ecosystem.
Sharky.
The council turns.
Dealer.
Friend.
Dealer first?
Children.
Let’s not get into hierarchy.
Sharky was Sharky.
If I needed company,
he was there.
If I needed certain extracurricular substances
also there.
A wonderfully multifunctional human.
The council sighs.
And he was my only actual friend in the class at the time.
So obviously
group member one.
Me.
Group member two.
Sharky.
The council checks requirements.
How many needed?
Four.
Problem.
We required two additional functioning humans.
Fortunately,
Sharky had a friend.
The council leans forward.
Stitch.
Children.
Let me take a moment.
Because Stitch requires description.
Not because the Archive demands it.
Because the visual demands it.
Imagine a person walking into a room.
Long,
graceful hair.
The council nods.
Normal enough.
Then
purple.
The council pauses.
Less normal.
Not subtle purple.
Not:
Perhaps the light is hitting it strangely.
No.
Purple.
Vibrant.
Very much intentional.
But children
only on half her head.
The council slowly turns.
Half?
Yes.
One side:
long,
neon vibrant hair.
The other side
shaved.
The council goes silent.
A hairstyle with ideological commitment.
Exactly.
You saw Stitch once
and remembered Stitch.
No explanation required afterward.
Then the clothes.
Baggy.
Psychedelic.
Patterns that appeared to have been invented during a chemical event.
Children.
Stitch looked like the living ambassador of LSD.
The council nods solemnly.
A diplomatic representative from the Republic of Psychedelia.
And naturally,
she was friends with Sharky.
The council considers this.
That tracks.
Completely.
So
Stitch joined.
Three.
And Stitch had a friend.
The council looks knowingly toward the next name.
Axe.
Children.
You already know Axe.
No need for another character introduction.
At this point in the chronology,
however,
she was not yet girlfriend Axe.
Not bus war Axe.
Not sock restraint Axe.
Not the woman who would eventually slap me after I returned from searching for myself.
Just
Axe.
Classmate.
Stitch’s friend.
Pretty.
Present.
That was enough.
The council nods.
And so,
without realizing the long term consequences of this administrative arrangement
a four person group formed.
Nuo.
Sharky.
Stitch.
Axe.
The council looks at the roster.
Academically promising?
Absolutely not.
Visually memorable?
Very.
Now.
The assignment.
The teacher explained.
We were to go to
Karkala.
The council opens the map.
Observe it.
Document it.
Take photographs.
Then write an essay based on what we had seen.
The council nods.
Actual fieldwork.
Children.
A proper assignment.
Not merely:
Google Karkala.
Copy several paragraphs.
Change enough words to survive plagiarism detection.
No.
We were expected to physically go there.
Look.
Photograph.
Return.
Write.
The council becomes suspicious.
That sounds almost like
Don’t.
Not yet.
At the time,
this was not a Wandering.
It was homework with transportation requirements.
The council nods.
Fair.
And the teacher gave us
one month.
The council relaxes.
Plenty of time.
Children.
An enormous amount of time.
Thirty ish days.
Weeks.
Multiple weekends.
Enough time to plan transportation.
Research the place.
Decide what to document.
Arrange schedules.
Maybe even begin writing before the deadline.
The council looks at the four of us.
We collectively forgot.
The council collapses.
Of course.
Not:
We postponed strategically.
Not:
We were busy.
Not:
We debated dates and couldn’t align calendars.
Children.
Forgot.
Completely.
Karkala disappeared from our brains.
The assignment ceased to exist.
Life continued.
Classes were ignored.
Joints presumably occurred.
Whatever university nonsense occupied us occupied us.
And somewhere,
the deadline approached.
Silently.
Day after day.
The council watches a calendar flipping.
Three weeks remaining.
Nothing.
Two weeks.
Nothing.
One week.
Still nothing.
Three days.
The project does not exist.
Then
final day.
The council freezes.
And somehow,
collectively
memory returned.
The council erupts.
THE ASSIGNMENT.
Yes.
Children.
The deadline had arrived.
Or was effectively arriving.
And the four of us simultaneously remembered:
Oh.
Right.
Karkala.
The council stares.
You had one month.
Correct.
And chose
the last possible day.
Also correct.
This was not procrastination.
This was deadline based resurrection.
The council nods.
The assignment had died.
Then necessity performed necromancy.
So suddenly
expedition.
No leisurely planning phase.
No detailed itinerary.
No:
What should we photograph?
No:
Which temples are important?
No:
What historical notes should we gather?
Children.
We needed to go.
Today.
Now.
Somehow.
The council opens the emergency quest log.
LOCATION:
KARKALA.
OBJECTIVE:
DOCUMENT ENOUGH THINGS TO PRODUCE AN ESSAY.
TIME REMAINING:
LOL.
The council sighs.
And this is how the Eighth Wandering actually began.
Not from romance.
Not from wanderlust.
Not because Karkala called to us.
Because four university students remembered homework at the last possible moment.
The council applauds the dignity of the origin.
Now.
Preparation.
Children.
Every expedition requires roles.
And surprisingly
we had them.
Stitch brought the camera.
The council nods.
Assigned photographer.
This made sense.
She looked like someone who should own a camera.
Perhaps that is stereotyping.
But tell me I’m wrong.
The council declines.
Sharky?
The council already knows.
Joints.
Naturally.
Because apparently no university field project could be documented without cannabis logistics being assigned to a dedicated officer.
The council writes:
SUPPLIES DEPARTMENT.
Axe?
Children.
Axe looked pretty.
The council goes silent.
Her assigned role?
Looking pretty.
At least according to the surviving Archive.
Maybe she carried something important.
Maybe she had actual responsibilities.
Eleven years later,
memory has retained:
pretty.
The council shrugs.
History is selective.
And me?
The council leans forward.
What did you bring?
I existed.
The council collapses.
Children.
Nuo.
Role:
Presence.
No camera.
No research material.
No academic notes.
No useful equipment worth remembering.
Just
me.
The council checks the team.
Stitch:
Camera.
Sharky:
Joints.
Axe:
Aesthetics.
Nuo:
Mass.
The council sighs.
An elite expeditionary unit.
Exactly.
And somehow,
this group was now expected to travel to a historically and architecturally significant place,
observe it carefully,
document what mattered,
and return with enough material to write an academic essay.
Children.
Look at us.
The living ambassador of LSD.
Her pretty friend.
A dealer.
And a man whose primary contribution was occupying physical space.
The council laughs.
What could possibly go wrong?
Do not answer yet.
Now.
The important thing is
we went.
Because for all our procrastination,
all our incompetence,
all our complete failure to prepare,
the deadline had finally activated the one system University Nuo understood very well.
Emergency momentum.
The council nods.
When consequences remain theoretical?
Ignore.
When consequences become immediate?
MOVE.
So the four person group assembled.
Camera acquired.
Joints acquired.
People acquired.
Karkala ahead.
And children
somewhere in that ordinary academic panic,
a road opened.
One I would remember years later
for reasons that had very little to do with the essay.
The council looks toward Axe.
But not yet.
Archive law.
For now,
Axe was simply walking with us.
Classmate.
Stitch’s friend.
Someone I knew,
but did not yet know.
The council grows quiet.
That distinction would not survive Karkala.
How it changed?
We will get there.
But the beginning itself was gloriously unromantic.
No fate.
No sparks.
No dramatic first meeting.
Just a teacher saying:
Group project.
Four poorly organized students forming a team.
One month of complete inaction.
And a final day realization that if we did not physically get ourselves to Karkala immediately,
academic consequences might occur.
The council shudders.
Motivation.
Powerful.
And so the expedition formed.
Stitch carried the camera.
Sharky carried the joints.
Axe looked pretty.
I existed.
Children.
Karkala had no idea what was approaching.
Thus concludes Chapter Two.
The Assignment.
The Group Project Miracle.
The Ambassador Of LSD.
The Formation Of The Four.
The Month Of Absolutely Nothing.
And The Last Day Expedition.
Children.
The eighth Wandering did not begin because four students wanted adventure.
It began because four students had forgotten their homework
for an entire month.
And somehow,
that would become the origin story of Axe and me.
Romantic already,
isn’t it?
