Chapter 10 — Analysis
And thus begins Chapter Ten.
Now, children.
We danced.
And danced.
And
danced.
The council glances at the clock.
There was no clock.
Not anymore.
Time had been confiscated by the rave.
Minutes stretched.
Hours folded.
One song became another without ever properly ending.
Axe.
Neon.
Bass.
Hands.
Kisses.
Movement.
That impossible shared trance where the outside world had stopped mattering.
Children.
It felt eternal.
Not literally.
Obviously.
But altered consciousness does strange things to duration.
A moment can become an age.
An hour can vanish.
And eventually
darkness.
The council freezes.
Not sudden.
Not:
lights out.
Not an abrupt cut.
More like someone slowly lowering the opacity of memory.
Music.
Axe.
Colour.
Then less.
Less.
Less.
And
nothing.
The council looks through the Archive.
Missing footage?
Entire reel.
Children.
Gone.
Somewhere between the underground rave
and the next surviving moment,
history has been erased.
No transition.
No explanation.
No knowledge of how we left.
No memory of Hat Guy.
No memory of Ribbon Girl.
Nothing.
Just
darkness fading in.
And then
something wet dragged across my face.
The council becomes concerned.
I opened one eye.
Dog.
The council erupts.
DOG.
Children.
Of course.
Apparently even when consciousness itself failed,
the Canine Protocol remained operational.
A dog was licking my face.
I blinked.
Opened the other eye.
Sand.
The council pauses.
Sand?
Sand.
Under me.
Around me.
Beach.
I sat up.
Slowly.
Body protesting.
Brain booting.
Dog still present.
Naturally
pat head.
Scratch ears.
Good boy.
The council sighs.
Priorities survive amnesia.
Then
Axe.
The thought hit instantly.
Where is Axe?
The council grows quiet.
I looked around.
And there
beside me.
Curled up.
Asleep.
Safe.
The council exhales with me.
Children.
That was the first real relief.
Not:
Where are we?
Not:
What happened?
Not:
Where are my clothes?
Axe.
There.
Breathing.
Beside me.
Good.
Everything else could wait five seconds.
The council nods.
Then
assessment.
Because apparently waking somewhere unexplained activates the same operating system whether you are three,
in Bangalore,
or shirtless on a beach after an underground rave.
Children.
Inventory.
Observation One.
I was shirtless.
The council looks down.
No hoodie.
We already knew that had vanished.
But now?
No upper clothing at all.
Body aching.
Every muscle apparently furious about the previous night’s decisions.
Hungry.
Very hungry.
Mouth perhaps tasting like regret and beach air.
The council writes:
NUO:
ALIVE.
SHIRTLESS.
SORE.
HUNGRY.
LOCATION:
SAND.
Excellent.
Observation Two.
Axe.
Also shirtless.
Bra.
Shorts.
That was it.
The council pauses.
Concern?
Minimal.
She was alive.
Safe.
Still sleeping.
Body probably filing exactly the same complaints mine was.
Which, given the amount of dancing we remembered,
seemed reasonable.
Observation Three.
Dog.
The council immediately approves.
Good boy sitting nearby.
Excellent.
Morale support acquired.
Now
critical assets.
Phone?
Pocket.
The council gasps.
Functional?
Present.
That was enough for now.
Axe’s phone?
Also in my pocket.
The council raises an eyebrow.
Why?
Children.
No idea.
At some point in the missing section of history,
I had apparently become mobile phone storage.
Wallet?
Present.
Money?
Still there.
The council nods.
So
not robbed.
This was important.
Because waking up half dressed on an unfamiliar beach leaves several unpleasant possibilities open.
But:
phones present.
Wallet present.
Axe present.
Dog present.
No visible casualties.
The council starts the report.
ANALYSIS:
Both parties alive.
Both parties missing upper clothing.
Possessions mostly retained.
Bodies sore.
Memory compromised.
Possible dignity loss:
severe.
Children.
Could have been worse.
Much worse.
Then
Axe moved.
The council turns.
Eyes opened.
Confusion.
She sat up slowly.
Looked at me.
Looked around.
Looked down at herself.
Back at me.
The exact expression said:
What the fuck?
The council nods.
I understood.
I had already begun the investigation.
So I presented the findings.
Probably not this formally.
But in essence:
“We’re on a beach.”
Axe processes.
“We’re both missing shirts.”
More processing.
“I have both phones.”
Good.
“Wallet’s here.”
Better.
“We don’t seem robbed.”
Excellent.
“And I have no fucking idea what happened.”
The council sighs.
Case unresolved.
Axe looked around.
Performed her own analysis.
Checked herself.
Checked me.
Checked pockets.
Checked surroundings.
And then
the same breath.
Relief.
Children.
Whatever happened in the missing hours,
we were both here.
Together.
Safe enough.
That was the important part.
Everything else was mystery.
Now.
The council raises a hand.
Axe has no shirt.
Yes.
Children.
Beach.
People wear bikinis.
A bra is just a formal bikini.
The council goes silent.
A formal bikini?
Correct.
Same general architecture.
Different administrative department.
The council refuses to engage.
So Axe was fine.
Maybe not conventionally prepared.
But not exactly walking through a courthouse either.
I, meanwhile,
was simply shirtless.
Also acceptable beach protocol.
The council nods reluctantly.
Thus
stand.
Children.
This required effort.
Legs stiff.
Back aching.
Everything sore from dancing,
sleeping on sand,
or whatever undisclosed nonsense happened in the missing chapter.
Axe stood too.
Dog watched.
The council looks around.
Okay.
Return to resort.
Simple.
Find Malpe.
Find resort.
Cloud bed.
Food.
Possibly several years of sleep.
The council nods.
Excellent quest.
Then we looked around properly.
And something became obvious.
This was a beach.
Yes.
But
not our beach.
The council pauses.
Not Malpe?
Maybe Malpe.
Maybe technically still Malpe.
Children.
Geography remains uncertain.
But not the part of Malpe we remembered.
No resort.
No familiar stretch.
No giant umbrella.
No campfires we recognized.
No obvious route back.
Nothing looked right.
The council becomes concerned.
We turned one direction.
Then the other.
Ocean.
Sand.
Buildings perhaps somewhere farther away.
Morning world beginning around us.
And the two of us just stood there.
Half dressed.
Hungover from chemistry and movement.
Dog beside us.
Looking like survivors of an extremely specific shipwreck.
The council laughs.
Then the great question arrived.
Together.
Maybe spoken.
Maybe merely shared through facial expression.
What the actual fuck happened last night?
The council grows quiet.
Children.
This question has appeared before.
Bangalore.
Mattress.
Darkness.
Bullock cart.
And now
Malpe.
Rave.
Darkness.
Beach.
Apparently University Nuo’s nightlife occasionally contained chapters the Archive simply refused to preserve.
The council flips through empty pages.
How did we leave the rave?
Unknown.
Did Hat Guy and Ribbon Girl come with us?
Unknown.
Did we walk?
Likely.
How far?
No idea.
Where did the rest of our clothes go?
Gone.
Did we knowingly decide to sleep on the beach?
Perhaps.
Did we collapse?
Maybe.
Did one of us choose this spot?
No clue.
Children.
The Archive offers no answers.
And I will not manufacture them.
There is something almost more honest about the blank.
Because waking up did not restore the story.
We genuinely did not know.
Axe looked at me.
I looked at Axe.
Perhaps each hoping the other possessed the missing footage.
Neither did.
The council nods.
Mutual amnesia.
Romantic.
In a deeply irresponsible way.
Still
there was something comforting about the symmetry.
Neither of us woke up alone.
Neither of us had to search for the other.
We had somehow crossed whatever madness filled those missing hours
and ended up together.
Children.
That mattered.
Maybe we had stayed linked all night.
Maybe one of us had guided the other.
Maybe the same instinct from the rave survived:
Wherever this goes,
together.
Present Nuo cannot know.
Story Nuo certainly couldn’t.
But morning evidence said one thing clearly.
When consciousness returned
Axe was beside me.
The council grows quiet.
And perhaps that was enough.
For about thirty seconds.
Then hunger returned.
The council laughs.
Yes.
Because existential mystery is powerful.
But so is an empty stomach.
We needed to get back.
Find civilization.
Find the resort.
Find clothing.
Find food.
Maybe find Hat Guy and Ribbon Girl.
Maybe ask them what the fuck had happened,
assuming they remembered.
The council opens quest log.
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE:
RETURN TO RESORT.
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE:
LOCATE SHIRTS.
TERTIARY OBJECTIVE:
UNDERSTAND LAST NIGHT.
The council pauses.
Likelihood?
Low.
Correct.
And before moving
dog.
Of course.
One final pat.
Scratch ears.
Who’s a good boy?
The creature had awakened me.
Which means,
children,
in the official historical record,
the first conscious entity I interacted with after the rave
was once again canine.
The council nods solemnly.
Reliable species.
Then we stood there.
Axe beside me.
Morning beginning.
Unknown beach stretching away.
Our anniversary getaway now officially entering shit show territory.
The council smiles grimly.
There it is.
Finally.
Because yesterday had been almost too perfect.
Carlos.
Dogs.
Luxury.
Jacuzzi.
Buffet.
Temporary pack.
Secret rave.
Euphoria.
And now
shirtless.
Lost.
No memory.
Hungry.
Sore.
The universe had balanced the books.
The council nods.
Children.
We had arrived in Malpe expecting a romantic weekend.
We had successfully achieved romance.
We had simply also misplaced several hours,
two shirts,
and our geographical certainty.
Still
Axe looked at me.
I looked at her.
And despite everything,
I think there was probably a little laugh somewhere.
Because what else do you do?
Panic?
Useful earlier.
Not now.
The phones were there.
Money was there.
We were together.
Civilization existed somewhere.
We would figure it out.
The council grows quiet.
Maybe that’s another little difference between this and Bangalore.
Bangalore Nuo woke somewhere unknown
alone
and terrified.
Malpe Nuo woke somewhere unknown
with Axe beside him.
Still confused.
Still lost.
But not alone.
And that changes the shape of fear.
Children.
Two idiots lost together
is almost an adventure.
One idiot lost alone
is a crisis.
The council nods.
So we looked down the beach.
Then back.
Then probably picked a direction.
Not because we knew.
Because movement remained the only available answer.
Again.
Always.
The Archive smiles knowingly.
But that
is next.
For now,
there are only the facts.
Rave.
Passion.
Darkness.
Dog tongue.
Sand.
Axe safe beside me.
Phones recovered.
Wallet recovered.
Clothes partially missing.
Location uncertain.
Memory useless.
Children.
A successful anniversary morning.
By Unbegun standards.
Thus concludes Chapter Ten.
The Fade To Black.
The Canine Alarm Clock.
The Shirtless Investigation.
The Formal Bikini.
The Inventory Assessment.
The Unknown Beach.
And The Second Great Question Of University Nuo:
What the actual fuck happened last night?
The council nods.
No answer.
Only morning.
And two idiots standing in the sand,
trying to figure out
where the hell Malpe had gone.
