Chapter 14 — The Tag
And thus begins Chapter Fourteen.
Now, children.
We followed Dreadlocks.
Through foliage.
Past pillows.
Past quiet little islands of people
whose consciousness appeared to be operating on varied subscription tiers.
Occasional wall.
Occasional doorway.
Occasional reminder that civil engineering had not been completely defeated by plants.
Children.
The architecture of this place remained
unclear.
Not forest.
Not building.
Some hybrid.
As though architects had drawn plans
and hippies had later arrived with vines and said:
Needs less architecture.
The council accepts.
Eventually
office.
Pause.
Office?
Technically.
Spiritually?
Not at all.
Children.
Imagine management headquarters.
Now remove:
desk chair.
Computer.
Filing cabinet.
Fluorescent lights.
Any visible sign that capitalism had ever happened.
Replace with
pillows.
Lots.
Arranged on the floor into something resembling a chair
if the designer had heard about chairs through oral tradition.
In front
glass table.
Not sleek.
Not modern.
Not corporate.
The kind of glass table that looked like incense had been burned near it
for generations.
And beyond that
long mattress.
Or mattress adjacent seating platform.
Hippie.
Children.
Management office.
Forest Edition.
The council looks around.
Where is HR?
Probably meditating.
Excellent.
Dreadlocks sat.
Maximum Anime sat.
And therefore
Nuo sat.
Not Anime Girl Protocol exactly.
General Herd Protocol.
People sit?
Nuo sit.
Simple.
Now.
Until this moment,
Dreadlocks had spoken softly.
That gentle hush.
The kind of voice you immediately associate with words like:
energy.
balance.
journey.
perhaps chakras.
The council nods.
Spiritual NPC voice.
Exactly.
“Welcome, newcomer.”
Soft.
Little bow.
Calm eyes.
Children.
I had prepared mentally for
Guru.
Swami.
Psychedelic Sage.
Someone who might stare directly into my soul
and tell me my aura was shaped like unresolved childhood trauma.
Then he sat down.
Looked at me.
And the entire persona
gone.
Children.
Gone.
Voice changed.
English accent.
Energy
high.
Sarcasm
present.
Actual personality
unlocked.
Not Guru.
Not Swami.
Not Forest Oracle.
Boss.
The council looks interested.
The man behind the place?
Apparently enough.
At minimum,
management.
Because he leaned forward,
looked directly at me,
and opened with
“Broski, why’d you jump in the lake?”
Pause.
The council erupts.
MANAGEMENT HAS RECEIVED INCIDENT REPORT.
Yes.
Children.
The bouncers had kept their promise.
“The boss would wanna hear about this shit.”
And apparently
the boss absolutely did.
My aquatic escape strategy had climbed organizational hierarchy.
Beautiful.
There are many ways to introduce yourself to management.
Handshake.
Name.
Who invited you.
Perhaps a polite sentence about how lovely the place is.
Nuo?
Near drowning incident already forwarded ahead.
The council checks reputation.
Established before arrival.
Efficient.
So
again.
Full transparency.
Children.
By this point the story had become easier to tell.
Because events become very funny
once survival is guaranteed.
Even funnier when survival had never actually been threatened by anyone except
yourself.
I explained.
Maximum Anime.
Dee Tee.
Scooter.
Unknown roads.
Building.
Two enormous men.
Gestures toward Nuo.
Organ trafficking.
Stealth Mode.
Lake.
Yeet.
Small complication:
cannot swim.
Rescue.
The council watches Dreadlocks.
Reaction?
Delighted.
Highly.
Children.
He laughed.
Not polite laugh.
Not:
Ah yes, curious newcomer.
No.
Real laugh.
The kind where a stranger’s stupidity has instantly paid admission.
Maximum Anime laughed too.
Again.
Because apparently this story possessed replay value.
And eventually
even I laughed.
What else could I do?
The internal logic had seemed airtight at the time.
Now?
Children.
Fucking absurd.
And good.
Because humiliation is much easier to carry once it becomes funny.
The council briefly expects wisdom.
No.
No wisdom.
Simply
haha idiot jumped in lake.
Excellent.
Now.
Joint.
Of course.
Children.
Look around.
Psychedelic forest.
Hippie office.
Dreadlocks.
Vibrant pillows.
A joint appearing was less an event
and more environmental consistency.
At this place,
joints seemed more common than cigarettes.
Cigarettes?
Possibly endangered species.
The council checks evidence.
Confirmed?
No.
Inferred.
Correct.
Archive law.
Maybe someone inside was chain smoking Marlboros in another clearing.
I simply did not see them.
But weed?
Visible.
Common.
Expected.
So we smoked.
No grand ceremony.
No sacred passing ritual.
Just
joint.
Conversation.
Chill.
And eventually,
I got the answer to the question I had been carrying since walking through the blue hallway.
What exactly was this place?
Not origin.
Children.
Nobody gave me lore.
No:
Twenty years ago three travellers came together under a full moon
No.
No founder mythology.
No property ownership chart.
No secret collective.
No:
I built this with my own hands.
Dreadlocks appeared completely uninterested in making the place sound important.
Purpose?
Simple.
Somewhere to chill.
Somewhere to vibe.
Away from normal noise.
Away from random outsiders.
A controlled space where people could relax,
smoke,
trip perhaps,
read,
talk,
meditate,
exist
without the energy getting wrecked.
The council nods.
Exactly what Nuo assumed.
Yes.
Children.
No hidden revelation.
No secret society.
No enlightenment subscription.
Just
good atmosphere protected by selective entry.
Honestly?
Respect.
Sometimes the best answer to:
What is this place?
is simply:
A nice place.
Humans ruin simple things by demanding mythology.
Story Nuo did not.
Story Nuo looked around and thought:
Cool.
Then Dreadlocks looked at Maximum Anime.
Then me.
And essentially said
“See you guys later.”
Pause.
Children.
That was it.
Management meeting complete.
Incident reviewed.
Newcomer found amusing.
Purpose explained.
No paperwork.
No orientation packet.
No waiver regarding lakes.
The council notes missed opportunity.
Definitely add lake waiver.
Too late.
He was about to leave.
And then
Crow.
The council hears the familiar call.
Ah.
Yes.
My gaze.
It betrayed me.
Drifted.
Back to
necklace.
Bone tags.
Children.
Still cool.
Very cool.
At this point in my life,
I already owned enough tags for the visual to register immediately.
Again
not Wandering relics.
Not yet.
No system.
No philosophy.
Just things I had collected.
Things tied to places and moments without me consciously understanding the pattern.
And this man’s necklace?
Premium.
Children.
Let us establish this clearly.
The future Cascade?
Mine.
Loved.
Meaningful.
Built with great intention of purpose.
Craftsmanship?
Nuo Engineering.
It works.
Stop asking questions.
This man’s necklace?
Actual craftsmanship.
Woven.
Measured.
Balanced.
Tags placed at deliberate intervals.
No visual evidence that the designer had solved structural problems using:
Eh, this knot seems fine.
The council nods.
Professional.
Exactly.
And Dreadlocks noticed me looking.
He glanced down perhaps.
Then back up.
“Cool, isn’t it?”
Something like that.
No origin story.
Again.
Children.
This man was committed to denying me lore.
Where tags from?
Unknown.
What do they mean?
Unknown.
Who made necklace?
Unknown.
Did every tag symbolize something?
Unknown.
His entire philosophy appeared to be:
Looks cool.
And honestly?
Respect again.
I nodded.
“Uh huh.”
Because
yes.
Cool.
Then Crow Brain activated.
But
important advancement
with manners.
Children.
I did not reach toward the necklace.
Did not ask him to dismantle his premium craftsmanship.
No.
I pointed toward one specific tag.
A particular design that had caught me.
And asked
“Would you happen to have an extra of that one?”
Something along those lines.
The council freezes.
You’re asking for his tag?
Extra.
Children.
Keyword.
Because no,
I was not asking him to rip apart the necklace he was wearing.
And Dreadlocks?
Completely unbothered.
He reached
not to necklace.
To a nearby bag.
Pause.
Children.
Bag.
With tags.
Several.
The council hears Crow Brain screaming.
CALM.
MANNERS.
He rummaged.
Sorted through a few.
Found
the one.
Or same design.
And handed it to me.
Pause.
Children.
Relic acquired.
Before relics were relics.
The council looks at tag.
Did Story Nuo understand significance?
No.
It was simply
neat.
A thing I wanted.
A bone tag from a very strange hidden place
given by a dreadlocked English accented boss
after management reviewed my attempted escape from imaginary organ traffickers.
Good enough reason to want it.
I beamed.
Children.
Actual beam.
Crow receives shiny.
Crow happy.
Simple biology.
I thanked him.
He nodded.
No dramatic:
This tag chooses you.
No:
Carry it well.
No:
May it guide your path.
Children.
Nothing.
He handed me a cool object.
I liked cool object.
End.
Then
he got up.
And left.
The council looks after him.
Where?
No clue.
Boss things.
Hippie management.
Maybe another newcomer had thrown himself into vegetation somewhere.
Archive does not know.
And I?
Pocket.
Tag secured.
Then
exhale.
Long.
Children.
The night had compressed a surprising amount of nonsense into a very short period.
Dee Tee.
Maximum Anime.
Scooter.
Organ conspiracy.
Lake.
Rescue.
Kiss.
Exclusive forest.
Boss.
Joint.
Bone tag.
Now finally
pause.
I turned toward Maximum Anime.
Still beside me.
And said
“Nice place.”
The council pauses.
Profound.
Published author.
Yes.
Children.
Again,
words.
Mastery.
Nice place.
But accurate.
It was.
I liked it.
The atmosphere.
The quiet.
The weed.
The pillows.
The absence of loud idiots
except me,
temporarily.
Maximum Anime looked at me.
And then said
“Let’s go to my room.”
Pause.
The council slowly turns.
Room?
Room.
Children.
New information unlocked.
Not complete information.
Because
her room where?
Inside this place?
Adjacent?
Did Maximum Anime live here?
Was this temporary accommodation?
Did the compound have resident rooms?
Guest rooms?
Staff rooms?
Was she staying for a few days?
Weeks?
Permanent?
No fucking clue.
The architectural category of this entire location remained:
building forest hippie hybrid.
So “my room” clarified almost nothing except
she had one.
Here.
The council opens probability board.
Bonk?
Children.
Higher.
Significantly higher than zero.
Very much.
Let’s not perform false innocence.
A woman:
approaches me at pub,
grinds on me,
takes me away,
brings me to private party,
blushes when I call her impossibly attractive,
kisses me properly,
then says:
Let’s go to my room.
The council looks at Nuo.
Interpretation?
Potential bonk.
Strong potential.
No organ theory?
Dead.
Buried.
Good.
Children.
For once,
my brain accepted the obvious possibility
without constructing an international criminal network around it.
Progress.
Not moral progress.
Just
pattern recognition finally functioning.
So Maximum Anime stood.
I stood.
She moved.
And
off.
Again.
The council laughs.
This entire Wandering is just you following this woman.
At this point?
Yes.
Children.
Manipal had begun with Nuo teaching Mith how to navigate his world.
Then Maximum Anime appeared
and took complete control of navigation.
Dance floor.
Exit.
Scooter.
Private party.
Now
room.
Anime Girl Protocol remained undefeated.
But now?
No fear.
No kidney calculations.
Just curiosity.
And libido.
Children.
Let us not omit an active department.
The council checks operational status.
BONK PROBABILITY:
Elevated.
GOOD.
And so we walked.
Past the hippie management office.
Back into the strange architecture.
Foliage.
Civil engineering.
Soft light perhaps.
People somewhere beyond.
The tag now in my pocket.
A new object attached to a night that had already become impossible to forget.
And ahead?
Maximum Anime.
Leading me toward her room.
Children.
For the first time all night,
I had a fairly strong guess about what might happen next.
Which,
given this Wandering’s record so far,
should probably have worried me.
It did not.
Because Story Nuo was not learning.
Story Nuo was horny.
Protect immediacy.
Always.
Thus concludes Chapter Fourteen.
The Walk Through Flora And Occasional Civil Engineering.
The Hippie Management Office.
The Pillow Chair.
The Glass Table.
The Hippie Mattress.
Dreadlocks Sitting Down.
The Sudden Death Of Guru Voice.
The English Accent.
The Sarcasm.
The Boss.
“Broski, Why’d You Jump In The Lake?”
The Fulfilment Of The Bouncers’ Prophecy.
The Full Retelling.
The Point Where Imaginary Mortal Danger Became Comedy.
The Laughter.
The Joint.
The Purpose Of The Place.
Not Mythology.
Not Secret Society.
Just
Chill.
The End Of The Management Meeting.
The Accidental Gaze Toward The Necklace.
The Premium Craftsmanship.
“Cool, Isn’t It?”
The Crow.
The Manners.
The Specific Tag.
The Bag.
The Extra.
The Gift.
Relic Acquired Before Relics Had A System.
The Beam.
The Pocket.
The Boss Leaving Without Providing Any Lore Whatsoever.
The Exhale.
“Nice Place.”
And
“Let’s Go To My Room.”
Children.
I had entered this place believing two muscular men intended to remove my organs.
Less than an hour later,
those men had saved me from drowning,
their boss had given me a bone tag,
and the woman responsible for the entire sequence was leading me toward her room.
The council updates probabilities.
Kidney theft?
Negligible.
Potential bonk?
Very much higher than zero.
And Story Nuo?
Following Maximum Anime.
Obviously.
