Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Peregrine ❯ Oblique ( Chapter 3 )

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o·blique adj.
1. a. Having a slanting or sloping direction, course, or position; inclined. b. Designating geometric lines or planes that are neither parallel nor perpendicular.
2. a. Indirect or evasive. b. Devious, misleading, or dishonest

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"Got the blues from my baby,
Left me by the San Francisco Bay.
This big ocean liner took her so far away.
Didn't mean to treat her so bad.
She was the best girl I ever have had.
She said good-bye, and she made me cry.
I'm gonna lay right down and die."

Blonde hair swayed in time with the nodding of the young man's head as he listened to the music on yet another compilation purchased on one of his many stops. Closed eyes fluttered open to greet the light of the early morning sun as it bathed the young traveler's face in soft splashes of flaming golds and vermilion. Wallace Ford smiled to himself confidently as he unhooked the headphones from around his ears, deactivating the device to put it in the backpack that had been his only traveling companion.

Yep, I'm a winner. No freaky Mexican girls following me trying to kick my ass. Life is good.

The bus continued on the brief remainder of its voyage, soon pulling into the station in downtown Sacramento, California. The terminal was quickly abandoned in favor of the street, already littered with young professionals and students alike, each individual rushing towards one place or another. After careful consideration of the map purchased hours earlier, Wallace determined that the best route to reach his destination would be to take Seventh Street and turn right onto I Street.

Sneakers fell on the concrete as he began at an even pace, fresh morning sunlight drenching the eastern-facing half of his face. Walking the distance took no great effort, as he would have only wasted cash taking the bus. Losing himself in the crowd remained a simple task with the bustling morning rush towards coffee shops, libraries, offices, and the Downtown Plaza Mall at the junction of K Street and Seventh Street.

The scent of freshly grilled meats and appetizers wafted from the kitchen of a restraunt as he passed, already crowded with the ravenous patrons demanding a satisfying breakfast. Wallace's own stomach gave a snarl of complaint, yet he continued on his way, intent on reaching the AmTrak station that would take him from Sacramento towards the Bay Area cities near San Francisco.

The wanderer turned onto I Street and hurriedly traded one side for the other at the crosswalk before progressing on his chosen path. A heated wind sent the long golden hair streaming past his face, which out of necessity he gathered to pull into a ponytail.

I should really cut my hair. They'll recognize it, for sure. I don't know though. I suppose I could buy a wig if I need to do the girl thing again.

The female disguise had been inspired by an absent friend, one he had not seen since that fateful summer in Colorado, when that friend and others stood with him to battle one of his own Partner Digimon. His mother paid to have a broadband connection installed in their New York state home, and the first thing he did was set up a video conference with that friend in Japan.

"Wallace, what the hell did you do to your hair? You look like a girl!"

"Nice to see you too, Motomiya-kun." The reply was a little dry. His more delicate features were decidedly not what he wished to hear commented on by his distant comrade.

"It's the long hair. It's just....girly. You should cut it, before some random guy starts hitting on you." The words were puntuated with a sage nod.

"I like my hair, and what if I want a guy hitting on me, hnnnnn?" Wallace grinned widely at the monitor, nearly laughing at the wide-eyed reaction.

"That's your thing then. I thought you were the big ladies' man, or something. Of course," another nod accompanied the pause, "It's gotta be hard to get a girl to take you seriously when you could probably sneak in the locker room right along with them."

"Daisuke-kun! I'm not desperate." A purely savage thought crossed the blonde's mind. "Then again, how do you know about something like that? Did you try it to get a sneak peek at Hikari-chan?" His laughter echoed across the room at the deep crimson at the cheeks of the figure presented to him on his monitor.

"No! Besides...." Motomiya mumbled something unintelligible.

"Huh, what was that?" Speakers were adjusted in anticipation of a repeat of the phrase.

"I said, 'I'm not interested in her anymore, anyway.'" Daisuke paused, suddenly serious. "There's kinda someone else...."

"Someone else? What, it's not Miyako-chan, is it?" Wallace teased his friend, worried by the severity of expression displayed.

"No, Wallace-kun. It's not Miyako. He's...." The other teenager shook his head, before the unnatural adjustement of his features slid easily towards a toothy grin, as he scratched the back of his head. "The person's no one you know, anyway, so don't worry about it. So, did you say you were playing basketball?"

Wallace stepped into the train station, glancing around to make sure his bizarre stalkers had not beaten him to the location. If they were there, they were not in a place his eyes could find them, so he continued on his way to purchase the ticket to Modesto.

The train was already waiting by the time the transaction completed, and he boarded immediately, settling into his seat to muse over other events, especially the mysterious email he received on his laptop.

"The Fire in the Darkness left her heart in a town by the bay."

"I Left my Heart in San Francisco...." Wallace muttered to himself. "That has to be it." He was still perplexed that he had been given the clue directly. Was the sender the mysterious "Creator" that Renamon named, or "Monsieur Butterfly" as Sariel had joked? The situation was indeed becoming more and more perplexing.

Sariel. Her brilliantly smiling face joined with those of the others he met on his mission, from LadyDevimon in her human disguise as Seraphine LeNoir, to the murdered elderly woman next door, to the digital dust Reremon became when the wounds she bore became too much for her small frame to endure.

His breath caught with that act of remembrance, forcing him to choke on the air solidly captured by his lungs. People he had only known for less than twenty-four hours, and he mourned their loss and pain as fervidly as though they were lifelong companions or close family members. The stab in his soul reaffirmed his dedication to the mission destiny placed in his care.

I will find the Digital Keys. I will find the 'Fire in the Darkness'. It's just be nice if someone would just tell me who or what it is!

Wallace continued his musing as the AmTrak approached Modesto, disembarking once the male voice over the intercom announced that it was the proper time. After some searching, he found his way to the Bay Area Rapid Transit station, and stood in front of the automated ticket service, puzzling over its operation until locating the written instructions. A twenty dollar BART pass was purchased soon thereafter, and the traveler continued on to the turning steel bars that only allowed him entrance once the ticket was inserted into a slot, and released once it was retrieved on the opposite end.

The BART train was a standard monorail service, similar to New York City's subway, save that this traveled both underground and over, connecting the various cities of the Bay Area, from Pleasant Hill, to Concord, to San Francisco itself. The seats were comfortable enough to be sat on for the duration of a long trip, with clear space enough to see the other passengers, even from one end of the train car.

The weary traveler tucked his length of blonde under the bucket hat after changing trains once, falling into a light slumber, interrupted only by the occasional opening of his eyes to scan the faces of other occupants from his seat at the far corner of the last train car. No, he was certain that the Hispanic female and her companion from the airport were not on the transport as it carried him into San Francisco.

Nearly everyone on the car rose to leave, and Wallace joined the commuters in their mass exodus from the train. The crowd seemed innocent enough, yet that miniscule voice from his subconscious insisted that he be careful. Eyes scanned the people he passed with caution, even as he held to this backpack with a vice grip. He mounted the steps that directed him towards the brilliance of midday outside, wishing desperately that he had considered removing his sunglasses from the leather pack before deciding to leave the terminal.

Yawning, he turned into the first available place, some non-franchised sub sandwich cafe. The minimum required purchase was made, and he sat to consume his mass of bread, meatballs, tomato sauce, and cheese while looking on the laptop removed from the worn leather backpack. Mere moments were all that Wallace required to boot the system and connect the modem to his cellular phone.

"Piece of crap!" Wallace smacked the phone on the table, the wavering cellular signal instantly increasing to a full five bars on the meter displayed on the screen. This pleased him. "Ah, wonderful thing. Good cell phone. Good boy."

Those ever-present annoying strands blocked the teen's clear view of the monitor, which he rectified with a careless sweep of his hand. The email program expanded out of the splash of royal blue advertising the executable's name, quickly advising of a new message to be read. Creamy flesh pressed firmly to the slate shaded plastic of the mouse, opening the selected item.

The letter began innocently enough, name spelled in katakana, the "-san" suffix in hiragana. The rest of the letter followed in the kanji and kana of Japanese text.

"Ford-san, I knew the clue was simple enough that you should figure it out.
You were the only Chosen in a position to take on this mission, without risk of
outside corruption. It should tell you enough that you received two Partner Digimon,
as all of the others have one.

"These Digimon you encountered were not chance meetings. They have been tampered with
by an organization that threatens the Digital World, and will likely attempt to assist you.
Be careful that you can tell the difference. Their human Partners may be more easily fooled.

"As for the humanoid form, this was more or less a legend among the Digimon, a falsity created
in myth to explain small deliberate flaws within the general programming that spawned them.
The only way for that form to be achieved is for the flaws to be altered by inserting human
DNA coding. This has been successfully done before, and the means to do so again has apparently
been rediscovered.

"You will meet your contact in the shopping district of Nihon's smaller relative. A girl you've
known will be there, but you will deny her in favor of her neighbor. The silver disks
of the Emperor will show you the place where the wind blows.

"Hurry. Time and trust are running out.

"REPLY-TO: PromiseSnow@papillon.org"

"Huh. Well, that explains it a little better." The young Ford mumbled the words to himself, washing down a bite of meatball sub with his carbonated beverage. Stewed tomato sauce stained the stark white fibers of the printed napkin a dark red as Wallace wiped his fingers clean so that he could type a suitable reply to the email without dirtying the keys of his laptop.

"Please tell me if you are the one Sariel told me of. How do you know these things?
What am I supposed to do with the Digital Keys once I find them?

"REPLY-TO: WFord@service.com"

Immediately upon selecting the "Send Mail" function, a notice was received. Wallace eagerly opened the window containing the memo.

"This message is undeliverable.

"Reason: No such address exists."

"What? 'No such address exists'?! Geez, this is getting weirder and weirder."

His next focus was another email, received from the uncle he barely could remember.

"Dear Nephew,

"I hope this letter finds you well. I received the photos, and was very pleased with the quality!
I hope you are learning a great deal, and I hope to hear from you again soon. I am not very skilled
with this contraption, so I will close now."

"Huh." He made a mental note to reply to that later. Wallace shut off the Internet connection and deactivated the laptop, returning said item and cellular phone to the confines of his well-used cowhide pack. Lunch was the next item scheduled to be "put away" as the Chosen proceeded to consume it with as much haste as his digestive system would permit, hiding the inevitable small burp behind his hand and an embarrassed exiting of the dining establishment.

Nihon's smaller relative. That must mean Japantown.

Directions to Japantown were easy enough to obtain, and the traveler soon found himself climbing the steep hills of Van Ness Avenue after taking the path from Mission Street to Market Street. By the time Wallace made it as far as the Van Ness Avenue intersection at Geary Boulevard, his legs burned with the desire to cease all movement. Screaming muscules and tendons were ignored in favor of turning onto Geary, continuing as he was instructed to until he reached the destination.

"Miyako Mall. The girl I know...." He stood a few meters past a busy parking garage, at the worn lettering on the building he faced. "Deny her....for the opposite?" Wallace continued past the building into a small concrete courtyard. One solitary tower stood, decorated with a series of crimson ceramic-tiled awnings, forming decorative sections around the columnar structure. The building opposing the Miyako Mall was a nondescript white structure, labeled in conservative print, "Kintetsu Mall".

Sky blue orbs shifted slightly sideways in their cavity, as Wallace scanned the primarily Japanese crowd within the area. He was instantly grateful for his fluency in the tongue, as he found himself offering a "Sumimasen!" or a "Shitsurei shimasu!" as he edged and prodded his way through the swarm of consumers pausing to enjoy ice cream or a beverage at the sweet shop located near the front entrance.

He slid past a group of frantic otaku in front of Japan Video, chatting in excited English over purchases, and turned down the hallway, pausing in front of another store.

"Mikado Digital Discs." A confident smirk rose to his face. After all, wasn't "Mikado" another term for "Emperor"? The silver discs would easily relate to the DVDs, Laserdiscs, and other various disk-formatted media sold in such a place. The last fragment of his puzzle was instantly solved by the rush of air conditioned breeze caused by the difference in pressures outside the store and within, and he immediately slid to the rear of the store, peering at the imported music for sale. His hand rested on the chilled plastic containing a disc when a voice interrupted his perusal.

"You are Wallace Ford, right?" The question was not phrased rudely, but in politely articulate Japanese. The speaker appeared to be two years the surprised recipient's junior, with hair cut conservatively, warm chocolate eyes regarding the American with curiosity.

"That's me. Wait a minute. I know you from somewhere, don't I?" An image flashed from Wallace's memory, of a small boy with closely cropped hair, and a silent bearing that was shockingly similar to the one who had addressed him. "Iori-kun?"

"Ah, you remember me. I'm very glad. It's good to see you again after so long." The faintest of smiles touched the Hida boy's lips. "Daisuke-san told us that you grew your hair out. As I recall, he said that you 'looked like a chick' and needed a haircut, I believe." That spectral smile expanded only marginally. "It suits you, and it is good to see you again, after so long."

"It's good to see you too, Iori-kun." Wallace smirked at the reminder of his video conference with Motomiya. "Daisuke is just jealous of my good looks and charm, you know." He ended the joke with a smirk.

"Funny," Iori replied, a bare hint of amusement evident in those reserved features. "That's what Miyako-san said too."

The two exited the store, making idle chatter on their way farther down the hall and into another food vendor's domain, stopping long enough to order boba nai cha, milk tea with warm chewy tapioca pearls, and red bean filled pancake pastries, pressed into the shape of fish. The pair sat down with their beverages and taikaki, and regarded each other in momentary silence.

"I suppose we have business to attend to, but you're probably curious as to what the others have been doing, right?" Iori chewed thoughtfully on a tapioca pearl, swallowing as Wallace replied with an enthusiastic nod. "Very well. Hn, let's start with Hikari-san. She and Takeru-san were dating for some time into High School, but they broke up about a year ago." Wallace nodded again. "I remember her email. She said it was a mutual agreement."

"Yeah. I honestly think that Takeru-san met somebody while he was vacationing in Europe with his mother. At any rate, he's probably already planning what school he wants to attend in France." The smaller individual paused, shaking the sealed plastic cup containing his drink to mix the flavor of the tapioca with his tea. "Hikari-san has been dating a good deal, and I last heard she was studying for her college entrance exams to become a teacher."

"That would suit her, I think." Wallace closed his eyes, allowing himself to savor the honey fructose flavoring the tapioca mixed with the mildly abrasive sensation of red bean paste washed down his throat. He found himself finding a strong desire to move to San Francisco permanently. The idea was washed aside in favor of his friend's report. "What about Miyako-chan?"

"Miyako-chan. I'd almost pity her." The younger boy shook his head, sending a few strands of brown out of alignment with the rest of the style. "She pines after Ichijouji-san like a lost puppy, and I know he's noticed it. He just doesn't do anything about it. Otherwise, I don't know that Miyako-san has made any plans. She doesn't date, and spends her afternoons in the computer lab when she isn't hanging out with everyone else."

"That's not good. Well, maybe she'll get over him, ne? From what Daisuke-kun's told me of Ichijouji-san, I don't think there's a chance." Slender fingers pulled the frustrating stray bits of blonde from his eyes for what had to be the fifteenth time that day.

Hida nodded, fixated on watching at Wallace pulled the darkly shaded blob though a straw the diametral width of a dime. "We hardly see Ichijouji-san unless he's with Daisuke-san. I believe he's also been studying for college entrance exams for some important school or another. As for Daisuke," He forced himself to look away from Wallace in favor of his own diminishing supply of pale brown milk tea. "He's the same as he's always been."

"That much, I was sure of." The elder teen turned, revealing his finely shaped facial profile, eyes upturned. "The others are well? The ones who were missing, from before."

"Sora-san, Yamato-san, and Taichi-san were living together after graduation, but Taichi-san moved out about six months ago and moved to Osaka to go to school. It was very sudden too. Sora-san says they had a fight." The spoken phrase left the Hida with an unreadable countenance, fading quickly when Wallace turned once more to face him. "Anyway, Taichi-san is engaged to a girl he met down there. Sora-san and Yamato-san are still living together. She's going to Tama Art Design University in Hachiouji-shi, and Yamato-san is studying Physics."

Wallace found the honey-saturated boba caught in his throat, threatening to choke him. "He's WHAT?!"

"Some deal with the government." Iori shrugged. "I'm not sure. Anyway, Koushiro-san is in college as well, some advanced Computer Programming course, and Jyou-san is in Medical School."

"I know about Mimi-san." There had been no excuse for Wallace not to meet the bubbly Tachikawa, as he had been a Freshman her Senior year while he still lived in New York City. "She's gone to The Culinary Institute in New York."

"Mimi." The corners of the smaller figure's lips turned upwards ever so slightly. "She occasionally emails Sora-san recipes to try. Really, Yamato-san is the better cook of the two." The wisdom in his tone made it perfectly clear that he had sampled some of that cooking.

"So what are you doing here? Don't tell me it's just to see me." The blonde seemed amused by the idea.

"No, I was in an International Studies course. This is my summer break."

The conversation was continued, remaining casual as plastic containers were disposed of and the walk downstairs towards the Kinokuniya Bookstore began. Traces of Iori's stiffness in manner faded with the chatter shared between the two comrades. Wallace found himself being directed towards an abandoned unit, sign advertising in Japanese that the space would be unavailable for rental until renovations were completed. The younger brunette produced a key and inserted the grooved metal into the lock, turning to produce an audible click as the bolt shifted into the door.

Somebody call the cleaners. The thought was provoked by the swirling of dust around his ankles as he stepped into the abandoned store. Where the mall itself had been filled with laudable vibrancy created by the skylight and colorful displays, the counters and broken shelving were drenched in the pale sickly light that sneaked through cracks in the corrugated cardboard paneling over the front windows.

"We're meeting someone here," Iori's explanation began, "and since he may be followed, we chose this place. Don't worry. The back room isn't as dirty."

"Good. I don't think my allergies have improved since I left New Orleans." The American followed the Japanese towards the rear of the location, one hand attempting to shield his tender nasal passage from the airborne particles of dust. He was relieved once the door came swinging open, the light switch activated.

The newly illuminated room was indeed spotless, furnished with a simple desk and lamp, and a small cot where a boy near Wallace's age sat, a laptop resting at his knees as he furiously typed. He glanced up in surprise and typed a final few words before closing the device.

"This is Yuri. He's from Russia. Sora-san and Miyako-san met him and his friends a few years ago," Iori explained. "You must be Wallace. Privetstvie." The young Russian stood, offering his hand to shake, which Wallace accepted. He looked very similar, wearing a short haircut with long layers of rich gold, and eyes the color of pale sea foam green. He spoke proper English with the heavy roll of his Slavic accent. "Gospodin Babochka has had me looking all over Europe for the Digital Keys, and finally sent me here once you found success."

Wallace didn't pretend to understand the Russian words exactly, but he could tell the "Gospodin Babochka" Yuri referred to would be the same who sent him the email earlier. "It's good to meet you, but I'm confused. If so many of us are around, why would I be picked for this?"

"Simple, tovarich." A smile punctuated the Russian word for "friend". "You were the only one to be successful in not only finding a Digital Key, but keeping the Key.

Lucky me. The sardonic thought voiced itself in the Ford's mind, but he only outwardly shrugged his shoulders, sitting next to the Russian. "So do you think you know where the third Key is?"

"Da. Well, I believe so." The affirmative was given with hesitance as Yuri rebooted his laptop, soon bringing up a map. "It might possibly be in Chinatown. There was activity near the parking garage. I saw some strange men, and a few people our age there."

"So then we should go check it out!" He looked over the map in an attempt to read the street names. "Where is your Partner Digimon?"

"Kuwagamon and Armadillomon are already on their way to meet your Partners, Wallace-san." Iori answered for Yuri, peering around Wallace towards the laptop monitor.

"Awesome. So that means we get to take the bus to Chinatown, right?" The traveler was answered by a pair of nodding heads, to which he could only sigh. "Okay, so why are we sitting on our asses here?"

"What else does a person sit on?" Yuri blinked in confusion. "Oh, I see. That is another silly American phrase." His amused chuckle echoed across the whitewashed walls.

"Yuri-san, you have mail." Iori pointed to the screen blinking the alert.

"Ah, it can wait." Yuri closed the program quickly, laughing again. "That's my girlfriend back in Russia."

Girlfriend? RedRose@digiproj.cx doesn't look like a Russian address. Wallace shrugged off the thought though the address remained committed to memory, standing quickly, arms rolled out before him to stretch the shoulder joints. "Let's go then!"

"Of course. We will leave immediately." The Russian stood, displaying that he was nearly five inches taller than Wallace, and built larger than his former posture indicated. The computer monitor fell to a dead greyness as the power source was removed, and the system was settled into the confines of the protective carrying case.

The trio of Chosen exited through the loading door into a narrow alley the size of no more than the width of a garbage truck, which ironically blocked the path in one direction, forcing them back towards the side street leading to Geary. The youngest of the three displayed the most knowledge of the San Francisco Regional Transit system, leading them to the proper place to greet the bus.

With the first foot planted on the step leading inside, the group found themselves greeted by the nauseating stench of mold laced with the acid of urine wafting from the back of the vehicle. Wallace wasn't quite sure what Yuri muttered under his breath, but he was certain the bit of Russian had to have been an expletive. Only Iori's features remained neutral, but the other two were certain they noticed a touch of a strain in those dark hickory-hued eyes. Only one objective became an immediate concern: locating a seat that wasn't coated in trash or shared whatever odor that issued a very deliberate warning not to sit near the rear of the vehicle.

A few lengthy blocks and a series of turns later, the group changed busses to one that thankfully did not smell as offensive, and seemed superficially cleaner than the last one. This was indeed fortunate for the boys, as the remainder of the trip slowed to a crawl with the downtown San Francisco traffic.

"Why do they call this 'rush hour' anyway?" Yuri grumbled. "No one 'rushes' anywhere! I think it is very stupid."

"No, everyone's rushing." Wallace corrected as his lip curled upwards into a small smirk. "Unfortunately, when everyone rushes, it slows everything down, like how an hourglass works." Blonde threads fell back to cover his eyes, deftly brushed away by accustomed fingers. "And yes, I agree, it's stupid."

"I....see." The Russian only shrugged, sliding across the naugahyde bench to face the yellow-tinted window. Calloused fingers drummed against the olive vinyl, posture saturated with boredom. The tedium seemed more oppressive to him than his two companions, who watched him curiously.

After that temporally frozen moment in traffic, the driver finally turned the corner, and stopped a block into Chinatown. The trio gratefully exited, each making a secret vow that the next trip would be by something other than public transportation. Three pairs of feet connected with stained cracked pavement, pulling their owners towards the crosswalk at the corner, where three pairs of anxious eyes strained towards the sign that would indicate when crossing the road would be safe.

The inevitable moment occured then the light changed, the group mingling with the crowd crossing the eroded pavement at the intersection. With a turn, the Chosen veered away from the bustling professionals, tourists, and residents, and into a concrete courtyard. The immediate location housed a narrow ocher-stained building with a carmine roof consisting of metal half pipe tiles. Dull steel double doors reflected the afternoon sun cheerlessly, opening for those who pressed the buttons to the side. These were clearly the elevators leading into the parking garage, as the plastic covered signs between the elevators indicated. The courtyard itself extended much farther past it towards the end of the block, displaying a smaller similar building at the opposite corner, two doors each sporting a placard, one indicating male, and the other female.

"Didn't you say it was in the parking garage?" The American blonde turned to the Russian, jerking his head slightly in the direction of the nearby structure.

"Da." The affirmative was granted. "There should be another way down nearby."

"Wait for me then. I really need to use the bathroom." Wallace flushed in slight embarrassment, and left his companions to make use of the facilities at the far end of the courtyard.

Wow, I found the bathroom that time forgot. The traveler blinked in mild disgust once he located the light switch and flipped it. Everything seemed to be covered with a few centimeters of dust and grime, even the stray bits of toilet paper near open stalls did not escape the filth. Wallace would have rather found a nice discreet alleyway to take care of his business than the stained urinal before him, but as the phrase states, "When you gotta go, you gotta go!"

That business was concluded in as little time as possible, and quickly flushed. The young man was surprised even that simple mechanism worked, much less the running water sputtering out of the faucet where he washed his hands. He would have turned to leave, if a dim flash of sapphire had not caught his eye.

The light came from inside one of the stalls, only visible due to a broken light fixture allowing the area to fall into shadow. The thought occurred to Wallace to call for his fellow Chosen, but curiosity won the battle with his common sense as he reached for the cracked panel of tile the light seeped from.

Hesitant fingers connected with the fragmented ceramic, the pressure resulting in the flaking of teal paint as the entire panel slid into the wall. The panel itself slid in only a few centimeters before that entire section gave way, causing the entire area surrounding the toilet to slide inward. Wallace turned towards the only opening past that which lead to a dimly lit staircase, only broad enough for one person to occupy.

Why do I feel like I've stepped right out of reality and into some weird James Bond flick?

These were thoughts that the explorer did not give voice to as he crept deeper and deeper into the hole created by the stairwell, towards an oddly pulsating scarlet and violet light at the bottom. Each footfall echoed loudly in the slender confines of the stairwell, and Wallace was certain he was trapped once his own shadow stopped preceding him. Once he heard the crunch of the panel behind him reconnecting with the tiled bathroom wall, he knew he could only progress downwards.

The stairs did eventually come to an end, as Wallace stepped into what he could only describe as a command center of some sort, equipped with the required massive monitors, illuminated maps, and computer consoles. It didn't seem as though anyone had been there in a month or so, indicated by the fine layer of filthy powder resting on the various keyboards and touch panels. He approached one of these, sitting down to have a better look at a display. Listed there for his perusal was a list of names, organized alphabetically after country, with another listing for one item that had Wallace's eyebrows risen into his fair hairline.

These are Digimon listed! These must be a list of everyone who has a Partner Digimon. He scrolled forward, to the Japanese list, where the names of his distant friends were displayed with a caution marker next to them. No time was wasted in retrieving his laptop, setting the list to download, along with the attached files. Silently, he continued to read the various other files, most of which consisted of failed plans to subvert various other Chosen like himself, as well as a heavily encrypted file named "Project G".

The portable laptop had the text files downloaded in mere minutes, and Wallace carefully hid the item away in his backpack, returning the cloth storage bag to his shoulders. The list of names continued to intrigue the wanderer, and he peered again at the list of his friends' names.

Weird. Iori-kun's name is in red. I wonder why? He touched the dusty monitor, curiosity requiring that he search for the Hispanic girl who had been stalking him. The name was quickly located, being the only Rosa listed for Mexico. Odd. Her name is in red too.

Warnings flashed in the Ford's mind, and he stood. I have to get out of here. They'll find me if I go out the way I came in! He frantically typed a command into the computer, relieved when the program that would open the gate to the Digital World appeared. Saved!.

He extended his arm, D-3 clutched tightly in his fingers. "Digital Gate, op-....uuhn." He fell with a thud, eyes only dimly aware of leather boots and a metal pipe gripped by pale digits, with a familiar voice speaking as his vision gave way to a black nothingness.

"I'm sorry for this, Wallace-san, but you know too much."

End Chapter Three.
To Be Continued.