In END99141, the factories were lined up around the lake like a half-circle. The reason for this was simple: most of the factories were relics from the past, once operating on a uranium deposit that had long since turned into a toxic lake. Although the lake was no longer a resource for them, moving away from its shores was far too costly. The west side of the lake, however, was nothing but a void. It held neither a profitable mine nor a life to be exploited. Therefore, those blood-sucking corporations had written off the west.
The western lands were ruthless. The muddy ground that turned into a swamp east of END99141 would harden here, cracking into a lifeless aridity. Parasites could not inhabit this soil; rain never fell. Yet, strangely, the sky never fully cleared. There was an endless fog settled over the drought. It was within this fog that Tophak Town was born.
Though the fog was not excessively dense and sat far above the town, it kept Tophak hidden from prying eyes. Most of the time, the hour of the day was unknown; the sun would appear only as a faint glow before vanishing again. This was why no factory had ever taken Tophak seriously. No radar could capture a clear image, and no profit calculation found the town valuable.
Tophak had been built through the collective labor of Calosian and Jijigelian natives. Squeezed into a small valley, it was constructed from scrap metal, stripped armor, and the skeletons of abandoned machines. The walls of the houses bore the scars of different eras of war; a door panel might be taken from an old transport ship, while a roof sheet came from a collapsed factory.
The town was small… but it would not bend.
Despite its poverty, it held its head high, viewing the veil of fog not as a curse, but as a shield. The people of Tophak were dreamers; they knew that living without dreams on this planet was already a form of death.
At the entrance of the Tophak valley, two guards stood watch with their weapons resting on their knees. The town rarely had visitors. In fact, to this day, no foreign vehicle had ever entered Tophak. Thus, guard duty had turned into a way of passing time rather than a task. On a rusty table pulled up in front of them, they played a small board game, melting away the hours lost in the fog with drinks.
What they drank was not whiskey; it was merely a disappointment mixed with alcohol that claimed to be whiskey. It hadn't been aged long enough. Its taste resembled the sharp burn a disinfectant leaves in the throat. With every sip, their faces would involuntarily contort, and their eyes would well up as it slid down their throats. Only when the drink hit their stomachs like acid would they finally breathe a sigh of relief. Once the pain passed, there was no longer a need to remember what they were living through.
That day, as soon as one of the guards took a fresh swig from the bottle, he seemed to choke. He straightened up with a cough, then his stomach revolted, and he staggered aside to vomit.
"Ah, man," the other said, shaking his head. "That damn alcohol is finally getting to you."
"I'm fine," a muffled voice came from amidst the retching. "Just…"
"You're not fine," the other interrupted. "Your body can't take it anymore. You're considered young, but my father died at twenty-two because of this stuff. You're twenty-eight. You're too old for this."
Just as the man who was vomiting was about to answer, he raised his head. A silhouette had appeared in the horizon, amidst the mists. It was a man. A stranger. Because of the distance, it wasn't clear what he was or what he looked like, but it was certain he was there.
"Hey…" he said, wiping the corner of his mouth. "Do you see that? We have a visitor."
The other paused for a moment, then snatched his binoculars and jumped to his feet. He scanned the silhouette through the dirty, scratched glass. He had to squint.
"There are two of them…" he said slowly.
"What do you mean?"
"Look."
Taking the binoculars, the other saw it too. Yes, there were two of them.
One of the men was carrying the other on his back. The legs of the man being carried dangled under the arms of the one carrying him. With every step, he swung like a lifeless weight. The fog surged around them, parting slowly as if wanting to prepare the town for this sight. Tophak was preparing to welcome a stranger for the first time in a long while.
"A stranger?" grumbled one of the guards. "Just my luck… Of course it happens on my shift."
He slung the rifle, which had been leaning against the wooden barricade untouched for weeks, over his shoulder. The rusty strap creaked. He walked to his position with heavy steps and took aim. The other mimicked him; it was like a play they had rehearsed for years but never performed on stage.
"What would a stranger be looking for here?"
"How should I know? Maybe he lost his way. Or his mind."
Normally, a vehicle appearing on the horizon would reach the valley entrance in less than half a minute. But when the subject was a stranger carrying another man on his back… the wait stretched on and on. For nearly half an hour, they waited with weapons aimed. Under the influence of the drink, their eyelids grew heavy, and their knees locked. At one point, they both yawned at the same time. They almost fell asleep while on duty.
Finally, one of the guards couldn't take it anymore.
"Hey! Stop!" he shouted. His voice was muffled by the fog and bounced back. The man was close enough now. Being at a distance where they could speak by shouting gave the guard a strange sense of peace. "Who are you and where are you going?"
"Who are you?"
The guard paused for a moment.
"What kind of question is that? Who the hell are you?"
"Is this Tophak?"
"Depends on who's asking."
The stranger suddenly turned around, adjusting the load on his back.
"Do you know this damn man? He fainted! His name is Muho."
"Muho?"
"Yes!"
The guard beside him frowned. "When Calmo and Sulo arrived, they said Muho stayed behind to save them… didn't they?"
"Who's Calmo?"
"The kid from the Calos factory, the one next to Sulo."
"You know his name, eh?" the first guard said. "Got acquainted immediately. So, what's my name?"
"I don't know."
"Right?" the guard snarled. "We've been on watch together for a week. You haven't asked once."
"Hey! I don't know what kind of weird relationship you two have, but…" the stranger shouted. "Could you let me in before this damn old man on my back dies?"
"What if he's already dead? How do we know if he's dead or not?"
"You have to come and look."
"If that's the case, I want you to throw your weapons aside."
At that moment, the bags in the man's hands were noticed. Two large bags. A man on his back and loads in his hands… it wasn't clear how he had traveled this distance.
"I told you to dump your weapons first!"
The man sighed. He threw the bags to the ground. Then he pulled two pistols from his pocket and left them on top of the bags. Bullets… a bomb from his back pocket… then a knife… then another one. It was as if a small armory was pouring off him.
"Anything else?"
"No. Right now, I might count as a weapon myself."
The guards approached cautiously.
Yes… it really was Muho on his back. He was muttering nonsensical things in a semi-conscious state.
"Damn," one said. "It really is Muho. Looks like the old man finally tried to kill himself but failed…"
"How do we know you didn't do this to him?"
"If that damn Calmo is here, ask him!" the stranger shouted. "He knows me!"
"In that case," the guard said, lowering his weapon, "you're taking this damn old man to the infirmary. Calmo should be there."
"If you don't trust me," the stranger said, gritting his teeth, "why don't you carry him to the infirmary yourselves?"
"No, you're carrying him."