Inside the Fire

Chapter 9: Acquaintance

   Song to listen to: A Thousand Bad Times

    I don't know when it was I fell asleep, but my face is now pressed against the floor of my apartment and incredibly sore. Blankets are snared around my legs, holding me semi-suspended in air. I curl against their pulland grab onto the framework of the bed. My muscles are pins and needles, with an extra helping of throbbed. I sit in the human bed a moment, confused. I don't know what I'd dreamed about, it feels like it was important. But if it was important, I would remember it, right?
    After freeing myself from the covers, I walk aimlessly around the living area, enjoying the contrast of temperature between the rug and linoleum. Based off how hungry I am now, I must have slept for at least a week. I absent-mindedly stretch, working the kinks out of my exhausted muscles. With all that sleep, it must be keeping this form that has caused my body to be so tired. That being said, I think I may have grown, human living spaces have mirrors, perhaps it's time I use one.
    I find one in the bathroom. What a novel room, it's as if humans had the need to put as many important activities into one room to justify spending so much time in it. It wouldn't be strange to me if I found a hidden table in here.
    By what I can see, I think I'm maybe definitely 15 now, and I don't know why I thought a mirror would help me see if I've grown. Something about my face is only intense, my eyebrows are set low over my cold blue eyes. There's a serious set to my mouth as well. How can this youthful face look so weary? Human children this age normally have their final school year ahead of them. Unless the the four year war has started at their age, a method of scientific advancement. Tom had avoided his enlistment, I'd guess that was why he held such a low position in the company. He had to rank, no method that his skills could've been measured by. I wonder how I'd do in war, against all the frail humans.
    My blood grows hot at the thought, and slivers of my irises glow red. The thought of dominating them, excites me. I touch a tentative hand to my face, the veins faintly glow just below the surface. What am I that mass slaughter is something I crave? This isn't me, I don't want to hurt them!
    I close my eyes to the hungry image in the mirror, and try to will that I had misread my own feelings. That the face in the mirror wasn't mine. Breathing slowly, carefully, to get ahold of my emotions, I need to get out of this apartment. There's more outside to experience, more to see then the conflicting evidence of feelings I see in the mirror.
    Listening at the door, I can't hear anything or anyone. My hearing isn't very good in this building, it's old framework is iron. If I'm not careful, the sounds of me vibrating against the petty metal will hurt my ears. At least I can hear there's no one on my floor.
    Still cautious, I creak the door open slowly and take a sniff of the hallway. Someone was here recently, but they'd gone downstairs. I push the door open further when I notice the paper on the floor after I've stepped on it. The numbers for all the doors between the front door to my room are written as clearly as her trembling hands were able. Another thing I should have noticed. Her endless kindness causes my heart to twist uncomfortably, it's unusual to have someone care about me. I'm unsure if it's something I like.
    I try to relax, if a human were to appear, I'm sure what seems to be a jumpy kid would make them nervous. I need to blend in, look like I belong. Will they be able to tell I'm different? The old woman hadn't, but I did compel her... Compelling people isn't something I want to get used to doing. I can't swear it off as something that I will never do again. Being what I am, I have a sneaking suspicion that I might need to do it again. Only if it's an emergency, I reaffirm to myself.
    There's no need to input a code to exit the hallway, and I'm relieved to be out of it. The windows still make me uncomfortable. The steps are narrow, and a part of me questions if it's worth it. Ridiculous, even if I were to fall, I doubt much of anything could cause real harm to me. It's a faster trip without the older woman guiding me, I take a few steps at a time, certain of my body. I pause at the door to the stairs and grab the handle of the door. Releasing the handle I grab it a second time before twisting.
    Tom is in here somewhere, I frown at my new inconvenient tick and push the door out. The hallway isn't empty. I almost duck back into the stairwell to avoid this human, but there's something familiar about her smell that I can't quite place. Shoving my fear of human interaction aside, I try to walk normally past her, towards the sounds of traffic outside.
    She starts, and glances up at me from her mail, the wall in front of her lined with mail boxes. An instinctive smile spreads from her mouth, warming her long eyes.
    "Oh! Are you new?"
    Is it to late to go back up the stairs? I stop and mimick her smile.-
    "Uh, yeah, just got in." My smile feels strained, I look in pain from her eyes.
What a weird kid.
    "Are you the one Andy told me about?" Her tone of voice sounds so practiced, like someone who has been forced to make cheery conversation.
    Andy... I do a brief check in this woman's mind for the face that goes with the name. Eye wrinkles crinkled in a smile from a usually serious face... ah! The landlord. Is this who she meant for the job..?
    "I could be, are you the person hiring..?" I ask.
Relief flashes through her eyes, and her shoulders relax ever so slightly. If it's someone young like him, it can't hurt to hire him. Although, from her description, I thought he'd be younger?
    "Yes! Perfect, I hadn't seen anyone new since my conversation with her. What have you been up to these last couple weeks?" Her last sentence turned teasing, her nose crumpling up, a visual que to not take it to seriously.
    I wave my hand in the air, nonchalant.
    "This and that, mostly sleeping, you know how teenagers are."
    She chuckles,
    "You say that like your not a teenager." rolling her eyes.
    I force a laugh with her, how close she is to the truth. I need to be more careful, I got out of the lab, but it'd be a fast track way back into another if anyone learned that I'm not human. She approaches me, but her legs sound wrong, the light sifting of metel on jeans. There's still the smell of blood there... blood and some sort of organic smelling metal. I can see spokes poking from under the hem of her pants, striking out to hide under the covering over her toes. The shoes click, but her steps are lighter than they should be, as if some mass is missing, and raises a hand.
    "I'm Fai, by the way." The welcoming smile is fixed to her face. The muscles don't quite pull normally on her face, until she had approached me, forcing me to meet her gaze, I hadn't noticed. Now I'm looking. A thin covering of makeup hides the divets in her face, I look at her outstretched hand. It's covered in scars as well. Her weight shifts with her discomfort, and I hear pipes decompressing. I take her hand to late, and try to look her in the eye again and not notice how battered this human is.
    "It's a pleasure to meet you." An automatic response, Tom can be as useful as he is annoying.
    We release our grip on one another after a brief shake, she folds her fingers together behind herself, waiting on me for something.
    His hand is so warm, he must be nervous, poor kid.
    That same guilt flashes through me, they would not pity me if they knew, and that thought makes me feel a little sad. I lean back onto the heels of my feet, she still isn't talking, it's only been a few seconds, but the silence is strained.
    "Aren't you going to tell me your name?" Her question has an edge of impatience.
    I blink repeatedly, I hadn't thought of a name to go by. Not Tom, that's to on the nose. Easier to link us as well, but I doubt anyone would be using a similarity in names as a reason to imprison me.
A radio jingle plays loudly in a passing car, her human wars would be blind to it, but the name is sings doesn't sound to bad.
    "Jared." my voice breaks on the E, and I can feel blood flush my face, she huffs at my expression, her lips clamping together.
     He's embarrassed enough, I don't think his pride would live if I laughed.
Little does she know, my pride is long dead.
    "Okay, Jared, I'm running late to my job now, but I'll bring you up to corporate today." She places a hand on one if her hips, surreptitiously attempting to wipe off the sweat she'd assumed would be there from how warm my hand had been. "That said, I can't take you in today, but could you meet me here tomorrow?"
    She takes in my clothes with a quick sweep of her eyes. Those won't do.
    "Do you have anything better to wear?" Her eyebrows fall slightly. Maybe I shouldn't have asked him another question, a nice kid, sure, a quick kid-
    "No," I blurt out, embarrassed again at how my introspective nature is being taken as a mental disability. "No I only have the clothes on my back."
    I wonder, does he mean that literally?
    She nods to herself,
    "I'll bring some clothes over tonight," I don't own any male clothes, but I doubt he'll be able to tell the difference. She glances down at my leather shoes,     "You'll have to buy yourself some new shoes later." She finishes.
    I don't know if I should feel insulted or grateful, then again, I doubt she's the kind of person that would speak the way she thinks. Blunt on the inside, crowd pleasing on the outside. Not something rare that I've seen so far among humans, but definitely irritating.
    I do my best to show my gratitude, but I can't help my temperature rising from her internal insults.
    "Thank you, Fai, I really appreciate it." I throw in a smile that I hope is disarming.
    Her mind warms slightly to appearance, he really is a cute kid, slow but cute. They'll like that he's cute, we'll get more customers.
    I let the smile fall off and glance at the door, "I'll see you later?"
    Her customer service face comes back in full force, her voice switching to a softer, higher octave.
    "I said I would, now its time for work," She winks, "Don't fall asleep again okay kid?"
My response is strained,
    "I wouldn't dream of it." I smile at my joke, she laughs cordially to it.
    She turns to walk down the length of the hallway, shoving her mail into an old but expensive looking purse hanging on her shoulder. Only after she pushes her way outside do I dare to make a sound again. Interacting with humans is so hard, how am I going to keep a job? From the brief flashes I caught of her work through memories of memories in her mind, it looks like talking to people is one of the main points. That and some sort of frozen surgery sweet they ladles into some sort of fried pastry.
    I search Tom's memories for the name of the treat, but like him, his parents had been healthy eaters. Although diabetes was curable these days, neither Tom or his parents wanted to take the chance. A grandparent had died of it before a treatment had been found and it was a dark cloud over the surviving family members. The closest he'd ever gotten was walking past stores that sold the forbidden treats.
    With no one around me, I creep outside. The lot between me and the wall is empty, the foot traffic I can hear through the wall sound busy and easy to get lost in. Walking across the concrete ground is a little unnerving, my steps should echo, but there's barely a whisper. The immediate silence has me on edge, although I can't smell or sense any danger nearby. Paranoia. Right, Tom had his reasons to believe people wanted him dead the last month of his life, and now his fear has carried over to me.
    The street isn't as busy as it was when I first arrived. A few stragglers wander the sidewalks, only the occasional vehicle. It's still early enough in the day, with the tall buildings blocking out most of the sky, it shows through like a blue walkway above me, the sun not yet visible. Large frames of artwork decorate the sidewalks, bulbs of light protruding, strung or adorning each piece, providing the most light. Each is so grand, they had been shrouded in mist the last time I had been outside. Now that the storm had passed, they shine brightly. Chrome metal, black windows and concrete would be the color pallet of the city if it wasn't for the street art.
    I'm in awe of the designs, I'd touch them, but I don't know if I want to know if they are real or not. Some are obviously holographs, others are metal or sometime are made of the odd rare wood. So ethereal, I can feel something, it's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't find the words. I stop in front if one that looks like a twisted tree, metal bands that are flat and twisted together, somehow the metal had been treated to be turned white, veins of epoxy resign stream throughout, unseen blue lights glowing from within. It pulses to the beat of a steady heart, wave after wave being pulled out from the ground and pushed out to the ends of the metal strands. This one I touch, it's silky in texture, the veins of light are soft and give, just a little to slight pressure.
    "Beautiful, isn't it?"
I whirl around to find the source of the voice, it's the blind hipster.
    "Reminds me of home." He smiles a sad smile, his face upturned, he approaches the art and places just the tips of his fingers against it, tracing the viens with his hand.
    Without taking the time to pick out a polite tone,
    "Why are you here? How did you find me?" I demand.
    He continues to trace the tree, lost in thought. His tone remains somber.
    "I told you where to find a place to stay, I'm here to see if you are doing well."
    His honesty and melancholy soften me, his behavior rubbing me as familiar. I know I'd heard someone, somewhere speak the way he does now. A memory that has turned into nothing more than a feeling. It fits with the appearance of the fake trea.
    "I guess you did." I reply, "Does the art mean something to you?"
    The hipster's complection changes, his mouth pursing into a half smile.
    "No, not at all, but it does have a certain feeling of nostalgia, what about you kid? Does it mean something to you?"
    He tilts his head in my direction, his smile revealing more of teeth, his eyebrows raising slightly.
    I don't know whether I should lie, or be honest with this unusual person.
"It doesn't mean anything to me." I shrug, "But whoever made it did a good job."
    The hispster frowns an twists to face me, his head tilted down as though his eyes were looking down at me.
"Really?" He scratches the side of his neck, where his high collar meets his flesh, "Hm."
    I wait for him to say more, knowing how empty his sockets are is making me uncomfortable from his 'staring'. A sneaking suspicion that he's ruffling through my mind has the hairs on the back of neck standing. There is no foreign presence in my mind though, after a quick scan of it, I find nothing out of the ordinary, but his mind...
    "I have errands to run." His statement pulls me off my train of thought.
    "Huh?" I ask, feeling a little dizzy, what was I just thinking?
    "Have you named yourself yet?" Something in his tone implying some sort of expectation. Like he already knows, but want's confirmation.
    "You say that like I didn't have one already." I reply defensively.
    He chuckles,
    "Based on what you wearing, I'm guessing, teenage runaway?" He folds one arm under the other, placing a hand under his chin. "Kids these days don't want to be found, I thought, now correct me if I'm wrong, that home life was so chaotic, you don't want to be found?"
    There's a grain of truth to what he says, but I never would refer to the lab as my home, in past tense or otherwise.
    "I guess you're right." I concede, I roll it over in my head, and give him the same name I told the human girl. "My name is Jared."
    "Jared?" He chuckles, "How very inoculous."
    His face turns sharply to another direction, he sighs sighs .
    "Can you do something for me?" He asks.
    "Sure..?" I reply, warily.
    Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a leather thong, a singular cresent trinket attached. He holds out a hand, palm facing up. So far he hasn't done anything to warrant my mistrust... I place my hand in his, his hand just as warm as mine. Faster than a regular human, he fastens the leather around my wrist, turning it into a bracelet of sorts. He let's go of my hand the moment he finishes, and smiles disarmingly,
    "There is somewhere else I need to be, I can feel my boss-" the word is a sneer, "Trying to reach me."
    I raise my hand to eye level, showing him the bracelet,
    "What's this about?"
    His mouth twitches with amusement,
    "You are going to need to be more descriptive."
    Right, blind.
    "Is this you claiming me somehow?" I think on the customs of humans, giving a gift like this normally has strings attached.
    "No strings, consider it a family heirloom. I need it hidden, and who better than you?"
    Is that a joke? It sounds like a joke, but the context is alluding me.
    "Yeah, okay, sure." My voice is dtipping with sarcasm.
    His expression still jovial,
    "I do need to go now, duty calls." He says, tapping his head.
    Extending his walking stick, he rushes away from me, but pauses a few yards away. I fiddle with the bracelet, unusual, but oddly comforting.
"Do you need anything else?" He looks over his shoulder at me, his expression sincere.
"Nothing right now," I say it like a question, caught off guard by his worried expression, "Not unless you can help me with my social life." I throw in, trying to make it sound like a joke.
    Mercifully, he laughs,
"I can't help you there, but you can always try to make friends." Satisfaction colors his face, he turns away again, tapping his sight stuck on the ground. "See you later kid."
    I wave, but my face grows hot after I remember that he's blind and drop my hand. Hopefully no one saw that.
    There's nothing left to do but wonder, I keep tabs on roads I turn off onto, I can't let myself get lost in this concrete maze. I spend the day watching the people around me, seeing how they live, reading their minds to help me understand them better. These people are rarely happy, they consider living a life rarely fulfilled is good enough. How can they not want more for themselves? How are they okay with mediocrity?
    The sun is visible for a little over an hour, then it ducks back behind the buildings. The moments it was free from the buildings, I could feel my blood almost singing with it touch, my temperature rising to its reciprocating warmth. Maybe it's the lack of sunlight that has them so miserable. Or it could be their professions, or the importance they placed on their professions. Like the older female scientist, many placed their jobs above all else.
    I'm noticing a pattern. All their jobs have a predisposition towards science. From either the pursuit of greater knowledge through any means necessary, to the people that clean up after their work accident. Their hearts weigh heavy with their conciousness, they had been taught from a young age that morality is subjective, but now that they are subjected to the many horrors that have become their jobs, many question whether it really is black and white. There are those that enjoy what they do, they have found a happy medium. Most of the happy ones cope with what they do by marginalizing the pain they cause/erase with the firm belief that it's for the greater good. Then there are those in that group that enjoy every aspect of it, their bloodlust being awakened from their time in service.
     I know now that there weren't any wild animals anymore, the surviving species in Zoos or have been so heavily domesticated they rarely look like their ancestors. It makes me sad, I'm not the only one that was forced to live in a cage because of what I was born as. The human rights activists views are universally shunned, but there are those that envy them. To be brave enough to due for a cause was something they craved to act on. But nobody wants to lose their job over it.
    They have caged themselves into their own lives, Tom's need to fixate on specific things isn't irrational to me anymore. All the humans do it. Something in them was broken at a young age. Could it be that it's because they are survivors of what they cynically have nicknamed "The decade wars"? I can see that they were raised with the hope of glory, but it was only after the loss of so many friends during the war of their generation that they realized it's true purpose. Population control. With the loss of family and friends, no human is spared this inescapable fact of their day, no wonder they throw themselves into their work.
    I come accross a lot, it's supposed to be dark now, but the light's from the art statues keeps the day going. Except for here, in this lot. The space is massive, the same size as the buildings around it, a scar in this otherwise perfect looking city. A step off from the side walk,, sunken into the earth with wispy gray dirt. There are no signs that prohibit entry, so I walk out onto the ashy gray dirt. I look at the skyscrapers on either side, parts of buildings that were never meant to be seen. Pillars of concrete, like perfect unfeeling mountains. In the center of the space, a small plac is raised waist high from the ground. To never forget is ecscribed on it. There is no date, no other wording to give context. Tom has no memory of this event either. The stone is shimering with fresh polish, someone takes care of this. It's surface is slick, cold, and dark in complection, ribbons of gold flow through the rock, there is no change of heat or texture between the differing substances. I can feel my tear ducts prick. The emptiness of the space is more of a mural than this expertly cut stone. It has a heavy sense of loneliness weighing heavy over the space.
    The place is so empty of thought and conflict, it's the kind of quiet you'd expect death to be. Is this what Tom felt when he died? Nothingness? I can still feel the dog, and rabits. They continue to live on inside of me, but the cat and Tom? Only silence. I can't breath, I kneel on the ground, grasping at my chest, why can't I breath? Air still moves in and out of my lungs, they continue to function, my heart still beats, but why do I feel like I'm dying? My eyes prick uncomfortably, I wish I could cry like a human, to have a sense of release. It's my fault that they're dead, it's my fault that they're gone. I hate myself for what I am, is my only purpose to kill everything around me?
    My world is empty, just like this open wound, surrounded by people, but utterly alone. I rest my forehead onto the monument, trying to gain comfort from it's cool touch. But I feel no chill, my natural temperature had heated the stone the moment I'd made contact with it. Instead, I mourn what I've lost, I mourn the cat, I mourn Tom, and this empty half existence. I remember Tom's belief in the Goddesses and have to hold in a burst of deranged laughter, what kind of loving God could allow a thing like me to exist? My very existence is a threat to others, even now I can smell the souls of the people around me, and I crave to consume them.
    Why am I here? A science experiment, I know that, but what purpose to I serve? Maybe the lack of my existence is why the humans must weed themselves out every 10 years, what was it the older female scientist had thought of me? Destroyer of human kind. I need to know what I was before I became the me I am now. This resolve steals me from my depression, if I can learn who I was, maybe I'll learn what I'm supposed to be. The thought that I'm meant to kill without regard to other living things makes me cringe. I only want to understand what my purpose is, if it is to cull the human race, I will defy it.
    I stand from my kneeling position, and head back to the place I'm staying at. How does one discover who they were? I doubt human's have ever dealt with that question. Then again, I remember hearing some of them believe in past lives. I am not a natural recurrence, I am a clone of my past self. The scientists had been so relieved that they had been able to recreat the DNA from... I search through Tom's memories, but my beginning wasn't something he had witnessed, he'd come onto the project much later. Where had they gotten my past DNA from? Now I have a lead to follow, find the source of my DNA, I kind of regret not killing the older female now, she had known, she was there when they had successfully recreated me as an egg. Even as I think it, I know the thought is wrong, I still don't want any part of her in me, even if it grants me helpful knowledge.
    Even with it still bright as daylight, I'm the only person on the street. It's late, I can feel that in the air, so where are the humans? I reach out to listen for them, while I had been otherwise preoccupied, there had been a switch of shifts. Now families sat together to eat dinner, and fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts have taken over for the night shift. Is it weird that this city runs so efficiently? That every person has a job? I can hear that more people are needed in the heads of those in charge, but it won't be for another year until the next generation ages up enough to hold jobs. There are a few years where mothers avoid having children, they purposefully wait until their kids will have a chance to serve in the decade wars. Service gives them a better chance at life, and if they serve well, it can afford them positions of power. They're entire government is run by those select few kids that had flourished on the battlefield, kids that had recieved wavers for rank increase until they had gotten themselves into major roles of leadership within the 4 year span of the war they had participated in.
    A society that specializes in war, it's not an alien concept to me. Had I been in wars, before? Battles that must of been fought with nothing more than swords and grit. The sketch the older female scientist had thought of comes to mind. Well, I doubt I had fought others with a sword.
    Faster now that I had walked with a purpose, I reach the old building again. With it's crumbling foundation, concrete outside overall to strengthen the foundation, I know I both predate, and am younger than the structure. It feels surreal staring at it, I move through the courtyard to the door and punch in the code to get in. No one is in the front hallway room, good.
    I reach my room without much incident, but I can tell me closing my front door has gotten the attention of my next door neighbor. I listen to their thoughts, ah, it's the female from this morning. She was reminded of our conversation when I'd closed my door and is now sifting through her clothes for a pair I can use. She settles on a baggy cream colored sweater and black skinny jeans with "tasteful" rips. Once she had convinced herself that I would be okay with wearing whatever she brought me, even if they're clothes that'll make look like a foreign teen popstar. The female folds the clothes and places them by her front door, reasoning that she doesn't want to look weird by bringing them over a few minutes after she'd heard me get back and settles on cooking her dinner first.
    Food, that's right, I can feel how empty my stumach is, it's getting to painful cramping again. I need to find a way to feed myself. I briefly consider eating humans again, but their smell, and the subsequent depression I'd feel after erases them as a possibility. I'd spent the day walking away from this place, but had remained in the city, here in the city there is no wildlife, not even birds. Without a natural food source, they have fled the cities into the surrounding areas. Tom has memories of a family trip to outside the city, and how the birds had scared him with their alien nature.
    Sitting on the laminate floor, I casually scratch at the dark colored wood style of the floor, tracing the false lines with my fingers. Whatever she's making, there's a point where she has wait until it's ready to be removed from a heat source. Now with a reason to leave the interaction with me, she picks up the clothes and cautiously approaches my door. I stay seated until I hear her soft nock, and rise no faster than a human, and stroll to the door. I grab the handle twice, internally groaning at the need to do so, and pull the door open.
    For a moment, she look extremely tired, her eyes withdrawn, but when she meets my gaze, a smile plasters onto her face.
    "Hello, do you remember me from the morning?" Her voice is chipper.
    "Of course," I reply, "Fai, right?"
She giggles warmly, and squints her eyes.
    "And Jared I believe?" She teases.
I nod in response,
    "What brings you to my door?" I ask, trying to sound surprised.
    "Ah," she winks, "To bring you these." She lifts the clothes up with both hands, like an offering.
    "Oh yeah! The clothes!" I exlaim, trying to sound relieved at the silver "mystery", "Thank you."
    My thanks is the first genuine emotion out of our conversation, she notices it, but disregards. She has her own secrets she tries to hide with this facade.
    "It's my pleasure." There's a speck of truth in her reply, she does like helping people. "Well-" she continues,
    "I've got food in oven, do you need anything else?" Her smile says she wants to help, the dissent in her mind hopes I'll deny this offer of help. I'm happy to oblige.
    "No, I think this is all I need." I'm not able to keep up the falsehood of the conversation, my smile becomes an impatient smirk.
    "Okay," she clamps her hands together, "If you find out that you need anything, I'm right next door.
    She takes a step back and points down the hallway. Without actually needing the visual confirmation, I lean out the door and peer into the direction she pointed in.
    "Got it,, thanks again for the clothes." My hand is on the doornob, she's angled to flee.
    "It's no problem," she makes her way down the hall, "Oh! And before I forget." She continues, her hand on her own door nob. "Tomorrow, meet me in the lobby ten minutes prior to this morning okay?"
    "I will." I wave.
    "Perfect, see you later then." She whirls into her room, I can hear how she leans her back against her door, feeling the positivety ooze out of her, in it's place, exhaustion from a day of being forced to smile and interact with others.
    We have that in common, I muse. Although hers is caused by the trauma she'd faced from being in combat, to coming back to a world that doesn't need her. I'd been able to place the strange noises her legs had made. They are robotic, not all the way through, but I'd guess her old human legs must have been blown off during her time in service.
    I shake my head to clear it of my concerns for this random human female, I have a goal now. My past isn't going to reveal itself.