Mysterious fires and relentless storms wear down an already dwindling population, but as the fires grow more focused and destructive, a young messenger is compelled to seek out answers that have been hidden from him for twenty years.
When I saw smoke rising again, I knew it was Renner, because he didn't care to hide it. It was a message. A reminder that nowhere was safe. Outside, the storm could pluck us from the world. Inside, we'd just as likely be burned away. He wanted us to feel it. The terror. The restlessness. The waiting.
But what he didn't account for was our mantra. Maybe he forgot we grew up mired in the kind of suffering that numbs a person. He didn't see the calluses formed at birth, and he didn't hear the words we hammered into our youth.
Forward as always.
We, the Commonhope, embodied that phrase down to our bones. Not just because we had to, but because of the pride we shared. For me, it meant being a Packbrat, a messenger of sorts. We delivered whatever was needed all across Galilei. We learned to count the seconds behind the thunder and familiarized ourselves with the terrain. Run or hide. That's all we were supposed to do, because we were the only connective tissue between the disparate parts of the Commonhope body and its head. Unfortunately, I was too damn curious and prone to getting myself into sticky situations. So, when given the chance, I followed the smoke. And I ran toward the screams. And I left my post. Some of it was fruitless, as far as answers, but it always led to trouble.
Which is where Clark came in. He'd been keeping an eye on me for quite some time. It helped that he was seven feet tall, made entirely of metal, and had a penchant for showing up just when I needed him. Though, he wouldn't appreciate me mentioning the metal. He'd turn in all his strength for a human body in a heartbeat. I couldn't understand why. All the worst people I knew were human. And Clark. Well, he was one of the best.
That's probably why I spent so little time in the mountains of Commonhope proper--too many warm bodies. Not to mention, the answers wouldn't be found in our little pocket of false security. I had to be out in the world, searching, eyes open. And patterns were emerging, loosely.
While the other Packbrats were content running their monthly routes, I was taking detours and studying our insufficient maps. The tight-lipped Luminators were hiding something from us. I just couldn't figure out what it was, and they didn't have a persuadable bone in their body. More importantly, the fires were getting more frequent, more focused.
With the way things were going, I could only hope Luminator El would finally let me start training to become a Raincoat. I had this sinking feeling that we were gonna need all the fighters we could get. And there was no better fighter than a Raincoat. Unfortunately, despite the fact that I was the only person to ever survive a fire, El continued to deny my request. I'd make her take me more seriously, no matter how I had to prove it. We deserved a life that was built on more perseverance--one our children could be proud of. And the only thing I could be sure of, was that the status quo wouldn't get us there.
That said, surviving wasn't meaningless. I meant a few things to us. First, it marked a shared kinship. If you were still around, you could understand. You knew what it felt like to lose someone. A single nod or look could share what a thousand words couldn't. Second, it meant you could endure. Gray hair would earn you both respect and pity. Certainly wasn't an enviable position to be in, because a long life on Galilei always came with scars. And lastly, you were probably haunted by what you had to do to survive. Some had dreams, nightmares. Others wore the trauma on their skin. But, we didn't talk about it. Didn't think about it. You just kept going.
Forward as always.
I'll admit, that phrase was a useful reminder. Survival above all else. But if we wanted to thrive, if we wanted something better, maybe it was time to change direction. And I knew my heading. I was going after Renner, even if it killed me.
About the Author :
Olan Rogers is an American actor, comedian, filmmaker, and YouTuber who created the animated series Final Space for TBS and Adult Swim. He also stars in and executive produces the show. Rogers has a YouTube channel with almost one million subscribers, where he posts sci-fi spoofs, videos of his cat, and other content. He also owns the Nashville streetwear brand Star Cadet, which has produced clothing for Final Space, NASA, and Star Trek: The Next Generation. Jake Sidwell, a composer for film and television. I've composed for projects in every
category, including TV shows for Adult Swim and TBS(2018-2022), Vimeo staff picks, film festivals, YouTube series and animated shorts, and hybrid/orchestral albums.
