The broadcast hijacked every public frequency at the same time.
Phones vibrated, screens flickered, city displays cut to white.
Across cafés, streets, laptops, transit hubs, and living rooms, the same seal slowly burned into view. Two profiles unfolded, side by side.
PUBLIC TARGET NOTICE
AUTHORIZED BY THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
LEFT PANEL
SUBJECT ID: SOB442
AGE: 12
THREAT CLASSIFICATION: ★★☆☆☆
(Regional Disruption – Active)
CHARGES:
— Assault on protected government officials
— Destruction of restricted public infrastructure
— Interference with classified operations
— Unauthorized activity
CAPTURE PRIORITY:
DEAD OR ALIVE. ALIVE – PREFERRED
BOUNTY VALUE:
₡ 8,200,000
RIGHT PANEL
SUBJECT ID: TFR-100
AGE: 12
THREAT CLASSIFICATION: ★★☆☆☆
(Regional Disruption – Active)
CHARGES:
— Assault on protected government officials
— Destruction of restricted public infrastructure
— Interference with classified operations
— Unauthorized activity
CAPTURE PRIORITY:
The line paused.
Then changed.
ALIVE – REQUIRED
BOUNTY VALUE:
₡ 7,600,000
A thin divider appeared beneath both entries.
A single warning line followed.
CIVILIAN INTERFERENCE IS PROHIBITED. ONLY CERTIFIED BOUTNY HUNTERS MAY INTERACT.
CIVILIANS MUST REPORT SIGHTINGS IMMEDIATELY.
Across the world, screens froze. People leaned closer, although a few laughed at first.
"Is this some kind of prank?!"
But then they saw the ages.
Two children, on every wall, every phone, every public display.
SHIRLEY AND TUCKER'S POV
"WHAT?!"
Their voices collided so loudly the palm leaves above them rattled.
Madison flinched.
Then, instantly, she slapped a hand over her own mouth, and thrust her finger toward them.
"Shh—! Are you trying to get the entire island to hear you?!"
Shirley and Tucker froze.
Madison lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, eyes darting toward the dark slope behind them.
"I know. I know. I saw it too. But, look how this turned out…"
She dragged a hand through her hair, visibly overwhelmed.
"Why only you two? Of all people… why you?"
Tucker stared at the glowing screen again, his chest tight.
"…Why does mine say alive, required?"
His voice dipped.
"That's—"
"WAIT, WHAT?!"
Shirley spun on him.
"How come you get required and I get preferred?!"
His eyes went wide.
"WHICH MEANS, I'M GONNA DIE—!"
Then came a smack. Madison slapped him across the face.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the night.
Shirley's teeth clicked together.
He reeled back, stunned.
"SHUT UP," she hissed.
"You're going to get yourselves spotted."
Shirley clutched his cheek. It was already burning red.
"…Ow…"
Madison leaned in, deadly serious now.
"You can't be loud. You can't be obvious. And you absolutely cannot keep acting like nothing changed. You're wanted now! People will kill for your heads, read the room!"
Her voice dropped.
"The two of you need to lay low."
Tucker swallowed.
"You can't just walk around anymore."
Shirley scoffed weakly.
"It's a world full of idiots anyway. Nobody's gonna recognize us on the street. And bounty hunters?"
He waved a hand.
"Please. Those are movie things."
Madison stared at him.
Then slowly shook her head.
"They're real."
Both boys stiffened.
"Very real. I've seen them myself, closer than you think."
She crossed her arms.
"And they're not stupid."
A quiet breath.
"Five months ago, would you have believed me if I told you you'd be fighting a monster's highest guards… breaking into a hidden city that floats in the sky… and getting marked by the Seven Kingdoms?"
Neither of them answered.
"…Exactly."
Her jaw tightened.
"They're trained. Their will is reinforced. They're conditioned not to fall into Presence addiction like normal people do."
Tucker's fingers curled around the edge of the phone.
"…So they're strong."
Madison nodded once.
"Strong enough."
There was a beat.
A long, sinking one.
Then,
"WE'RE GONNA DIE—!"
Both of them shouted at the same time.
Madison didn't hesitate.
She punched Shirley in the shoulder.
Then punched Tucker in the arm.
"SHUT. UP."
THE WORLD
The woman with silver hair sat perfectly still.
Tears slid down her cheeks in thin, silent lines.
At her feet, the shattered screen continued to flicker.
The seal, the names, the stars.
Still burning through broken glass.
"They didn't even run it through us," she whispered.
Her voice shook.
"They didn't ask. They didn't warn us. They didn't let anyone vote…"
In front of her, a man stood half-swallowed by the darkness of the room. Only the outline of his shoulders and clenched hands could be seen.
"Government scum," he muttered.
His fingers curled so tightly his knuckles cracked.
"I thought they were abolished."
A sharp breath.
"What the hell are they doing back?"
The broadcast pulsed faintly against the wall.
Far out on open water, a rust-stained ship drifted beneath a cloudless sky.
Empty bottles rolled across the deck.
Laughter slurred through the air.
"Two stars?!" a drunk man barked, nearly spilling his drink.
"You're telling me all this noise is for two stars?"
Another leaned back against a crate, grinning crookedly.
"Doesn't matter. The rulers don't run public broadcasts for nobodies."
He lifted his cup.
"Means they're special."
At the very front of the ship, a man stood alone on the figurehead.
Bandages wrapped his chest, his arm, part of his jaw.
He didn't turn when they laughed behind him.
He stared at the endless sea.
A phone glowed in his hand.
"…Kids," he murmured quietly.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
"This is what the next generation looks like now?"
The wind swallowed the rest of his words.
In a bright, glass-walled city far away—
A woman stood barefoot in a spotless condo bathroom.
The lights were still on.
The mirror was still clean.
But the bathtub wasn't, an old, overweight man lay slumped inside it, blood slowly leaking into the drain.
She didn't look at him.
She stood by the open window.
Across the street, a massive public display lit the building opposite.
The seal, the names, the stars.
She watched it in silence.
Then calmly lit her cigarette.
Took a slow drag.
Reached over and picked up a slice of cold pizza from the sink.
Bit into it, chewed, unbothered.
Somewhere else, a narrow bar drowned in shadow.
Only the television illuminated the room.
The broadcast filled the screen.
Static hissing softly, the door creaked.
Two figures walked out without a word.
The door swung twice and slowly came to rest.
The screen continued to glow in the empty room.
Across oceans.
Across continents.
Across cities, ships, and hidden rooms,
The same names spread.
The same stars burned.
The same mark settled quietly onto the world.
It was inevitable now.
They had been seen.
They had been named.
They had been—
marked.
SHIRLEY AND TUCKER — THE NEXT DAY, AT THE DOCKS
"So… it actually searched for the book?"
Shirley stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Tucker at the edge of the docks, watching waves slap softly against the wooden posts.
The man they were speaking to pushed his glasses up his nose.
He wore a red flannel, torn gray sweatpants, and the permanently tired look of someone who had not slept properly in years.
"Yeah. Pretty much," he said.
Then, without warning, he lit up.
"You gotta understand, The Adventures of Shawn and Tucker is basically the only piece of literature civilians in Choreees are legally allowed to read."
Shirley blinked. "Only…?"
"Only," the man nodded.
He leaned forward a little, voice dropping as if the ocean itself might be listening.
"The teleportation device was under development for decades. Some people say centuries. Some say longer. I heard rumors it was a… recycled design. From something much older."
Tucker stiffened slightly.
"And when it finally came online," the man continued, "its job was simple. Scan beyond Choreees. Look for registered Choreees literature that had somehow escaped containment."
He hesitated.
"…We had test locations outside the city. Real people, yeah. Volunteers."
A small, uneasy smile.
"None of them came back."
Shirley's stomach twisted.
"But," the man added quickly, almost too quickly, "from a systems standpoint? It worked. Perfectly."
Shirley lowered his gaze, thinking.
Then quietly,
"So Micheal's diary…"
Tucker looked at him.
Shirley's eyes widened slightly as the pieces clicked together.
"…It must've been flagged as Choreees literature."
He lifted his head slowly.
"And it was inside Tucker's house."
A pause.
"…Which is why the device spawned there."
Silence hung between the three of them.
Then Shirley suddenly straightened.
His face lit up.
"Oh my—"
He clenched both fists.
"KNOWLEDGE."
Tucker flinched.
"I LOVE THE BURST OF ADRENALINE YOU GET WHEN EVERYTHING CONNECTS."
The man in glasses stared.
"…Riiight," he muttered.
He took one careful step backward.
Then another.
"Well, uh. Good luck, kids."
And without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked off at a suspiciously fast pace.
Tucker watched him go.
"…You scare people."
Shirley nodded proudly.
"Bye, everyone!"
Tucker waved both arms as the boats finished loading.
Across the dock, Doug stood near the railing of one of the larger vessels.
He cupped his hands around his mouth.
"HEY! Don't forget what I said!"
The wind carried his voice easily.
"No leaving the motel unless I say so! No causing trouble! I will check in every week!"
Shirley winced.
"You both have Madison's number, and mine," Doug continued.
"Use them. Seriously."
Tucker laughed and gave a thumbs-up.
"Yeah, yeah! We got it! See you, Doug!"
Shirley finally regained his composure and lifted his hand in a quieter wave.
"Thanks… for everything. Safe travels!"
One by one, people waved back.
Madison.
Sage.
ZE210.
Faces growing smaller.
The boats pulled away.
Wood creaked.
Ropes splashed free.
The distance between them stretched with the water.
Shirley and Tucker stood there until the last silhouette blurred into the horizon.
For a moment, it felt like the end of something.
The sound of a horn snapped them both out of it.
A yellow taxi rolled to a stop behind them.
Its paint was scratched. One headlight flickered.
The driver leaned out the window.
"You the kids?"
Shirley and Tucker turned toward each other.
Bags hanging from their shoulders.
Same thought.
Same grin.
They took off at the exact same time.
"HEY, NO FAIR!"
"I WAS FIRST—!"
They sprinted down the dock, nearly tripping over loose planks and rope coils.
TWO WEEKS LATER
The motel looked like it had given up on itself years ago.
Bleached paint peeled from the walls. The asphalt in the parking lot shimmered under the heat, warped and sticky-looking. Somewhere behind the building, an ancient air-conditioning unit rattled like it was fighting for its life.
Tucker pushed open the door and stepped outside.
Tank top. Shorts. Flip-flops.
Instant regret.
The heat slapped him in the face.
He lifted his phone to his ear and trudged toward the vending machines baking in the sun.
"So," Doug's voice crackled through the line, cheerful as ever, "how's everything going?"
Tucker squinted at the rows of snacks behind cloudy plastic.
"It's hot as balls," he said flatly. "But… uh. Yeah. Pretty good, I guess. We've been using your money to be… productive."
A very unhelpful flash of memory popped into his head.
Him and Shirley, sprawled across the bed, surrounded by empty takeout containers. Both of them bloated. Both of them deeply ashamed.
Doug chuckled.
"Good. Just don't forget to exercise and actually go outside sometimes. And stay cool, I hear there's a heat wave out there."
Tucker glanced over his shoulder.
The motel pool sat behind a sagging chain fence.
The water was… not blue.
It was something closer to green.
"Yeaahhh…" Tucker said slowly. "We will."
"Great! I'll come check on you boys soon and move you to the next motel. Stay safe, okay?"
Tucker stopped in front of the vending machine.
"Yeah. We will. Bye, Doug."
He ended the call and slid closer to the keypad.
Cola.
Code: B4.
Beep.
OUT OF STOCK.
Tucker frowned.
"…What?"
He leaned closer to the glass.
The cola was right there.
Staring at him.
Menacingly.
He typed the code again.
Beep.
OUT OF STOCK.
"…No way."
Again.
Beep.
OUT OF STOCK.
Again.
Again.
Again.
"What—?!"
He slapped the side of the machine.
The metal thudded dully.
"Come on!"
He smacked it harder.
The machine rattled.
Still nothing.
"…You have got to be kidding me."
Sweat slid down his neck.
Doug's voice echoed in his head.
"Don't talk to anyone."
Tucker glanced toward the motel office window.
Then back at the vending machine.
Then at the sun.
"…I am literally going to melt."
He marched toward the front office and knocked hard on the dusty check-in window.
No response.
He knocked again.
"Hello?!"
A shadow shifted behind the glass.
The door creaked open a few seconds later.
A bald, wrinkled old man stepped out, wearing sandals and an expression that suggested he hated the universe on a personal level.
"You lookin' for somebody, son?"
Tucker jumped slightly.
"Uh, yeah. The vending machine's busted. It keeps saying it's out of stock."
The man pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Always something useless…" he muttered under his breath.
Then, louder:
"Lead the way."
Tucker immediately turned and walked him back toward the machines.
Inside the motel room, Shirley sat cross-legged on the bed.
A fan sat inches from his face, blasting warm air directly into his sunglasses.
Michael's diary lay open in his lap.
A separate notebook rested beside him, already half-filled with messy diagrams, arrows, and frantic notes.
He paused mid-sentence.
Wrote something down.
Crossed it out.
Rewrote it again.
"…Okay… that actually makes sense."
Beside him, a small pile of letters rested near the edge of the bed.
Some addressed to him.
A few unsigned.
One stood out immediately.
Black paper, with no return address.
Shirley stared at it for a long moment.
Then he picked it up.
Slowly tore it open.
His eyes moved across the page.
His breath caught.
"…What?"
ON A PLANE
High above the clouds, a private cabin glowed softly with warm gold lighting.
A man reclined comfortably in a wide leather business seat.
Gray hair, neatly combed.
Round bicycle glasses.
A purple suit, paired proudly with a bright yellow tie and matching loafers.
Two impeccably dressed women stood quietly beside him.
He held a landline phone to his ear, smiling.
"I assure you," he said pleasantly, "this will be the party of your life, sir."
A booming laugh crackled through the receiver.
"A party for the world's most wanted? Bfhahahahaha! That's not possible, August."
August's smile widened.
"All things are possible, Mengu."
His fingers tightened around the receiver.
"Do not forget… this will be very much in your benefit."
Another laugh.
"I don't want a single person lost, you hear me?!"
"Of course," August replied smoothly.
A pause.
Then, softly,
"Especially the fresh meat."
The line went dead.
August placed the phone back into its cradle.
He turned slowly toward the two women.
"Hahahaha… this party will be filled with the typicals, you two."
His eyes slid to the desk in front of him.
Two digital profile sheets glowed on a tablet.
Shirley.
Tucker.
"But you…"
A slow, delighted grin spread across his face.
"You're not typical at all… are you?"
BACK AT THE MOTEL
"HOW?! HOW, HOW, HOW HOW HOW?!"
Tucker slammed his fist against the vending machine again.
The old man flinched.
"SONNY, CALM DOWN!"
"It says it's out of stock!" Tucker shouted. "But it's RIGHT THERE! I can SEE IT!"
He jabbed a finger at the cola.
"You scammer scum!"
"Hey—!"
Tucker shoved the machine.
It rocked.
The old man's eyes widened.
"Hey—HEY—!"
The machine tilted.
Metal groaned.
Then, a crash
The entire vending machine slammed onto its side.
Cans exploded across the pavement.
Chips burst from cracked spirals.
The glass spider-webbed instantly.
Tucker stared down at the wreckage.
"…Uh."
He slowly turned to the old man.
"Whoops?"
The landlord stood frozen.
Both hands on his head.
Mouth hanging open.
"…I really hate my life."