Saints in a Chip

They walked through the sand while the relentless sun beat down on them as the hours stretched on. Lucy was comfortably perched on Jude's piggyback, her small arms wrapped around his neck and her head resting against his back. Occasionally, she would doze off, her soft breaths mingling with the sound of the sound crushing under Jude’s boot.

Beads of sweat formed on Jude's brow, and the realisation that they had no water gnawed at him. He kept these troubling thoughts to himself, not wanting to burden Lucy with his worries.

“So, who gave you my ring? Was it a pretty lady named Marta?” he asked, attempting to lighten the mood and distract her.

“No,” Lucy replied, her voice a little sleepy. “It was Barbara. She said she was really sorry.”

“I was wondering why she had been so quiet,” Jude mumbled, his voice barely breaking through the stillness of the desert air. “Think I’ll need to apologise to her; I was kind of an a—I mean butt. I was a butt.”

“Apologies accepted.” Barbara’s voice suddenly resonated in Jude’s inner ear as if she had materialised from the depths of his thoughts.

He smirked, but it was cut short because he wasn't entirely sure they were heading in the right direction. After a while, he activated his vision augmentation skill. The world around him sharpened, and the shimmering heat waves dissipated, revealing the settlement in the distance, a faint outline against the landscape.

Jude had no other choice. The sun bore down on them, and exhaustion clawed at his limbs. There was no place to rest in the vast expanse of sand, and the only solution lay in returning to the settlement—the only refuge he knew.

Yet the thought filled him with dread. An uneasy knot twisted in his stomach as he considered what awaited them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that things would get ugly once they arrived.

His mind raced, searching for a plan, but all he saw were obstacles. He knew he had to confront the entire team and clean the house, but there were still two possible obstacles left—Len and that strange tall guy who had appeared on his first night. He was strong enough to handle them all, but doubts gnawed at him.

What would Lucy think? What impression would this leave on her innocent mind? The thought of exposing her to that chaos of violence made his stomach churn. He couldn't fathom a way to spare her.

As he walked, Jude cast a glance over his shoulder at Lucy, her small figure nestled comfortably on his back, blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling inside his head. He felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him; she was just a kid.

He needed to shield her from the darker shadows of their world—shadows that loomed not just around them but within him. The darkness that stirred beneath the surface, the abilities he struggled to control, threatened to consume him at any moment, and he feared what might happen if he lost control. One wrong thought, and he could kill someone in their more atrocious nightmare.

Jude was so entangled in his own thoughts that he failed to notice where he was stepping. Suddenly, his foot collided with something hard, sending him off balance. In an instant, he and Lucy tumbled into the soft ground.

He sprang to his feet, heart racing, and reached out to Lucy, “Are you okay?”

Lucy brushed the sand off her clothes, her brow furrowed. “Yeah, just got jump scared,” she replied.

“Sorry, I stumbled on something,” Jude said, glancing down at the ground, expecting to find a stone or a piece of petrified cactus. Instead, his eyes widened as he noticed what lay beneath the sand.

“What's this?” Lucy asked, her finger pointing excitedly at the ground.

Jude squatted down to get a closer look. Half-buried in the sand was a small object that resembled a mini projector, its sleek black surface glinting under the sun like a tiny spotlight. It appeared to be lodged deep in the sand, stubbornly refusing to budge as he tugged at it.

In his struggle, his fingers accidentally pressed a button, and with a soft click, the projector whirred to life.

Lucy screamed, and Jude's head shot up, his eyes widening as he spotted it—a dark cloud looming on the horizon, unmistakably the Eidolons. Panic surged through him as he instinctively waved his hand in front of the projector, and to his shock, the fearsome figures vanished into thin air.

Breathless, he pulled his hand away, and just like that, the Eidolons reappeared, growling menacingly, their claws scraping against the sand, sending tiny particles flying into the air.

“HOLY GUACAMOLE!” Lucy exclaimed, her wide eyes reflecting the chaos before them.

Jude's heart raced as he realised that the danger wasn’t real, yet the growls echoed in his ears, sending a chill down his spine. The illusion was vivid, too vivid, making the danger feel tangible. He quickly glanced at Lucy, who was both terrified and captivated by the spectacle.

“It’s fake!” Jude exclaimed as he quickly turned off the projector. The revelation hit him like a tidal wave, and a cascade of realisations flooded his mind.

Everything fell into place—the bizarre behaviour of Bart and the others, driving the jeep in circles, the way Delila had shot at the sand. They hadn’t been battling real Eidolons; they were simply turning off the projector.

But why? What was the endgame?

Jude's thoughts spiralled, questions racing through his mind. What were they hiding? Were they protecting something—or someone?

“Lucy,” he said, his voice steadying despite the turmoil inside. “We need to—"

She reached into her backpack and pulled out a cool, fresh bottle of water, the condensation glistening in the sunlight. She twisted off the lid and took several long, refreshing sips, her eyes fluttering as the cool liquid quenched her thirst.

"You have water?" Jude asked, baffled, his throat parched and dry as sand.

"Yes! You want some?" she offered. The temptation was nearly overwhelming, but Jude hesitated. She was just a kid, and he couldn’t bring himself to take something from her. He shook his head. "No, you can have it."

With a shrug, Lucy took another satisfying sip from the bottle before rummaging through her backpack again. “Are you sure? I have another,” she said, pulling out a second bottle that looked even more refreshing than the first.

"How did you—" he began, but the question of how she managed to keep two bottles of water so fresh, as if they had just come out of the freezer, faded away as he took the drink from her hand.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the desert, the heat began to ease its grip. Jude trudged forward, the weight of exhaustion heavy on his shoulders as he carried Lucy on his back. Just when he thought he couldn’t go any further, the familiar facade of the settlement came into view.

A figure perched atop the wall waited patiently as if anticipating their arrival. Jude activated his vision enhancement, and the world sharpened into focus. The man standing there unarmed was Lazaro.

Relief washed over Jude’s chest, mingling with the fatigue that threatened to pull him under. He picked up his pace, eager to reach the likely safety of the settlement.

After a long minute, Jude finally reached the main facade. He looked up, but Lazaro interrupted him before he could utter a word.

“Car crash?”

“Car crash,” Jude admitted.

“Iridescent wall?”

“We call it glitter wall.”

“Yeah, that works too. I was expecting you, obviously,” Lazaro replied, leaping down from the wall. “The others are waiting for you too.”

“Are we in danger?” Jude asked, forcing himself to sound more composed than he felt, his exhaustion threatening to spill over.

“Are we?” Lazaro smirked. “Kid, you scared the hell out of us. If you really wanted to kill us, I doubt you would’ve given us the chance. It was quite impressive, actually. Bart hasn’t stopped talking about the whole experience.”

“I found the projectors,” Jude revealed. “At least one.”

Lazaro’s expression shifted. “One?"

"Yeah."

“Sooner or later, you would,” Lazaro said, his gaze falling into his boots. “You have a mission, and we have ours. What you witnessed this morning was us learning that we’ve become insulated from the outside world—vaccinated, if you will. And your little one almost paid the price for... We aren’t proud of that. Not at all.”

“Shouldn’t you call Len?” Jude recalled Bart’s words that any small situation should and would be reported to Len.

Lazaro shook his head, a wry smile forming on his lips. “None of us had the balls for that... Len might finish what you started. But look, why don’t you come inside, and we can talk this out? I give you my word that you and the little one are safe.”

Jude let out a heavy sigh, the exhaustion weighing on him like a lead blanket. “I’m too exhausted to even fight,” he admitted, feeling the tension begin to drain from his shoulders.

“Good,” Lazaro replied, gesturing toward the entrance. “Let’s get you both settled.”

With that, the three of them made their way toward the Central Unit. As they stepped inside, the familiar sights of the kitchenette enveloped them.

Delila wasted no time; she gently lifted Lucy off Jude's back, cradling the little girl with care. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you settled.” Lucy looked back at Jude but quickly melted into Delila’s embrace as she was taken to another room, her frame disappearing behind the door.

Tom, Bart, and Lazaro moved to the table in front of the whiteboard, where the ten rules were scrawled in bold letters.

Jude joined them, sensing the tension in the room, each of them acutely aware of the unspoken questions that lingered. “What’s the plan?” he asked, trying to break the silence.

Bart slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the air like a gunshot, a primal release of pent-up frustration. He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging beneath the fabric of his green shirt, as he leaned forward. “We’re on a mission that’s lasted decades—what, fifty years now?”

“Fifty-four,” Tom interjected.

“Fifty-four years stuck in this desert,” Bart continued. “We know every grain of sand that shifts, every shadow that passes. Nothing comes in or out without us knowing. And we’ve done a tremendous job here.” His tone softened slightly, but an undercurrent of doubt flickered in his eyes, questioning the very foundation of their beliefs.

He paused, running a hand through his hair. “It would be easier to just spill the beans and lay it all out for you. And believe me or not, we actually like you. I think you’re made of the same stuff we are. All watchers, right?” His gaze lingered on Jude, searching for a flicker of understanding.

"Made of the same stuff? I would never point a gun to a kid." Jude corrected.

“We don’t either,” Bart agreed reluctantly, his brow furrowing as he spoke. He shifted in his seat, and the weight of his words became uncomfortable. “But…” He hesitated, glancing at the others as if searching for the right way to express the unthinkable. “Over the last few decades, they’ve gotten more creative. At first, it was just machines—bots that didn’t even resemble us. And then… people who weren’t really people at all but... empty dolls that just looked and acted like us.”

He leaned back, running a hand over his face, weariness etched into the lines around his eyes. “It started to blur the lines between what’s real and what’s not. Maybe that’s a sign we’re all just… tired.” His voice dropped. “But make no mistake, we’re all—especially Delila—extremely ashamed of what happened.”

“I hear a lot of words,” Jude said flatly as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Then why don’t you talk? Why don’t you tell us why you’re here?” Bart shot back, his eyes narrowing, challenging Jude. “Why did they send you?”

Jude scanned the faces around the table, a slight furrow forming on his brow. “I guess by ‘they,’ you mean the same ones who sent over bots to check on you?” His gaze flicked to Tom, who leaned forward.

“Are you here to audit us?” Tom asked.

“Numbers,” Jude replied, his tone almost dismissive.

“Numbers?” Bart echoed.

“Fuck!” Lazaro pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut as if trying to ward off a sudden headache.

“Laz, maybe you should get some sleep—” Tom began, but Lazaro cut him off.

“We’re so fucked. He needs to talk to Len.”

“Laz, you’ve lost me. What numbers are you talking about?” Bart asked.

“The numbers that show who’s winning,” Jude said. “They don’t add up, and I’m starting to think nothing here makes sense anymore.”

“He needs to talk to Len,” Laz insisted.

“Yeah, Len’s the best person for this,” Tom added, glancing around the table.

“So why don’t we call Len?” Jude asked.

A heavy silence settled over the room that felt as if it could crush them. Finally, Lazaro broke the stillness. “What if we teach you the tutorials so you don’t crash another car?”

Jude surveyed the faces around him. Bart sat rigid, arms crossed tightly. His gaze was fixed firmly on the floor as if avoiding eye contact could shield him from implicit judgment.

Tom wore an unreadable poker face. The tension in his jaw betrayed the anxiety simmering just beneath the surface, like a player strategising in a high-stakes game.

Then there was Lazaro. He remained the calmest of the trio, a steady presence in the storm. His demeanour suggested he had witnessed far worse and accepted whatever consequences lay ahead.

“Is Len that powerful?”

“Len is the very reason we’re here,” Lazaro explained seriously as he leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “This world functions because Len made it work.” He paused, a faint smile flickering across his face. “She’s also very temperamental—kind of like you.”

“Can we skip the tutorials for tomorrow?” Jude asked, begging internally for a bed and some rest.

Lazaro shook his head. “No, you never skip the tutorials.”