I'm like an undersized Santa Claus slipping through a massive chimney. The scars on my palm sting my nerves as they graze against the rough surface.

It's like being plunged into an endless black hole with several branches. Being underground adds to the fear choking my throat.

As my back hits something hard, blinding sunlight pours on my eyes. A loud whooshing comes from the funnel, and before I get up, a big black sack smacks my face, smelling like excessive perfume and rotten tomatoes. It rattles as I set it aside. My gut forbids me from peeking inside. It may worsen my urge to puke.

I'm floating above tons of sacks with flies fluttering about. Trapping me is a huge cylindrical garbage container, made of glass. Its edge tries to grasp the sky.

There's no pickup today since it's Thursday. How should I escape then? This cylinder is half full. I might leap out once the stack gets higher, but how long will it take?

What if those officers find me first?

Mom's farewell echoes in my head, bouncing like a ball in a cave. "Never meet me here again, Allice. Stay safe. Now, go."

I look back at the sky, sucking a foul breath. Escape methods should've been a basic skill taught since our childhood.

Far above the tube, the sky is cloudless and blue. It's like Highlife's territory. But there aren't any sounds around. Not even a chirping bird, or noisy rustlings of branches. No rumbling vehicles either. It's like the upper ground is barren and abandoned—a typical Lowlife trait.

But today's meant to be a quiet day since everyone should stay home.

What am I going to do with Miro? He isn't the best cousin, but his mom is arrested because of me.

Has Lin-Irene got her search warrant?

Twelve more sacks disturb my musing in the giant cylinder. My scars itch at the pooling sweat. My limbs ache; they've been stretched for too long.

I spend the next hours trying some escape methods: stacking the sacks, climbing up, and using sticky trashes on my hands to guide me up with piled sacks supporting me from below. I lose my strength after the fifth try.

A part of me has accepted being taken back to prison, or OCZ's office, for further questioning, however unreasonable that might be. But the other part still wishes for a miracle. The Bible always brags about hope in the gravest of moments, right? Perhaps there will be one soon...

A savage rumbling intrudes the silence—someone's coming. But when the rumble returns, I fall back on the sacks. It's my growling stomach. I stretch my arms and legs, struggling to keep awake with fatigue nagging inside.

The stupid bakery's jingle. Why, from any other songs, does it appear now? "All my hunger shall end... with Humpty Yummy's breads..."

Footsteps. I stop singing, sharpening my ears. Several footsteps on the ground above.

Have they found me?

I grab a few big sacks for cover. I won't get caught that easily. They have to struggle through this mess first. Leaving a slim 'peephole', I hold my breath like I'm underwater.

Voices also come from above. Subtly, like a breeze. They're approaching.

Are the officers wearing navy-blue uniforms, like the ones in the prison? Or tan brown, like those arresting Dad and Mom? Or...

But instead of vicious-faced adults staring back at me, a couple of youngsters appear, scanning through the piling rubbish.

Where did I see that boy's platinum hair before? His eyes shine with eagerness, as bright as his hair. A rope is slung across his chest, a mask covers his chin, and a belt of strange devices dangles on his waist. The girl wears patched overalls, her single braid mimicking the boy's rope.

Is the boy a Highlife, since he has those odd inventions, and the girl a Lowlife since she doesn't show anything worth bragging?

"What do you think, Sandra?" the boy asks after a long silence. "Which ones?"

The girl stands on her toes, scrutinizing the trashes. "That one"—she points a black sack on top of me—"and that one." Why does she choose two huge sacks that I use as a cover? What's with her instincts?

He uncoils the rope, fastening a hook on its edge. "I swear I heard Humpty Yummy's jingle from here."

"Maybe someone put it in a Songkeep before dumping it."

Songkeep? Does she mean the song storage from years ago that attacked Dogson City with excessive ads and often made me sidetrack?

Well, they don't seem like bad people. I have to give it a shot. It's my only chance.

When the rope gets lower, reaching one of their chosen sacks, I grab it and reveal myself from the depths, earning an awkward tug on the rope. I look up, waiting for them to register my presence.

"Hi," I greet. "Need some help here."

"Uh... why are you there?" A petrified look passes Sandra's eyes.

The boy remains calm. He strengthens his grip on the rope, his face gritted with determination. "I know you," he gently mutters, turning to Sandra. "Let's help him up."

My palms and legs are burnt once I reach the upper ground. I smell like sweat and rot at the same time. Collapsing, I struggle to inhale. Sandra offers a bottle of water, which I giddily accept and end up spraying all over my face.

I slowly sit, staring at my helpers. Sandra's black eyes are filled with curiosity, while the boy's with satisfaction. "Thanks. Could've lived there longer."

"Why are you down there?"

"Sandra, it's too exposed here." He glances at the wasteland around us, the lush trees bordering it, and the orange-tinged blue sky. At the distance, rows of solar panels stretch on the ground. Two officers root under the archway like toy soldiers. So I'm at the other edge of the prison now?

My tap of questions begins to leak. What should I do now? Should I get Miro? Or find help somewhere, to another Lowlife relative? Not that I recall any names...

"Dude." His voice snaps me back to reality. "Let's go. It isn't safe. Another platinum-head might be here soon."

"Another platinum-head?" I shudder with disbelief. "How could you—"

"Lin-Irene is my older sister. Oh, I'm Lin-Roy, by the way. And I know because... well, I put a tracker on that fussy weeper." He looks at me like he's known me all my life—has he really, since he mentioned that earlier? And how can he talk about his sister that way?

Instinctively, I step back, gathering my legs' strength. How could I be so naive? They have the same hair color, similar pallid faces, similar names...

Roy controls his pace to a forest in the distance. Another shudder rakes my figure. Huntshire Woods... thirteen years ago.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone about you here, even Irene. I'm not like her. She also doesn't have a tracker on me." He shrugs, putting up a small smirk.

How can he be this friendly too, to a Lowlife like me?

Remaining rooted on my spot, I clear my throat, crushing my jaws as I do so. "I should get home. There's something urgent. T-thank you for helping me."

"What is Irene doing now?" His cold gaze settles on me, transferring his emotions: pain, anger, and disgust. "Her tracker shows she's in the prison. You coming out of the prison's garbage chute can't be an accident."

Sandra sighs as she fiddle with her waist-length braid, as if not wanting any part in our conversation.

I also don't want any. Highlifes can be deceiving. What if his tracker on Lin-Irene also works as a communication device? What if he's using my lack of knowledge?

But Sandra's eyes radiate kindness. Roy's reflect pure curiosity and lack of ill intentions. They even never question my social status, unlike most people.

Before I allow it, words flow out like a broken dam after the rain. From Irene's late-night visit, her urge to find those shrimps, the shrimps' weird behavior, to her sudden appearance in the prison. When I finish, my tongue tastes sour.

How can several shrimps turn my world upside down in days?

"I need to get those shrimps and my cousin. Or get help somewhere," I croak out. Tension weighs on my chest, begging me to do something. "Am I on the other side of the prison?"

Roy slowly jogs to the street, past the row of trees, beckoning me and Sandra to follow him. "We're at Selenite Landfill... opposite of the prison, yes. Where do you live?"

So we're at Dogson's outskirts, after all. Not Highlife, nor Lowlife's.

I match his pace to satisfy tons of questions in my head. "Where are you going? If I'm really at the other side of the prison, I can—"

"Use that route and find your way back home?" Somewhere beneath Roy's snicker, lies a playful scoff. "OCZ's officers must ask for the police's help by now, Allice. They'll drag you to countless interrogations once they see your head."

So what? Are they together with me in this now?

"You spoke that out loud, by the way." Sandra snaps a finger in front of my face, smiling broadly. "Consider this an apology for whatever Irene has done. Roy and I also have nothing better to do... don't we, Roy?"

With reluctance still weighing my steps, I join them as we pass the abandoned outskirts of Dogson, the messy Lowlife areas, and back to the vibrant streets of Highlife.

Once a narrow alleyway between two identical towers comes to view, the tension in me slightly decreases. Ensuring that no loose creatures are stalking, I dart into the damp alleyway and skid in front of my peeled-gray flat. My bicycle is still tucked neatly; Miro must still be at home. I bang on the door, calling out for him. My pulse spikes in my temples after a few minutes with no responses.

Is he sleeping, or... no, impossible. There's no sign of a break-in... surely, Lin-Irene hasn't come, right?

"It usually takes a while to get a search warrant," Roy mutters behind my back. "But in your case, I hope the process isn't speeded—"

"What?"

Both of them avoid my eyes.

Beezus. None of this would've happened if Auntie Morgan handed those shrimps over to OCZ.

"Jorge Zaragoza"—Roy wets his lips continuously—"is my godfather. Lin-Orion, my father, is Dogson's Chief of Police. Well, you know Jorge. Issuing a search warrant is—"

I fake a chuckle, crunching my knuckles together. "Is this another plan—"

The door jerks open with a whoosh. Several arms, not long enough to surround me entirely, hug my middle. Miro buries his face under my t-shirt. Tears are waiting on the rim of my eyes, out of relief.

When he looks up, however, his brows are taut. "Eh, I thought you were Mom," Miro says, ruining the reunion vibes. He peeks at Roy and Sandra, glancing around. "Where's Mom?"

The sky is getting orange. If what Roy says is true, Lin-Irene might be here soon with a warrant. I squirm out of his hug. "Save it for later. We have to get out of here. Pack your bags while I get the shrimps."

Once he skitters back into the flat, I turn at my new friends, trying to read their neutral expressions. "Thanks for all the help."

"Where are you going?" The crease on Sandra's forehead makes her look older. "You're a 'Wanted'. Your cousin might be too, soon." Snapping her neck, she casts an unblinking stare at Roy, who relays it. "What do you say about getting them to Huntshire?"

My stomach lurches at the name.

Roy just opens his mouth when nightmarish sirens pounce against the silence. Again, it's like seconds away from my parents' arrest.

🐾

A/N: Hi there. A bit of announcement, updating schedules will be on Tuesdays and Fridays, starting from next week (July 14 & 17). Thanks a lot for sticking up with this story until its fifth chapter. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're reading this small snippet of my odd brain xd

Don't mind to share your thoughts either so I know where to improve and what you've liked so far. Have a great day/night wherever you are :D