For a moment I was blind. The contrast from light to dark left my eyes blinking to catch up. Dante still had my hand.

I heard Marco mutter something and then a doorway opened in front of us and I saw that we were in a narrow corridor. The gap that we had come through sealed itself behind us. It blocked out the white light and allowed us to focus better.

Marco's body filled the exit as he went through and up. There must be stairs. Yes, as soon as he got a few steps up I could see the metal staircase.

Dante didn't let go of my hand as he led me up the stairs. A wonderful aroma of sweet, baked bread wrapped around us. The stairs chilled the soles of my feet.

We came up into a basement of some sort, surrounded on all sides by thick material hung along the walls. A thin, vertical line of a red laser, moved across the material constantly. This room was lit by natural daylight, flooding in through another door opposite the stairs. I followed the men into the next room.

Two people sat at a square table in the centre of an old fashioned kitchen. An elderly man and a middle aged woman who wore what had to be a wig. Her hair was beautiful. Long, luscious black tresses, way too young for the age of her face. The old man also wore a fake hair piece, his being short, blonde and curly. I smothered a giggle at the sight of the pair.

Spotting me hiding behind Dante's big figure, the old man scowled and got up. His chair scraped along the floor tiles. He came over to us and reached for something in his pocket. Still scowling, he looked pointedly at our hands. He grunted at Dante to let go of me, then slapped a little silver droplet into his hand. A translator pod.

I recognised it immediately. I'd seen one at school when the President had blessed us with a visit two years ago. These were extremely expensive pieces of equipment. How had this old guy managed to possess one? From the looks of their clothes they must have stolen it.

Dante fitted the device into his left ear. The woman with the model's hairdo got up and offered me a crescent shaped bread from a tray on the table. So that's where the smell came from.

I reached out to take one but Marco rushed over and grabbed two before I could get to them. The woman sniggered, puckered up her lips and planted a purplish lipstick kiss on his cheek. Marco grinned and shoved the bread into his mouth, crumbs scattering everywhere. The woman pushed the tray at me again. I took two just like Marco had. She slapped my hand hard, making me drop them both. Gasping in disbelief I grabbed one again and crushed the bread in my fist.

The woman turned and slammed the tray down on the table, she stared back at me with spite etched all over her face. I crammed all of the sweet bread into my mouth and nodded my head at her in defiance. The three of them, Marco, the woman and the old man, started shouting and arguing - obviously about me - glaring and raising their voices, each louder than the other.

I stepped back next to Dante and attempted to chew the enormous mouthful of food. An impossible feat. I began to choke, the humiliation of this caused my throat to close tighter. Just when I thought I would pass out, Dante slapped his large hand between my shoulder blades, forcing the bread to fly out.

All four burst out laughing. I could have cried at the sight of that amazing pastry lost on the floor. In perfect English, with an Australian accent, Dante spoke through the translator.
"That'll teach you, you greedy little tyke!"

Delighted that I could now actually communicate with him, I giggled and replied for his device to translate into the correct sound waves for his ears.
"Arsehole. I really wanted that."

Marco lifted his hands up to the sky in mock worship to the heavens. The man and woman groaned and took a pastry each, leaving the last one. Dante bent down and gathered up the crushed pastry pieces.

"Here you go, a bit of dust never hurt anyone."

"No chance."

I made a grab for the remaining one on the tray, but he proved too quick for me. Seizing the pastry from under my nose, Dante let the rescued pastry fall back on the floor.

"What did I tell you?" He laughed at me. "Stop being such a greedy tyke! Now you'll have to put up with more than a bit of muck."

Fuming at all the hilarity at my expense I sat on the floor and hungrily picked up the pieces of the bread.

Dante leaned down and pulled me back up by the wrist. He nodded at a chair.
"Sit down. It's time we sorted something out."

Generously, he tore his pastry and gave me half. Before I could put it in my mouth, he forced my arm onto the table and pushed up my sleeve. Laying his own arm alongside mine, he also uncovered his 'timbro di vita'.

"The lifestamp."

His accent didn't sound right in his voice, the intensity behind his words even stranger.

The others fell quiet. Staring at our number sevens.

"Why did mine change?"

"That depends. Mine's always been a number seven."

Dante dragged over a chair next to me. He leant forward to be at the same height. He had deep, dark eyes. They'd altered somehow.
"What was the last thing you remember and the first thing you remember?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Well?"

"There was a black door at the naval base. Then I was in a lifeboat, burnt on the water."

"What time of day?"

"Night. Does that matter?"

"Did you meet anyone else when you arrived on land?"

"Just some dead guy."

"Describe him."

"Why?"

"Humour me."

"A weird fat guy wearing the worst outfit ever."

"What exactly?"

"These horrible clothes and 'Hello Kitty' sneakers."

At the mention of these terrible, pink shoes, the other three in the room gasped and sank back dejected in their seats.

"Why? You all knew that man?"

Dante's bottom lip curled inwards making his mouth tight. He cleared his throat and sat up straight.

"He was waiting for you, Poll."