The plans were completed sooner than Alex Mars had expected somehow, with no unexpected occurrences, such as Thomas with an h breaking a window and secretly slipping into the house to sabotage them all or the Rebels(from now on, let's use this term to mean Lewis' pack of people, excluding the now-separate team, the Raiders) assembled outside their door. But the thing was, Alex wasn't too glad of the plans being finished so neatly and cleanly, for the day was sure to be his last in the Raiders' house.
He had had bad experiences here for a month and a few weeks-getting ignored by Miles, feeling as if he had been betrayed by Lyra Cannes, and lastly, getting both of his hands burned with Martian laser from Lyra, only earlier that day. But, there also had been good times-getting to know the others better, building planes with Miles, discovering about the Martians, training with Martian weapons...
Yes, maybe I mentioned it before, but I will do it once more: even when the person or thing has treated you terribly, you still would miss him, her, or it, if it's separated from you.
And that moment for Alex Mars was the perfect example of such a situation.
He had bravely opened the front door, not fearing Thomas nor the Rebels anymore, and walked to the front of the house to admire and formally give it a mental farewell. Though its exterior hadn't turned one bit from the day he had first saw it-that day when Thomas was closer to him than Miles, he hadn't yet met Lyra nor Melanie, and was feeling depressed, he felt different about it now. As if it knew him well, not just a simple architectural structure comprised of solid concrete and beams.
As he swept his eyes across its exterior like a scanner at the airport, he heard someone step out of the house and place her feet on the grass and for it was a fast, light step, knew right away it was whom he preferred to be seeing for now.
"According to your plans, we have to get in a car and set the tires on the first inch of sand of the desert by 8 p.m., and now, it's already 7: 36, leader," He didn't smirk, for it kind of felt a bit like he was committing blasphemy in front of the reverent house.
"I feel pressured-don't call me by that name. Anyway, you're right. We shall go," He heard Lyra's head turn in the direction of the house, following his gaze. "The house does need some respect, yes," She said, along with her trademark sighs, and they spent the next 4 minutes just staring, staring, and staring at the house. It was only when Alex heard Miles curiously start walking to the front door to see what they were doing that he broke out of his trance, and started walking to the yard in front of the house-he heard Lyra shook out of it behind his back.
"So, which car shall hold the honor of transporting us to the desert?" She called out.
Well, at least, he hadn't made decisions for that beforehand-and thankfully, it was one of the questions that needed little concern nor attention.
Simply, he called out, straight from his brain.
"Mine. I'm going to drive-and for real, this time," He answered.

By 7: 40, the trunk of his car-a van(it was the last car he could find, and itself had taken 3 days before he could unearth it from a pile of trash. He was deadly relieved to find that it still worked, though it wheezed like hell from the second he turned its ignition)-started to be filled with everything the Raiders would need out there. He sat on behind the old, thin wheel, unwrapping his bandages with the utmost care, eyes scrutinizing each luggage the rest of his team brought out of the house-and trust me, they had gathered a lot of things to bring with them: a single but huge gallon of water(yes, the blue kind that people stick into their personal water purifier), 2 huge bags that hikers would give a thumbs-up at, the Polarick box packed with Martian food, another box full of Martian weapons, most of the tools that Miles had used to make his pigeon planes(hammers, screwdrivers, a predictions screwdriver set, et cetera), the planes themselves, a beanbag, some extra covers-
"What's the beanbag for?" He called over his shoulder at Miles, catching him in the act of throwing the beanbag onto the back seat.
"Melanie wants it-wants to 'relish the last moment in contact with the Raiders, with a huge community of humans', though I'm not sure if beanbags would clam her down," A single split second after Miles replied, they both somehow found it funny and Miles laughed, slapping Alex's van, and making its frame tremble in fear under his hand. "She can be annoying-but also hilarious at the wrong moment. Anyway. That's all the things we need," Both their eyes went to the back of the van and found it almost full, the gallon of water threatening to tumble down to the back seat, and Alex Mars cloudless just sense that from his seat that the floor had gotten closer to the sidestep of the car from the weight of the van on its poor, weak wheels. "The van should survive this. But there's another problem after that-you think we'd be able to bring them all? Under the sand, feet on sand? No trolley nor wagon available? Day and night?" He said just as the water tank toppled down with a giant plop, and Miles threw it deep into the back of the car. "We are Prodigies, man. And my ability is just that-I am strong exceptionally, you know. We were, um, born for this," "No, we were born in the wrong era, Miles. We must have been born as Spartans according to your words," Alex was sure that Miles swore behind her back as Lyra got past him and plopped onto the passenger's seat, never minding the vans' old, greasy smell. Melanie, right after her, got in the backseat, cuddled the bean bag and even before Miles could get in next to her, her head had dropped an inch as she snored.
"We turned the lights on in our rooms, and turned the light of the traitor bitch's room-that should allure them into thinking that we're inside," Lyra briefed quickly as Alex Mars brought the van to life, letting its wheezes drown out Melanie's snores, fill up the tight space, and clog up his ears. He quickly Muted his Muters before backing the van out and onto the road.
As Alex drove closer to the Main Street, to the headquarter, to the hole in the fence, to the desert, to the sand, they all lapsed into silence and let the wheezes and sounds of the tires fill up the space completely.

They arrived at the center of the city(for the last time) exactly at 7: 50, and by that time, he heard, even though the Muters, that everyone except him were unconscious-even Lyra Cannes, who abhorred sleep. For a moment, under the red traffic light, he looked across and found her face slightly pressed on the dirty glass of his damned wheezing van, and surprisingly, it was calm and...he searched for words to describe it. Like, when you open a new pile of A4 papers and feel so neat and fresh. Yes-her face was just like those new pile of A4 papers.
He didn't want to get caught looking at her, and the traffic gave him a firm reason, for it turned green, and he stepped on the pedal, shooting the van forward. he passed the headquarters(whose lights were all turned on completely) and tried to ignore it the best he could, but somehow, the thought about what lewis must be doing inside the building, Thomas following the man around like a loyal and hungry dog. He found himself abhorring the idea and willed his brain to stop thinking about that 'traitor bitch'(as Lyra called him) and Lewis. Anyway, they're enemies against us now, no different from the Military. Forget about 'em for now, he reminded himself.
Ahead of him started to loom up the wire fence in the weak headlights of the van, and he kept to the fence on the van's side as his eyes searched for the hole through which the Raiders and the Martian had squeezed through to get to the Martian rocket. Ah, and there the hole was, wavering slightly along with the wire fence it was punctured through. And through that hole, he could see the sand of the desert with strange and enhanced accuracy-the grains kind of looked pale and white in the headlights under the veil of the night, giving him a feeling as if he had just stopped his van on the beach that night, as the waves undulated in front of him, charging at him, then stepping back as if frightened at the last second. And for that short moment, he just wished that he could be at such a beach, looking at the waves with his group of Raiders, everyone silent and enjoying the moment themselves...
But the reality wasn't that. He was simply staring at a patch of yellow sand that stretched, beginning from the meager boundary of the fence, that just looked pale white, that stretched on for thousands of miles with no big difference in its geography.
He sighed, turned the engine off in the car, and finally Unmuted his Muters and let himself be in the silence merely filled by all the other's drooling and snoring sounds, trying to relax like them. However, the memory of the day when Fawkes had pushed him out of the country, when he had stepped his first step onto the sizzling sand, came back ferociously, like those waves he had just been imagining of. When he gripped the handle, they would retreat like those waves, too. But they'd soon be back...
He was so occupied and terrified(yes, he was. He wasn't, for the moment, the brave and 'sage-like' Prodigy we all had known before Andrew Simon's death on his stick) that he didn't hear a pair of eyelids flutter open, or just didn't give much attention to it. So, he nearly jumped up when he heard Lyra speak beside him.
"I think you're one of the most peculiar Prodigies I had ever met, Alex," Thanks to her surprise charge, the waves of bad memories suddenly retreated away and didn't come back at least for now.
Shit, when did she wake up? He wondered before answering.
-or trying to give her a good answer.
"Err," He said.
"It's natural for you yourself to be unaware of it," Lyra added, only her eyes blinking slowly, no other feature inside the van moving at all.
"Uh-huh. Er, uh-huh?" He was now a bit confused about where she was now getting at this time.
"I mean, Al-you're strong and perfect on one side, and on the other, you're quite the opposite," She finally explained. "No one can be perfect. There's also no standard for perfect," Alex said, for that was the only philosophical comment that he could now give her. "Oh, come on. Prodigies aren't entirely about logic, Al. And in addition, you said that you like illogical stuff these days. Please, please be more emotional and emphasizing, if you get what I mean," "I get what you mean," He said in a monotone, and suddenly, felt Lyra Cannes' eyes on him turn from exasperation to pity. "Lacking emotion and empathy and being too logical...that's what your weakness is, Al. And though there's no standardized definition of what 'perfect' is exactly, each individual can have one according to his or her own abilities, huh? Like, you would be much more perfect if you became...like, 'less Prodigious'," She ranted. "Wait, wait. But that's a characteristic that all humans have. Then why do you deem me 'peculiar'?" He had now turned to face her, for the wave of memories had receded for good and he had nothing to fear or hide from her.
"I deem you strange, because one of your other weaknesses include a weak heart. And I don't understand, Al-how can someone possibly have a logical and weak heart at the same time?" She answered.
And those words made him go solid as a stone, an ice popsicle, a concrete building, all of a sudden.
"People all have different faces called Personas according to Freud and Jung," He briefed out of Wikipedia, and even as he said those words, knew that Lyra had made a good point and given him a huge blow on the head.
"You're being logical once more. And don't underestimate me-I saw your hand on the handle tighten then loosen and everything," And Lyra briefed his such feelings.
Then they went silent for a long period of time, both of them.
How could someone analyze me, a part of me I had never realized myself? Alex Mars was wondering when Miles woke up with a giant yawn, waking up Melanie with it.
"The car has stopped. The engine has also been turned off. And I see a fence. Oh, Jesus on a pogo stick, did we arrive?" Miles, bewildered, inquired, voice all of a sudden devoid of sleep. "Yeah. Time to get off. There are 2 minutes left before it becomes 8," Alex answered.
As he got off, his mind wandered back to what Lyra had just said about his peculiarity, then wondered if adhering to time so much-counting each zero point second, each minute, and trying to much to stick to schedule-was logical, and if he should kind of cease that habit. But his brain was already so full of plans and ideas that he pushed away the thought for the moment and shut the driver's door of the ancient van behind him-for the last time.
Miles was already at the back of the car, unloading the huge piles of luggage they had brought with them. As the others assembled behind him, the guy started throwing the things over his shoulder for them to catch. By catastrophe and misfortune, the huge gallon of water landed in Mars' hands(with its giant supply of water contained inside making another plop), along with some extra covers in case they got cold, and it took some time for him to adjust to his burden's weight, but after seeing Miles lay down his own arms with the two, heavy boxes of Polarick, he eliminated any idea in his head to complain.
Without saying a word, they all successively stepped through the tiny hole in the fence, feeling their shoes sink a few centimeters into the grains as soon as they did. But none of them complained, for they all knew it was useless, and, too late to set back and quit.
And so, their journey and transition back to their original life, or their 'first life', from the second life at the Canadian Rebel base, started.