I have to call Loran. No matter how flimsy the idea of Lana being my savior when it comes to Lisa's little assignment is. What other options do I have in this world, in this place, in this time? Halfway back to their house, I was already dialing the numbers from a phone that Loran had given me for such occasions. 

The ringer starts to blur then swifts to her voice shouting hello just as fast. In reality, I shouldn't have worried so much. Loran easily permits me and even thanks me for taking her, claiming she can use the extra time for studying with Vinny. Not even a second after hearing the news, Lana already whisks me off by my pant legs in the opposite direction, faster than either me or Loran could hang up the phone. 

The whole way down, Lana insures me in the best way a seven-year-old can with the attention span of a ceiling fan blade. However, I can't shake the feeling that she's in over her head. That idea starts appearing more apparent as the streets we travel along start to become not as nice to the eyes. 

The buildings become more antique, people huddle around fire pits, and even two scruffy men fight over a 12-foot tuna. If I didn't have this Lana next to me, I would think I was in one of the side shadow towns back in my time. 

Places that haven't been fully affected by The Great Terror, but just enough to make them like this. One learns to navigate these places well; this Lana moves me around like she's been through this route countless times. To my surprise or concern? I'm not too sure of that yet.

She eventually stops dragging me by my pant legs and tells me to follow her. This area had to be the worst I've seen yet. It's starting to feel like home with the skies becoming covered in mist-red clouds while in the air I can see grey streaks sporting along the atmosphere. 

The buildings remain run down just as much as the dust runs along the streets. People still roam, but they make it look like they have no other choice. I didn't need to see their raggy or dirty littered clothes to know where I was. One big whiff of charcoal climbing up my nose pretty much whispers it to you—a mining district.

Back in the old days, I've heard they didn't have too many of them still roaming alive. Districts like these remain in cobwebs once advancements in technology come about. It's hard to believe those stories. Because once Devastator took power, that myth might as well not have existed. 

For every 50 meters of land, a mining district was built into foundation. Granted, for anyone willing to work down there, they can get quite the pay. Unlike here by the look of things. However, there's a reason why pay is so high, and I hope that I won't have to be reminded why that is.

Thankfully, we stopped at a medium-sized building that has an almost 200-meter chain fence stretching behind it. I look up not only to see the many factories smoking up in the distance, but an unlit sign saying Steely's Junkyard plastered above my forehead. Below it, the words Autoshop barely blink to life in yellow. 

We both enter through the saloon-like doors leading us into a small room lingering with wood-painted walls along with different-sized holes where wallpaper should be. Along the same wooden floor, only a few chairs, a pale yellow service desk, and a set of wooden sliding doors right on the side of it. 

Before even pinning this entire room down, Lana I watch take no time running to the service desk pressing a bell that lays on top of it. It had to be at least 50 times she smashed her tiny little hands into the bell the way her arms moved up and down like a pulley.

Maybe after that 51st ring, a man comes through the sliding doors on the left of the services desk that, looking closely, leads its way into a garage. He appears to be tall with black bushy hair along with clothes and gloves covered head to toe in oil and grease. 

He looks back at me and begins muttering to himself, possibly throwing a slight curse under his breath while wiping off his hands with a black-looking cloth. I see his eyes shoot down to the desk where Lana waits with a bright smile. To my surprise, once he removed his gloves, he replicated that same smile back to Lana. To think that was even possible.

"Aaa Lana dear, welcome! He shouts afterward giving her a fist bump. "I'm surprised you've come here so early."

"Ah yeah, sorry about that Mr. Tactus. I hope we didn't cause you any harm or interrupt you."

That name. The name that Lana whimpers from her mouth. I know of that name; I wish I didn't, but I do. That name repeats itself rent-free in my head as I remember the events of Solis. Remembering how that name stabbed Buzzard in the back and watched his head creak in two like a watermelon. I want to think that Lana said another name or mispronounced it. 

My fate is sealed when I hear the man continue with

"Nonsense, nonsense, Lana. Old Mr. Tactus here was just finishing some repairs to a client's car. Say, who's the one filling in for Loran today? Unless you have another brother, I didn't know about ha-ha."

"Haha, you're funny Mr. Tactus. This is Joseph Arrowson. He's helping around my place and he's like one of the only people with a cool last name like you."

"I guess you're right there Lana. Sounds like he and I belong to the same club. Nice to meet you there, Joseph. The name's Tactus.

He said it again. That name. There was no doubt about it now. I can't help but twist looking at his hand that waits eagerly out in front of me to shake. How dare he say we are in the same club. I'm nothing like him. I'm nothing like Tactus. 

Granted I never saw his face beforehand, but I always remember the helmet that hid, his now I know, his bushy face. I remain silent in my little world to the point where Tactus and Lana tilt their heads in confusion. With that in mind, I slowly go for his hand and watch the gears crank as our arms move. All I can think of is asking

"Tactus, you say?" I can't help but let the words spill from my mouth hinting at their true meaning. And it seems he's picked up on it.

"Ahh, so you've heard of the name."

"I guess you can say I have."

"That's good to hear about my work in the Chambersome district spreading out past the red clouds of ours. The more business around, the more I can handle. Contrary to what the old man says."

I try to force out a laugh but am rewarded with silence between us remaining longer in the air. If only because I'm reminded that it's a fact that I'm not lying to him. I do know of his name. Not of a Mr. Tactus who presumably has a wife and a family but of a 19-year-old Commander Tactus. The leader of the Acolyte Special Forces unit. 

Along with him, that group contained only the best of the best for one reason or another. The group is so highly praised within the Legion's rank, that Tactus only ever had four members at a time. Throughout the war, I remember them being the most feared group Lincoln's troops talked about. Some even thought they were invincible. They weren't invincible. 

Peter killed Tactus's Shadow Knight, his lieutenant and trusted assassin in a roaring duel in my first months joining the Resistance Fighters. Then Tactus himself died from my pistol bolt that very night at Solis. His last words to all of us "That'll all soon join us." I can fully remember his rage and pain seeping through his helmet. 

That fact alone threatens to give away my face's composer even before I can utter a single word.

"Say Mr. Tactus, since you mentioned him is Uncle Phil here?"

"Ah yes, my dear. He's in the same place he usually is. Just make sure you wake the old man up before you start gathering."

"Will do! Thank you again, Mr. Tactus!"

"It was nice meeting you Mr. Tactus," I mutter as Lana begins to drag me by my pants."

"You too, Joseph. Keep spreading the word, keep spreading the word."

As Lana brings me further into the building, I can't help but dwell on it all. Tactus or Mr. Tactus as he calls it. He's much older and in turn much gentler than my Tactus ever was. Him being older is what makes me sweat. How can he be older? Tactus should be around my age if only ahead by a few years. 

This timeline with all the similarities to my own, but this key difference starts to make me wonder how far to that extent is this true. I am going to need to take notes on any more changes to this timeline. Might come and handy but for now I'll put it in the background as I and Lana approach a small room with two twin doors on the far end of the building. 

One leads you inside while the other leads you out into the metal jungle set as the building's background. When entering, an old man with barely any hair to his name sleeps in the middle, with a singular desk and shelf above it. A typical office space for a place like this if I've ever seen one.

"Huh?! Who goes there," the old man yells, squinting his eyes.

"Hi Uncle Phil," Lana squeaks.

"Welll, if it isn't greasy gears junior. Lana dear, come around and give your old man Phil a hug."

Lana doesn't hesitate to rush to the old man while he's still rubbing his eyes awake. I bet he seemingly didn't expect Lana to hug him that tight as his body started shaking.

"Oh, dear Lana be careful with an old man's bones hehe."

"Sorry Uncle Phil," she wimps.

"Ah don't sweat it kiddo. Say, have you grown since the last time I saw you?"

"I don't know. My mom says I'm growing but it's hard to believe her."

"Hehe nonsense, you are growing faster than I am." She giggles. "Speaking of your mother, how's she doing?"

"She's doing good, working a lot."

"That's good, that's good. Let her know if she needs any help whatsoever, I'll be happy to assist dear."

"Will do Uncle Phil! Though my mom says you had helped plenty and she's very grateful."

"Tell her she has my thanks." He looks up to me who's been remaining quiet this entire time. "Now who might your friend be there Lana?"

"Oh, that's Joseph, he's, my babysitter."

"Well, I...wouldn't say that" I mutter out, flustered.

That's when the old man starts cracking up. "It's ok sunny. She's quite a jokester like her father. So, Lana, will it be the usual for today?"

She wobbles her head rapidly in response. "Very well, now where did I put your bag?"

He slowly cranks out of his chair and walks even slower to some drawers right on the side of him. His arms shake profusely with each tiny movement. "You know Lana dear; I wish I would've known you were coming earlier because I could have gotten you and your babysitter a little snack since I had Tactus pick something up for me earlier."

As Lana starts chatting to him once more. I choose my attention to some pictures hanging up to my right. There are three. One of him in his younger years with a full black mullet cutting a ribbon in front of the shop with a man I would presume is his father. 

They are almost identical even though Phil looks much older now than his old man in the photo. Another one is of his own family, a wife, and two sons. The last is of him and another fellow shaking hands in front of the shop smiling.

My eyes, for some reason, don't leave the third. Taking a closer look, I recognized the other man to the point where I almost jumped back in outer shock. It's Lincoln. No doubt about it. He has the same polished white hair, the same placed freckles, and a similar inverted triangle chin. 

Even the smile that the man shows in this picture matches the many that my Lincoln has given me. It must be him. The only problem is that the person in the picture has to be in his mid-30s and Lincoln is far from that. Although I swear if you put Lincoln inside Lisa's machine and wind up twenty years, this would be him.

"Say, Mr. Phil, who's the fellow in this third picture here shaking your hand?"

"Ah yes, that there would be Puradeum Folium. Most just call him Deum. And hopefully, you can tell whose father that is."

I glimpse over quickly at Lana who shows me a bright shiny smile while dangling upon the old man's desk. So, that's their father. A man with a chip on his shoulder but otherwise put together. To think Lincoln looks almost exactly like his father. It's utmost nerve-racking to think about, especially since none of the girls match their mother as Lincoln does to his father.

Almost like a game, I try to find any differences between the two in my head. Besides the chipped front teeth, both this and my Lincoln have, I'm losing badly. While doing so, I saw that he wore an outfit similar to what I had seen Mr. Tactus wear earlier.

"How long did he work here for?"

"Oh, for quite some time. Let me tell you, me and greasy gears go way back."

"Ooo Uncle Phil you should tell Joseph some stories about you and my father," Lana squeals still from the top of Phil's desk.

"Now now kiddo. I don't want to keep you fellows here for too long. But, I can give you a run-down Joseph."

I watch him place a huge duffel bag into Lana's hands that almost barely fits and then put himself back into his chair. A few creeks from the chair or his back follow in an echo with a mild tune. His head then is taken by the ceiling like Loran before, sending him back into a much I can imagine simpler time.

"It was the year 2023. Cars were at their highest rates yet and with that business was becoming non-stop, all day and every night. I would have over 20 people working in the shop at once and another 30 working in the back. This day I remember the traffic was slow, the fall trees were coming down and the draft coming from the wind added a seasonal breeze to everyone's hair in the shop. 

While monitoring my mechanics that day, a young little fellow came strolling in with a big old backpack made of old leather and lint. He introduced himself as Puradeum and said was looking for a job and wanted to learn how to fix a car. He was a lee little thing, scruffy white hair with dirt and dust all over him. Stick and bones I thought, like a socket wrench.

All my other mechanics laughed at the mere idea, but something told me in my gut to give him a shot. So, I took the boy under my wing. Let me tell you, he learned quickly, and he did it with passion. Sure, he had his struggles and moments of course. However, for twelve years young greasy gears worked his butt off, improving his craft day by day and becoming one of the best mechanics and engineers I would ever have the grace of knowing."

Almost as if he was ripped from his flashback to the present day, he rolls his eyes back open and exhales a sovereign layer of air.

"Ah yeah, he was one of the best. Eventually, he went off to work at that fancy research facility. He always did have a bigger brain than his hands. It was only a matter of time. Only if I had known the outcome, I would have tried harder to stop him. God bless his soul. Though enough about an old man remembering the glory days, you all have some work to do. You remember the rules greasy gears junior?"

She sways her head, "Make sure to stay in the general sightline and don't go into any restricted areas."

"Excellent," He then pats her cap making her giggle. "Now run along kiddo."

"Thank you again, Uncle Phil," her voice yells already rushing past the doors leaving a gust of wind in her place.

I and Phil both exchanged our goodbyes, not before he said "That I might want to run too. Lana can be quite quick on her feet within the junkyard, and knowing the place, it's easy for one to get lost if they're not quick enough."