We stay steady on the highway for another forty-three minutes, before he decides to break the silence between the both of us.

"Which vehicle had the licence plate, '6LIK274' in the diners parking lot?" He asks restless in his voice as he leans the edge of his jaw on the palm of his hand, against the lower seal of the window.

"Silver 2012 Doge Ram 1500." I respond with a small voice.

"Good." He says with a voice smaller than my own. After another twelve minutes of silence he attempts at another break, "What color were the eyes of the waitress that served us?"

"That woman...she identifies as a what?" I question with the attempt at not seeming interested at another phrase I've never heard before.

"What color?" He demands, ignoring my question.

"Green, I noted the way the woman...waitress spoke as well, what was the tone she used; the way she shortened her vocabulary?"

"It's called slang. We were not allowed to expose incorrect shortened expressions of English Inside."

There is more silence strained between the both of us as we spur ahead into a cascade of lined up vehicle's.

He shifts his weight to other other side of his seat. "How many pieces did I separate my..."

"Eighteen," I interrupt. "Where is it that we're currently headed?" Restless with questions laced with distraction.

I see a hint of a smile pull at the end of his lips."We are headed to our new safe haven, if you will."

I was irritated at the lack of information he chose to share, but the same time immensely grateful for providing me with this opportunity. I studied over him and saw that both of us precariously needed sleep, but this feeling of exhaustion new to me.

"Rest and you'll wake to find our destination." He said as he noticed my sleep ridden eye's desperately trying to stay open. "To satisfy some of your queries, I had arranged for living arrangements prior to our leave in a city to where we are safest and least exposed."

"Oh." Was my only response with a suppressed yawn finally escaping.

My eyes were forcing to close, realising I was enervated more than I was used to and fell into a deep sleep nodding my cheek against the cold glass of the car window.

* * *

I awaken in a bed similar to the one in my inhabitant room but in this room the walls are eggshell instead of stark white and the sheets are a dust of pink instead of bland grey. The room delivers a sort of comfort instead of immaculate sterility.

I immediately swing my legs over the edge of the bed swiftly and wipe the beads of sweat that have traveled down the back of my neck.

I shift my weight onto the ground and feel a sort of fleece fabric alter under my bare feet that I have only felt once before when I entered a missions home.

I register that I'm not familiar with any of my surroundings and head towards the light that is peaking through the slit of the door frame.

My fingers slip through the​ the opening in between the door and the frame veering it open for just enough space for me to slip out.

I hear a fright movement at the end of the dimly lit hall and my body tenses stiff at the noise.

My breathing comes to a steady holt and in that same second I tumble to the floor dodging the object thrusted at me and try to shield myself with what is made available.

I notice that it is one of my beloved throwing knives that are in my collection of personal weapons. The knife slams an indentation into the wall behind me. I spring at the weapon crammed into the wall, now having it loosely in my hand. The tip of the knife aimed at the plastered creak that sauntered down the hall. I raise my elbow slightly upwards, prepared to throw.

"That was slow." I hear as I see him emerge from behind a shadow not being touched by the hall light. I lower my arm and let the tense hold of my body release and expell all the breath that I was not letting escape.

"Perhaps it had something to do with being drugged." I spit not understanding why I was put under the way I was. I register in a second all the the thing's I've consumed in the last twenty-four hours. "I knew that drink was to foul to be considered a beverage."

I witness a small smirk as he fully emerges from the hall and seats himself on the two person sofa pushed against the wall.

I continue to glare at him as he reaches forward and powers on a large solid black rectangular shaped object five feet away from the sofa.

"The humorous thing is the drug did nothing to the flavor of the coffee." He responded with his full attention on the rectangular object now with moving pictures.

"Is that a television?" I ask with pretense disinterest in my tone. I take a seat on a singular chair with more cushion than the sofa. It's placed on the opposite of where he's seated.

"Shh, this is my favorite episode." He quiets me as he brings his index finger to his mouth.

"What is this place? Where are..."

"I said shhhh​."

My irritation sky rockets at my ignored questions and the fact that I'm being shushed for no apparent reason. I flip my still loosely held knife through my fingers and in one fell swoop I release it in his direction.

It flys past him across the room, sticking six centimeters above his head.

Half his attention is now directed at me as he reaches behind to pull the knife out if the wall. "Alright, temper."

I ignore his comment, "Where are we and why did you drug me?" My line of patience now indivisible.

"I couldn't let you see how we traveled here for your own protection and this place is now our new home," He responds eagerly with the knife now flipping through his fingers. "Dinner's done." He rises up off the sofa and tosses the knife next to the television two seconds before a 'ding' is echoed in the next room.

I imitate his actions and follow him till the carpet on the floor stops and turns into tile, similar to the diner.

He pulls open a large metal contraption taking out a tray filled with thick golden brown strips lated out sporadically.

My curiousness overtakes the anger I had felt and ask, "What's that?" My voice struck with wonder.

"Mozzarella sticks," He smiles as he arbitrarily picks one out and tosses it to me. "Careful, hot."

I hold it between my pointer finger and thumb as I eye it suspiciously. Deciding that my curiosity obstructs all of my caution, I take a bite down the middle.

Surprise fills me while chewing, as the outer crusted layer breaks a part and is filled with a much softer layer inside. I pull the other half away from my mouth; the soft white middle stretching all the way outward connecting from my mouth to my fingers.

I revel in the taste of it, never experiencing the flavors that now penetrate each taste bud.

He evenly fills the two plates he laid out with all of the contents in the pan and sets them both on a small circular table with two chairs.

I take hold of one of the chairs and pull it out far enough so I could be seated. He does the same, bringing a small palm sized dish filled with red substance.

"Can't eat these without marinara sauce." He says taking the other only seat available. He dips two of the sticks into the sauce and delivers both of them to his lips, stuffing them both into his mouth. "I'm enrolling you in high school tomorrow."

I pause and stare at him, my mouth agate​. "Have I not passed that level of education?"

"Immensely, but as a seventeen your old female, you attend high school." He finishes without room for argument.

"You have always been my educator. This isn't..." I'm cut off by his smirk.

"Fair?" He laughs wiping the spilled sauce away from his mouth. "You sound like a regular teenager already."

I attempt to make my expression emotionless to mask my fear from the world beyond the large oak door on the farthest wall from where we're seated.

"As you are aware, citizens outside have a name and a surname, you will take Peters for a surname. And you will no longer be addressed as number twenty ever again." His expression towards me is fragile. He is making sure all of this information does not corrupt this unimaginable and insane idea that I could finally lead a normal life, but he is too late.

"I can't do this Mr. Peters." My statement is low and suppressed and I feel my heartbeat speed up twice the normal rate.

"You can and you will. There is nothing that you have never wanted more, not even thunderbird." He reaches across the table and places his hand gently over mine.

"We will take this one step at a time alright. You now have the advantage of choosing your own name, what I would have done to have been given that option." he finishes with a laugh.

My breathing eases and my facial tension disappears at the tone of his easiness. There is a small silence shared between us as we both finish our meal.

I ponder back to each of the names we have learned from our individual lessons taught by our personal educators and to the names of each level trainer assigned to each weapon.

Then I remember to the first person I have come in contact with and spoken to in this society. The only other person who has ever shown me an ounce of kindness in the time I have been created.

"Marceline." I say looking into his eyes, finalizing my title as no longer the number of a weapon but the name of a person.

"My name is Marceline."