The Outskirts (ITZY Shin Ryujin)

2

The wind grew stronger and icier as the night progressed until it was almost unbearable.

"What now?" Max grumbled. Hours had passed since they showed up at the ancient industrial building but Luke had only been pacing around the wrecked building, not doing anything. Max soon got comfortable on a rock.

"Huh?" Luke turned to him as if he had just pulled him out of a daze. He probably did.

"What now? Are you just going to stare at it? Am I just supposed to watch as you look at it?"

"Oh, this?" He glimpsed back at it. "Sorry, Max. It's just... I've always seen it either in books or from afar. I've never been this close to it."

"So?"

Luke ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"It's different, scarier. The longer I look, the more problems I see."

He was right. Max had seen it too.

At first, the building was just a tower of rusty steel sheets split by the middle but then slowly, he noticed how it had neon green splotches, there was no visible entrance and just behind, the air was yellowish-green. Like a mist that never left it.

"So are you going in? Or was this just a waste of time?"

"Not a waste of time," he quickly interjected. "Just by looking at it, I've got a lot of information. And going in, well... That will be difficult. The doorway is blocked."

"Well, that's great."

"No, it's mysterious. These rocks... They aren't from our age. They are centuries old."

"Are you just trying to get questions out of me, Luke? If not, could you possibly be less vague? Explain it all in one go, don't leave me hanging. I'm cold, tired and this wind will blow me away at any given moment."

Luke pursed his lips.

"I'm not quite sure."

"Not quite sure of what? You see, my point exactly!"

"I don't know everything. I'm just predicting as we go along. All of this is... Strange. If these rocks are centuries old, it means someone blocked the industry off centuries ago..."

"No kidding, Sherlock. Obviously. Now what does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't know yet. Pass me my bag."

"What? Do I look like your slave? I'm just here to keep you from killing yourself."

"Bag please, Max. The quicker I figure this out, the sooner we go back."

Max groaned and mutter a few curses under his breath before finally following his orders.

It wasn't anything fancy: a dirty, ragged shoulder bag which was once beige but was now a mix of brownish-red colour from the Fernian sand.

He never liked to open it when there was company. He worried that if they ever saw his apparatus, they'd immediately tell on him.

"Turn around and close your eyes. Do not under any circumstances turn until I tell you too," he commanded.

"Yes, master," Max grumbled sarcastically. "Want me to wash your feet while I'm at it? Or wipe your bottom?"

"Just do it."

The other boy mumbled another set of curses before following the order.

"But if something weird happens or I see the police, I'm out of here. With or without you."