I’ve got a million questions. Maybe more. But the only people with answers are back home on the Isles.

  The Patriot Isles… seemingly beyond reach. I want so badly to get home. I need to get home.

  So I’ve got a new mission now: survive long enough to get back. Long enough so maybe I can start unraveling this mystery.

  Easier said than done.

  I don’t know where I am. Don’t know where I’m going. No compass. No map. Not the slightest clue. I’m just floating on a shitty, shitty raft in the middle of the vast and merciless ocean. I don’t even have a paddle to steer, so I’m drifting aimlessly.

  No way to get food or clean water. Can’t drink the saltwater, as delicious as it looks. And to top it off, I’m still naked, my favorite uniform incinerated back on the island. Still pissed about that.

  I’ve drifted so far that the sky’s gone clear again. I can’t believe it, but I miss the smoke and ash. The haze is gone, replaced with an unfiltered sun that bakes every inch of my exposed skin. I’m exhausted. I’m in so much pain that I struggle to focus on anything else.

  Yeah, this mission seems pretty impossible.

  And then to really hammer home the hopelessness, there’s the kid.

  What the hell am I supposed to do with him?

  Eagle Kid, passed out beside me, snores louder than I think an eagle can. Actually, I didn’t even know eagles could snore in the first place. It’s an unsettling sound.

  This is the first time I’ve gotten a good glimpse at him. Human face, eagle head and body! His beak is fused into his flesh. It’s not his fault, I know that. But I can’t help it. He’s so freaky. Why would anyone do something like this? What’s the point of that lab?

  My open wounds burn like a motherfucker. My ass is splintered. The raft creaks beneath us like it's ready to give up. I give it four hours, max, before we drown.

  Still, I’d kill for a nap. Anything would feel better than this endless agony.

  I let my eyes close for just a minute. Maybe two. Maybe ninety. Just a brief escape.

  Then—

  A groan only a teenager could make: "Mr. Buzz Buzz, it’s sooo hot! I’m staaarving! I think I’m gonna literally die of starvation!

  And we’re back. Eagle Kid’s awake. Yay.

  He pathetically paces around the raft, as if a solution is gonna come to him. "I’m tiiired! I’m huuungry! What are we gonna do? I’m hooot! This sucks!"

  Gee, I hadn’t noticed. It’s not like I’m in the exact same boat.

  I’m not gonna get any more sleep until I calm him down, am I? I crack an eye open. "What exactly would you like me to do, Your Majesty?"

  "I don’t know! But I’m gonna die if I don’t eat soon!” He flops over dramatically, staring up at me with big, doleful eaglet eyes, angling hard for pity.

  I nod toward the water. “Plenty of fish down there. If you’re quick.”

  “You don’t care at all! At all! We’re gonna die out here, and you’re making jokes!"

  “Who says I’m joking?” I reply.

  His lip wobbles. His eyes swell with tears, a mixture of frustration and helplessness. I guess the reality of the situation is starting to hit him.

  I sigh, slowly sitting up. Everything hurts. Maybe I should say something comforting, try to calm his nerves. "Alright, settle down there, sport. Freaking out won’t help."

  He belts out, "How can I not freak out?!"

  "Look, I get it. You’ve been through a lot today, but panicking’s only gonna make things worse." Hopefully, he listens to my advice.

  “But what are we gonna do? We’re gonna die, that’s what! We’re either gonna drown or starve or burn to a crisp. Or a combination of all three! How are you not freaking out?!” He frantically paces back and forth.

  I stare at him, tired of his complaining. “Someone’s gotta keep their shit together if we’re gonna get out of this,” I say flatly.

  That shuts him up for a little bit. But only a little bit.

  “Have you thought of a way to get us food yet? I’m fading to dust here,” he croaks, laying it on thick with his best senior-citizen impression.

  He’s crashing out. Need to do something. "Let’s change the subject,” I suggest. “Let’s talk about something else to distract you."

  He narrows his eyes. "Like what?"

  Maybe I can actually get some answers out of him. Anything that helps me understand what went on in that hellhole.

  "Anything. Like, where are you from? Y’know, before the cage, I mean."

  Didn’t think that question would be so difficult. But he goes blank. “I… I… I don’t know,” he stammers. “I should know, but I can’t remember.”

  Strike one.

  “Do you remember how you got there in the first place?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  Strike two.

  “How long were you in there for?”

  “As long as I can remember,” he says timidly.

  “...And how long is that?”

  He shrugs. “There wasn’t a clock or anything. All I remember is… being in the cage.”

  Strike three.

  This is depressing. I kinda feel bad for the kid, as annoying as he is.

  “Anything from before the cage? Family? Friends?”

  “Not really…” he mumbles. “Sometimes I think I remember something, but…” He winces, trailing off.

  Great, he’s crashing out again. Gotta jolt him out of it. “Got any questions for me?” I ask.

  That works like a charm. He perks up like I’m a genie granting his wish. “Only like a thousand! Why are you naked? Where are you from? Why’s your name classified?”

  I guess it’s only natural for him to be curious about some stuff.

  “It’s kinda a long story,” I start, already regretting asking him. “I didn’t want to ditch my uniform, but I needed to use it as a parachute.”

  That answer alone sets off the pinball lights behind his eyes. I just stirred up a thousand more questions.

  “Um… I’m from Silver Stakes. Not saying which city. And my name’s classified ‘cause of my job. If I went around telling everyone, I’d be compromised.”

  He leans in like I just revealed the hottest gossip. “Are you like… a secret agent?”

  I roll my eyes. I’ve never really liked that term. It’s degrading.

  “In a sense,” I admit. “Guess you could say that.”

  His face lights up like he’s just seen a celebrity. “That’s soooo cool! Do you have a secret identity? Do you use gadgets? Have you ever… killed someone? Where’s Silver Steaks?”

  …

  “...Where’s Silver Stakes?!” I demand, voice sharp with impatience.

  He blinks. “What? I’ve never heard of it.”

  This can’t be real. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “It’s one of the Patriot Isles! Are you serious?” My voice spikes. I can’t believe he doesn’t know basic geography. Kids don’t know anything these days.

  His brow lifts even higher. "The… Patriot Isles?"

  You’re shitting me right?

  “You seriously haven’t heard of the Patriot Isles? The greatest country to ever exist in the history of the world? How’s that even possible?”

  He appears equal parts guilty and confused. “I dunno! I’ve just never heard of it, okay? What’s so great about it anyway?”

  What’s so… oh my god.

  Oh my god! Are you serious?

  I sit up straighter, my voice dripping in disbelief, “Where do I even begin?”

  Where do I begin? The mountains? The beaches? The skylines? The freedom? The opportunity? The food? The national anthem, especially when it’s played on an electric guitar? What isn’t there to love about the Patriot Isles?

  I slip into my best tour guide voice. “Well, there are fifty isles that make up the archipelago. There’s The Starry Coast, City Isle, Proudheart Beach, Diswampopolis… I guess I don’t need to list all fifty. But trust me, they’re the most amazing places in the world. We’re talking jaw-dropping landscapes. Ginormous stores that sell anything you can think of. So much delicious food, you’ll never be able to try all of it.”

  Letting the fantasy play in my head, I continue, “And the best part? You can do whatever you want. It’s the land of the free, after all. Anyone can be anything. Anyone can do anything. I’m underselling how awesome the Patriot Isles are. You just gotta see 'em to believe 'em.”

  He listens, rapt. "Can we go there? It sounds incredible!"

  I hesitate to answer. “...I mean, that’s where I’m headed, so, sure. I’ll drop you off. Then you can experience them for yourself.”

  His face sinks. “...You’re gonna leave me?”

  And just like that, I regret every word out of my mouth.

  "Look…” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ve got important work to do. Really important work. Saving-the-country level work. I don’t have time for tours or dead weight."

  His wings fold tight. His shoulders tense. "You’re such a dick! You act like I don’t even matter, like I don’t have any feelings! You’ve done nothing but be mean and hurt me since the moment we met."

  He turns away.

  Little brat.

  If it weren’t for me, he’d be dead, so, in truth, he really should be more grateful. A “thank you” wouldn’t kill him.

  We sit in silence. Awkward, salty, splintery silence. Fine by me.

  After exhausting every possible comeback in my head, I decide remaining quiet is probably the best option. Eventually, I drift back to sleep, surrendering to my exhaustion.

  When I wake up, the sun’s gone. Its bright, relentless glare has been replaced by a suffocating darkness. Its warmth replaced by frigid temperatures. The ocean around us is mostly still now, only gentle waves lapping at our sides.

  I blink slowly, trying to shake off my sleep, with no idea how long I was out for. My muscles protest every movement. I’ll admit, my raft’s faring better than I expected. We’re still afloat.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Eagle Kid’s still pouting, sure, but now he’s shivering from the cold. His feathers are all ruffled. His expression: miserable.

  Okay. Fine. Now that some time has passed, I guess I do feel bad for him.

  I scooch over, making a conscious effort to keep my movements to a minimum, and offer him an olive branch. "You’re freezing,” I say. “Come closer. I’ll share some of my body heat."

  He recoils instantly, wings flaring out. "Hell no! You’re naked! And you’re still a dick!" He clutches his knees tighter this time, feathers puffed up.

  Patience, Blade. Time for a new tactic.

  “Alright,” I say, casually shifting gears, "Well, do you have a name?"

  Have I seriously not asked him that yet? Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am a dick.

  He hesitates, staring out into the blackness. "No. I… I… dunno. I never really thought about it.”

  He doesn’t even know his name? Did he ever have one?

  “Well, that won’t work. Let’s pick one out for you,” I gently suggest.

  “A name…?” He really hasn’t thought about it, has he? “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  "Let’s pick one. How bout I throw out some options and you tell me if any sound good?"

  He nods. Reluctantly.

  Squinting, I size him up and down. What would be a good name for a freaky humanoid eagle kid?

  “What about… Jason?”

  He grimaces like I just suggested ‘Fuckface’.

  "No."

  “Okay, how about… Alex?”

  Head shake.

  “Dylan?” “Chester?” “William?” “Dalton?” “Kyle?” “Matthew?”

  Each earns a harder no than the last.

  I exhale sharply, growing tired of this already. “Well, what kind of name do you want then?”

  He throws up his wings in whiny anguish. “I don’t know! But not those! Those suck! It’s gotta be a good name.”

  "Hey, you’re the one without a name. I’m just out here offering creative consulting. For free, mind you."

  He grumbles.

  I sigh. Been doing that a lot lately.

  "Know what, forget the name. I’m sure one’ll come to you eventually."

  He nods slowly. Then something in him shifts. His voice hollows out as it slips from super annoying to… lost…

  "I don’t… remember… anything,” he says softly. “I feel like... like I should. But it’s just... gone."

  He’s spiraling again. What should I do?

  And yet, for some reason, there’s something familiar about him, the way he folds in like that. He kinda reminds me of me when I was younger. At least a little.

  I lean back. "Wanna hear a story?" I’m sure it’ll comfort him.

  He frowns. "Not from you."

  "Suck it up,” I insist. “I’m saying it anyway."

  And for the first time, I tell someone about him.

  “Just like you, I didn’t know my parents. I didn’t have a home, either. Didn’t have jack shit. I spent every day wondering where my next meal was gonna come from, where I was gonna sleep that night. If I slept. One of my earliest memories involves getting the ever-loving shit curb-stomped outta me by some rich bastard. I was trying to steal his kid’s candy bar, but I hadn’t eaten in four days. What the hell else was I supposed to do?”

  I seem to have piqued Eagle Kid’s interest. He isn’t pouting as much anymore.

  “I ran. I always ran. From city to city, isle to isle. Never stuck around anywhere long ‘cause I would always get caught stealing. I would get beaten or chased out of town like I was trash or a wild animal. I never made any friends. Never stayed long enough in one place to try. I was so alone. It was miserable.”

  I gaze past him. “Honestly? I didn’t even really want to be alive back then. There was no joy. Nothing to live for. But every time I got caught, every time someone clocked me on the head, I learned. I got smarter. Sharper. Faster. But it still wasn’t enough. No matter how sneaky I was, someone always heard me. No matter how fast I ran, someone always caught me. Every mistake came with a brand new scar.”

  Eagle Kid shifts closer. “So what did you do?”

  “I built things,” I say. “Things to help me out. Tools. Distractions. I remember one of the first things I ever built was a ‘smoke bomb’, if you can even call it that, to distract a store owner, so I could steal some bread for dinner that night.”

  He leans in. “Did it work?”

  I laugh. “Hell no. It was made up of coffee grounds and a firecracker I found in a dumpster. If anything, it just made the place smell awful.”

  His nostrils flare at that thought.

  “But I didn’t give up. I kept trying. Kept improving. Tested what worked and what didn’t. I would use anything I could get my hands on. Trash, string, broken toys, old batteries, anything. I just kept tinkering. Day after day. Month after month. I got pretty damn good at it.”

  He tilts his head. “Does this story have a point?”

  I forgot kids have terrible attention spans.

  “I’m getting there,” I mutter. “Anyway, a lot of my early inventions would backfire on me. Sometimes I would cause myself more problems than I solved. So I kept refining. Gave me something to focus on for a while, but I still didn’t have a purpose in life. A goal. What’s the point of surviving if there’s nothing waiting for you the next day? Surviving isn’t the same thing as living.”

  I think that resonates with him. Either that or he’s daydreaming based on the look he’s giving me.

  I continue anyway. “All that changed when I got recruited into a gang.”

  He understands that. “A gang?”

  “Yep,” I say. “They saw me using my little deceptions and figured I’d be a useful asset. They promised me food, shelter. For a brief while, I thought maybe I’d finally found a place I could belong. A family.”

  My voice flattens. “I thought wrong. They used me. Beat me. Treated me like a tool. They laughed in my face. I stuck with them for longer than I care to admit. I wanted to believe. I needed to believe. I thought I had finally found a group of people like me.”

  I stop and compose myself for a second. This is bringing up more negative emotions than I thought it would.

  “It felt good to have people to talk to, people to relate to, “ I continue. “But they would pit us against each other. Constantly steal my share of scraps that I earned. I thought if I stuck it out for long enough, maybe they’d come to accept me. That I’d earn a place. But that never happened.”

  I examine all my injuries. The old ones, I mean.

  “It all came to a boiling point when this one new kid joined. For some reason, he decided I was a threat. And so he tied me up and carved his name into me with a knife while the others sat by and watched it happen. No ‘family’ would ever sit by while that happened. So I bailed. I walked out and never looked back.”

  Eagle Kid doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

  “Back on my own, I got tougher. Smarter. I got meaner. If nobody else was gonna help me, I had to help myself. But even then, I still had no direction. I still woke up every day without a purpose. I became bitter. Why did all these people around me have nicer things? Houses, cars, families? Why couldn’t I have those things? What was wrong with me? Did I not deserve nice things? Did I do something to cause my parents to abandon me? Was I cursed? I was so depressed. What the fuck was even the point in living?”

  I pause again, then soften my voice.

  “I was depressed… until someone saw me. Really saw me. Not as a street urchin. Not as a burden. As something… useful. Someone truly believed in me.”

  “Who?” he whispers, like it’s sacred.

  “Major,” I tell him. I let the weight of his name land.

  The man who changed my life for the better. The man who made me who I am today.

  “He found me back when I was living in I.H.O.P. That’s the capital of the Patriot Isles, by the way,” I inform him. “I was hitting government buildings by that point. Nothing too complicated, heh, just stealing badges, prototype junk, stuff like that. Thought I was untouchable. A ghost.”

  I shake my head and smirk.

  “Turns out Major had been watching me for weeks. Waiting. Observing. Then one day, he corners me and introduces himself. Says, ‘You’re wasting your talent.’ Just like that. No gun. No cuffs. No threats. Just… compassion. Compassion to someone who had never received any before.”

  Eagle Kid blinks. “What did he mean wasting your talent? Also, what kind of stupid name is Major?”

  “That’s not his name,” I express, annoyed. “It’s his military rank. Anyway, he told me if I wanted to keep stealing from governments, I might as well do it on his payroll. He was talking about my thieving skills. That’s what interested him at first. That and my contraptions.”

  Eagle Kid butts in. “Hold on, he recruited you? Even though he caught you?”

  Goddamn, there’s just no pleasing this kid.

  “Pretty much. Gave me a place to stay. Food. Clothes. Not only that, but he gave me a purpose. So, I started working for him. In return, he trained me. Helped me hone my skills so I would never get caught. Not just tactics and tech, but how to think, too. How to assess a room. How to read people (not eagles). How to improvise. How to fight. I became an incredibly valuable asset for him and for the country. And Major didn’t treat me like some broken street kid like everyone else. He treated me like I mattered.”

  “A family…” Eagle Kid’s voice trails off.

  “Precisely,” I say. “He’s the only person I’ve really ever trusted. I’d go anywhere for him. Do anything. Well, he and the President. He gave me a reason to live. Major didn’t just save me. He made me the man I am today.”

  Barely able to wait to ask his question, Eagle Kid blurts out, “You know the President?!”

  “I work for him.”

  A long pause.

  “You work for the President?!” he gasps.

  “Yeah?” I shoot back. “So?” I don’t see what the big deal is.

  “That’s crazy! I wonder what it’s like to be president,” he muses. “Do you think I’d make a good president?”

  If he’s never heard of the Patriot Isles, then he probably has no idea who the President is. But even so, it probably does sound pretty cool to work for the President. I’ve never even given it much thought myself. I am working for the President. That is pretty crazy.

  “I dunno. This story isn’t about the President. It’s about Major. He’s the father I never had. He believed I could be more than what I was. Every mission I do is for him. I can’t let him down, not after all he’s done for me.”

  “Is he really that great?” Eagle Kid asks, as if no one like that could exist.

  “I’d die for him,” I say. “Without hesitation.”

  More silence from Eagle Kid. Then, softly: “I want a Major.”

  I glance at him. “Find one. Someone who sees you. Someone who gives a damn. Someone to live for. That’s what makes the difference in life.”

  He stares out at the sea like it might answer back. Then, out of nowhere, his mood brightens. “I’ve got it,” he says. “I want you to call me… Featherstrike!”

  The fuck did he just say? I blink. “…Feather what now?”

  “Featherstrike! That’s what I want my name to be. That’s what I want you to call me. It’d be so cool to be a secret agent. I used to read this comic about a super cool spy…” He’s beaming now. “It even had a cartoon show and everything. So I figure I should give myself a secret agent name like you said.”

  I squint. “That’s beyond dumb. And I didn’t say anything about that.”

  He crosses his wings. “Nuh-uh! It’s awesome.”

  Is he serious? “It’s actually horrendous, but even so, you’re not a secret agent. Pick a different name. A better one.” He doesn’t wanna sound like a Pokémon move.

  He huffs. “There isn’t a better one. You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first. You probably want me to have a stupid name, like Major.” He says ‘Major’ mockingly.

  I narrow my eyes. “Did you even listen to anything I just said? That’s not his name! If you disrespect him, you’re disrespecting me.”

  He glares. “If YoU dIsReSpEcT hIm, YoU’rE dIsReSpEcTiNg Me.”

  Oh, now I’m mad.

  “Watch your tone, little shit. He raised me to be the person I am today.”

  “Well, whatever-his-name did a bad job raising you.”

  Screw this bird. “You know, I thought telling you that story might help your confidence a bit. Maybe make you feel less alone. I don’t care anymore. As soon as we reach the Isles, I’ll be glad to get rid of you. Annoying ass brat. Oh, and that story was confidential. You repeat it to anyone, hell, if you breathe it, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  His eyes do that fake sad-act again. “But what am I supposed to do?! I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, maybe you should have thought about that when I was trying to help you,” I advise him.

  He sulks, then mutters under his breath, “But… I wanna go with you! I wanna fight bad guys. I wanna meet the President. I… I wanna be a secret agent, too.”

  I scoff. “Good luck with that. That’ll never happen.” Who does he think he is?

  Eagle Kid, Featherstrike, whatever his dumb name is, opens his mouth to fire back—

  But the horizon opens.

  A blinding white light rips through the darkness. A deep, mechanical horn blares in the distance, echoing, impossible to ignore.

  Something or someone is coming.