44. Burton & Ernie

It blew me away that such little people had built all this.

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: After securing their spot in the Trench Wars, Alhannah pushed Wendell into brutal S.L.A.G. training, only to realize his human instincts didn’t match gnome mechanics. But with the TNT crew’s help, they rewired Gnolaum’s controls—giving Wendell a fighting chance… if he could survive learning to walk.

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We can learn a lot from little kids. They stay in the moment, leave tomorrow to itself and they find amusement in the simplest things.

Then again, adults get to play with twenty-foot robots, machine guns and rocket launchers.

…………!?!

Never mind. Put the kids to bed.

I had no idea just how popular Trench Wars was until I followed Alhannah and RH into public.

The sheer scale of the hype hit me like a brick wall. Billboards and posters were plastered across buildings, flashing in shop windows, and even printed on handbills being shoved at pedestrians. Kids ran by clutching miniature S.L.A.G.s, wearing their favorite team shirts like armor.

I swallowed hard.

And they were all going to be staring at me.

I tagged along behind Alhannah and Shamas, feeling like a ghost in their wake. They chatted easily, not even acknowledging me—until we stepped onto the transport platform. Then, it was like someone flipped a switch.

The moment Alhannah stopped, gnomes swarmed her.

Cheers erupted as fans rushed forward, shoving hands out for autographs, others thrusting cameras in her face for a photo. A few even demanded to know why she had left the games in the first place.

Shamas stayed at my side, guiding both of us through the mass of bodies.

When we finally boarded the tunnel tram, he positioned us in a corner, planting himself between us and the rest of the passengers like a human wall.

At first, I thought it was ridiculous to be riding public transportation. If the goal was to keep a low profile, wasn’t this the worst possible way to do it?

“We want people to know we’re here,” Alhannah told me.

I frowned. “And that’s… good?”

She smirked. “We need rumors started.”

“You want people gossiping about us? Why?”

“Nothing moves through a community faster than a rumor. We make a simple showing, avoid any direct questions, and let the working class—your ‘water cooler’ types—spread the news for us. That’s where the real fans are.”

For two hours, we rode across town, deeper into the heart of the city. Unlike the district where Morty’s warehouse was located, I finally got a glimpse of something incredible—the center shaft of the main tower.