The Warriors of Wren: Little Man Go, #1

By Benjamin Andrew

Jimmy Go is lost in a hell he can’t escape.

Slave to a job he hates, Jimmy lives, eats, and writhes in the factory-sponsored void his life has fallen into. A cracking cog in a mindless, paranoid war machine, Jimmy no longer remembers who he is, why he’s there—or why someone’s left him a warning: You don’t belong here, Little Man Go.

Each day before work, Jimmy stares out his window watching Hat, Cloak, and Umbrella Warriors defend his home of Wren from marauding Clans and Gangs. It’s a war that has stretched for seventy years. Like his own life, it feels pointless.

All that’s forgotten, however, when a new girl shows up for work and Jimmy finds himself lost once again: in her light-brown hair, in her hazel eyes—in her sudden interest in him.

But the new girl has a secret. She and her friends are there on a mission: to yank Jimmy from his stupor and awaken him to who he really is, why he has to fight, and what’s waiting for him beyond the Great Divide.

To get there, they’ll have to battle a deadly new army of mindless assassins—and Little Man Go will learn it’s he alone who can lead them home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin Andrew
• Release date: Nov 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540169006

Book preview

1

A Possum Encounter

This place sucks !!! Jimmy scribbled in his notebook, followed by an aggressively outlined word balloon. The gripe completed his latest sketch of the lone Hat Warrior, standing atop the battlements of the outer wall.

Jimmy found the Hats easy to draw as they were the only Warriors that typically stood rigid for hours on end while maintaining a watchful vigil over the fog-covered plains of the Valley below.

He slapped his notebook shut and exhaled slowly and noisily, staring out at the bleak surroundings from his small apartment window.

A small group of Umbrella Warriors diverted his attention away from the Hat as they flew over the perimeter wall, coasting along a fast-moving fog current toward a larger group in the distance. The group appeared to be practicing aerial attack maneuvers above the surrounding Deadwood Swamp.

Watching the swirling fog currents intertwine and dance their way across the landscape was a sight that Jimmy had previously found soothing, but lately it only fueled his depression. He presumed he would feel differently if he had the ability to ride them, but he was no Warrior.

Jimmy was envious of those who had the ability to ride the currents, an ability he had longed for. But everyone had a place in Wren, and his was to monitor and advise from the safety of the Hive.

The thinner fog coverage in the mornings allowed him to see the outline of the eastern mountain ranges in the distance. No new skirmishes appeared to have broken out in the vicinity of the Factory, and all seemed to be unusually still.

The swamp was at high tide; its greyish-brown waters glowed with a slight green tinge as gentle waves rippled onto the muddy shore, not far from the Factory’s huge perimeter walls.

As he stared mindlessly into the seemingly endless abyss, the same questions played out through his mind like a broken record.

What would life be like beyond the Great Divide?

Will this war ever end?

The only thing he knew with some certainty was that the war had raged on for around seventy years, give or take a few. No one could really remember exactly when it started, how it started, or why it looked like it wouldn’t be coming to an end anytime soon. Everybody just accepted it and moved on about their daily lives.

Life is boring, Jimmy said as he turned his back on the view. He threw his notebook onto the bedside table and began to straighten his bedsheets. His impaired memory had prevented him from remembering his past, although he could still recall feelings about certain events, people, and objects. War, for instance, was supposed to instill feelings of fear, anger, or sadness. This war had none of that for him, it was just boring, like everything else.

He vaguely remembered a time where his attitude and feelings regarding the war had been different, but after many years of the same, he had become indifferent to everything.

Jimmy was afraid of death, although he did on occasion morbidly wonder whether becoming one with the fog, would at least provide some respite from the monotony of everyday life.

The battles against the various Clans and Gangs of Wren occurred on nearly a daily basis; his job, along with thousands of other Analysts, was to assist the Tribal Warriors from the Hive without ever having the need to engage the enemy directly. It was a relatively straightforward and safe job that made Jimmy feel like a coward. Something within him believed that there was more to his life than the war and that he was somehow capable of more, but access to his past was locked away behind several impenetrable doors within his mind. Doors that he had been denied access to no matter how hard he tried.

Once Jimmy finished straightening his bed sheets he reached for his pain medication and realised that something was different. He rotated his eyes from side to side to confirm and breathed a sigh of relief when he realised the absence of the incessant migraine that had plagued him for the last few days.

Maybe it will be a good day after all, he said, feeling a little less morbid.

In the past Jimmy had attempted to talk to others about his migraines and fainting episodes, but no one seemed to listen anymore. It was a common trait that they all shared, and the last thing anyone wanted was another complainer nagging about how much worse their suffering was in comparison to everyone else.

As the ailments got worse, the quieter everyone had become, with the vast majority now moving about their day as if they were running on autopilot. This was just another symptom of the war; there was nothing else but fighting, eating, sleeping, and repeat. Jimmy couldn’t remember a time that he had actually looked forward to anything.

He sat on the edge of his bed and began rubbing his legs, working out the knots in his thigh muscles. It was one of his daily morning rituals that he felt helped prepare him for the long day ahead. He barely noticed his burn-scarred hands anymore and had given up trying to remember how they had become disfigured as he reached for his leather gloves from the bedside table. The tan-coloured gloves were not standard issue and contrasted against his disheveled and slightly stained white uniform. As far as Jimmy could recall, he was the only one who wore an item of clothing that was not some shade of white.

Once the gloves were secure, Jimmy reached for his watch, an old analogue thing that had never worked due to a missing crown and stem mechanism. He often wondered whether it had ever worked. The original brass casing was covered in scratches, and the tan-coloured band was worn. The internal face behind the clear glass piece was the only part of the watch that seemed to be unaffected from wear and tear. He did not know where or how he had received the gloves or watch; it was almost as if they had just appeared one day.

There was nothing about his past that he knew for certain; parents, friends, and family remained a mystery to him. Very little changed as time passed with no milestones or celebrations. Anger had given way to acceptance, and as far as Jimmy was concerned, he was an orphan that had to fend for himself like the rest of them. His only obligation was to Wren and no one else. It was a lonely life, but one he had grown used to.

Jimmy looked at the broken watch and often wondered why he wore it. He had no need for a timepiece as his daily routine had instilled him with a regimented internal clock. He could think of no good reasons other than the fact that he liked the look and feel of it and for some unknown reason it felt important that he wear it at all times.

He glanced at the empty single bed on the opposite side of the room where no one had ever slept—he kept it there as a reminder that friends were nonexistent in this bleak, grey world; people either became a casualty of the war or transferred to other Factories. It was a cruel and seemingly unending cycle.

Jimmy continued with his morning routine by walking back toward the window. He pushed open the casement sash and was instantly hit by the same acrid smell of death and decay he breathed in every day. Some days were better than others, although this was not one of the good days, despite his lack of a migraine.

After the initial assault on his nostrils had dissipated, Jimmy stuck his head out the window and craned his neck in all directions to find every other window sash on the east facade of Building D open with every occupant staring toward the distance. It was common practice for all Analysts and Warriors to survey their surroundings before commencing their respective shifts, but Jimmy figured there were more than enough people watching for threats and therefore spent this time looking for changes in routine, hoping for something different.

He maintained this habit each day and observed his surroundings as if he was seeing them for the first time, hoping for the smallest change. Unfortunately, everything appeared to be the same so far.

Every window sash then closed simultaneously, which was his cue to get a move on. He followed suit and grabbed his notebook off the bedside table before walking toward the only door in his cramped quarters and pulling a set of keys off a nearby wall hook. Jimmy turned the plain white cover of his notebook over in his hand and read the three sentences scribbled on the rear cover. The text represented the only remnant of his past life that he could remember with any real certainty, and he read them every morning like a mantra, hoping to add to the list.

You are Jimmy Go.

Protect Wren.

Beware the Outsiders.

The last sentence always puzzled Jimmy. He had assumed that the Outsiders, Clans, and Gangs were one in the same, but the more he read the words, the more he started to feel that Outsiders represented something much worse. Having no luck with his memory, he placed the notebook in his back pocket, opened the door, and stepped out into the atrium walkway.

Once Jimmy was outside he locked the door behind him and re-checked that the door was secure several times before proceeding toward the exit. Jimmy often wondered about his obsession with ensuring that his door was locked—it was extremely unlikely that anyone would want to break in as no one had anything to steal besides dirty old uniforms and bed linen, although he maintained the habit as he felt it necessary, one of his many eccentricities, he reasoned.

Jimmy’s room was located on the fifth level of Building D, and although there was elevator access to the ground floor, he preferred to take the stairs, convinced that the stairs would provide him with some form of exercise to counteract the long hours he spent sitting down at his workstation. This was a lie, of course. In truth, Jimmy was terrified of elevators or any confined spaces, for that matter; a fact that he had never mentioned to anyone.

The rooms within Building D opened into a large rectangular central atrium, open to the fog-filled sky. Jimmy could see other Analysts walking along the balconies toward the lifts.

Some of his fellow Analysts would nod acknowledgment as they walked past, but most would just pass by silently with blank or painful expressions on their faces. This was the way things had been for as long as he could remember, not that he could remember much. Most of the others also suffered from memory loss, caused by years of breathing in the toxic fumes given off by the swamp, or so he believed, as no one had been able to tell him otherwise. Everyone was tired and sick, some worse than others.

As Jimmy descended the stairs, he stopped short of the last corner before the exit. Lying on the last landing was one of the many nameless Factory workers within his building. White mist was slowly seeping from his ghostly white body, indicating that he was surely dead.

Another one bites the dust, Jimmy said as he carefully made his way around the body, then hastened his pace toward the exit once clear.

This was not an uncommon occurrence. People died regularly within Factory 250, from causes ranging from toxic poisoning, old age, skirmishes, stress, you name it. Jimmy never felt guilty about leaving the bodies as he found them; he knew that they would soon become one with the fog. No one ever asked how or where the dead disappeared to, and no one wanted to know. The death rate was already so high that people did not need any more reminders of their impending doom.

Jimmy remembered a time when he found it disconcerting to think that the endless fog surrounding them was potentially made up of the dead, although he rarely contemplated it anymore.

Having already forgotten about the deceased Analyst in the stairwell, he headed toward the cafeteria via the Union Courtyard. It was as pleasant a walk as you’d get in Factory 250, although Jimmy believed some grass or plants would not mar the experience. He blamed their proximity to the swamp as the reason for the lack of any form of vegetation growth within the walls.

The cafeteria was located on the ground floor of Building F; an old rusted sign hanging just above the main entrance greeted you upon entry, and he could just make out the words Union House etched into the metalwork, Jimmy assumed it was the previous name of the building.

The cafeteria was just as bleak as the rest of the building. Four painted plain white brick walls with one large window at the far end, vermiculite ceiling lining, plain white laminate tabletops with feed tube inputs, molded white plastic chairs, and marbled green linoleum flooring. Jimmy wondered whether the original building designers had specifically chosen the floor colour to mimic the surrounding toxic environment.

Breakfast was a non-event as usual; all meals were typically forgotten within minutes of consumption. Jimmy walked toward the closest dispensary, pulled a straw from the stainless steel enclosure, and sat down at the nearest table. He inserted the wide, clear plastic straw into one of the four feed outlets fixed to the table and drank.

It appeared that the breakfast of choice was oatmeal surprise; a lumpy, cardboard-tasting porridge with a colour closely resembling the floor. Jimmy grimaced as he forced the blended chunks down his throat. The fluorescent lighting in the hall didn’t help the situation—accentuating the already disgusting appearance of the food, it also had a knack of giving everyone a pale, sickly complexion, worse than usual.

After breakfast, Jimmy headed toward his daily staff briefing, located two floors above the cafeteria. This is where the duty roster would be discussed followed by a recount of the latest war-related news via the radio network.

The radio was the only form of entertainment available, providing both music and news updates. The music was played over loudspeakers throughout the day between news reports—never during battles—with the same songs played in the same sequence every day. This did not help alleviate Jimmy’s boredom, although it did provide a method of working out the time based on the song played.

Jimmy finished climbing the stairs and approached room 205 at a casual pace. As he entered, he noticed something different. At first he believed he had walked into the wrong room and rechecked the room number fixed to the door. After confirming that it was the same room he had entered every morning for as long as he could remember, he noticed the first-ever change to his routine. Someone else was sitting in his seat. He checked the table designation.

Row three, table six. This can’t be right!

He rechecked and did a double take when he noticed that the individual occupying his seat was someone he did not recognise. More surprising? It was a girl.

Although there were just as many females as males occupying Factory 250, none of them were of a similar age to Jimmy, and up until that moment, he had been the only other teenager working among much older personnel.

There was also something different about her besides her youthful look; she seemed out of place somehow. Her white pants, shirt, and suspenders were no different than everyone else’s, although much cleaner—glowingly white, in fact, in comparison to the rest.

Must be a new recruit, or a transfer, Jimmy reasoned.

Feeling himself being nudged from behind, Jimmy realised he had not moved and quickly made his way toward another seat. He was intrigued by her and found it difficult to look away; the oddness surrounding the new girl was difficult to ascertain. She had a glow and positive energy about her that was foreign within this miserable place.

She doesn’t belong here.

Her hair was short—not boyishly short, but short nonetheless, light brown in colour with very subtle blonde highlights running through. Her eyes were a mix of emerald green and hazel, different from the grey eyes everyone else seemed to have, and she had a square-shaped face with sharp, high cheekbones. She sat upright with an air of confidence about her, almost regal.

The new girl looked toward Jimmy, and for a moment their eyes met. He suddenly became conscious that he was staring and quickly turned away, stumbling over a chair leg in the process. Jimmy tried to regain his balance as he fell, but his attempts were futile, and he quickly found himself facedown at the feet of the new girl.

As Jimmy lay on the toxic-green-coloured floor, face to face with the new girl’s white, knee-high polished boots, he felt heat rush to his cheeks and wanted to bury himself deep within the linoleum until everyone left the room. After a brief moment cowering facedown, he felt hands gripping his arms and realised that someone was attempting to help him to his feet. It was the new girl. He looked up reluctantly, and she met his stare. Jimmy was a little disorientated from the fall, although he thought he noticed a glimmer of acknowledgment in her eyes.

Does she know me?

Once he was back on his feet, she took her seat and turned her attention back to the front of the room without saying a word. Still embarrassed with himself, Jimmy quickly sat in a nearby chair. He was not typically this clumsy and was thankful that no one else had seemed to notice his fall—either that or they didn’t care, which was more likely.

The radio broadcast broke the silence. As the latest skirmish report played out over the loudspeaker with the same female voice relaying the latest war-related news, Jimmy looked around the room. The other Analysts had their eyes fixed to the loudspeaker.

Something doesn’t feel right. Why am I the only who seems to notice the new girl?

The duty officer had not introduced her or mentioned her name, which wasn’t that unusual as transfers and new recruits came and went on a regular basis. Although this girl was different—she was not only young and attractive, but she had an aura about her that made her stand out from the others, like a rainbow in a cloud-filled sky.

A rainbow?

An image formed in his mind, streaks of colour spread through the grey slate of the sky. It seemed familiar, although he could not recall where he would have seen one. Jimmy shook off the odd memory and turned his attention back to the girl, peering at her from the corner of his eye.

Once the morning meeting ended, Jimmy made a beeline for the exit door, nudging his way past a pair of Analysts. He kept his head down and headed straight for the stairs, across the Union Courtyard and toward the Hive without looking back to see if the new girl was watching him. A small part of him hoped she was.

Jimmy’s progress was temporarily halted as he bumped into two Warriors: an Umbrella and a Scarf. He uttered a quick apology as he moved out of their way, keeping his eyes glued to the ground while he continued toward the Hive. He only raised his head after he had passed under the large steel-and-glass cantilevered canopy signifying the entrance to the Hive.

Once inside Jimmy came to a stop as he waited for a crowd of Analysts who were coming off the night shift to pass. After the herd had thinned, Jimmy proceeded through the antechamber into the Hive proper. No matter how many times he had passed through those oversized steel doors he could not help but be in awe of the sheer size of the vast warehouse-like space, with workstations spanning as far as the eye could see.

Who is she?

Jimmy couldn’t get her out of his mind. Just an hour earlier he was wishing for any type of change, and now that one had occurred he felt suspicious. Maybe it was because he was no longer the youngest member of the Factory, he reasoned—a fact that he had previously been proud of—although this seemed unlikely. It was not as if he was worried about job security; he had no love for his job as it had prevented him for exploring anything beyond the Valley. He had learned to tolerate his position because there was nothing else.

I was born an Analyst, and I’ll most likely die an Analyst, he thought grimly.

Jimmy arrived at his workstation ahead of time and reached into his pocket for the keys that would unlock his partition. As he did so he felt something different—and different was not normal. It was difficult to feel the object through his gloves, so he slowly pulled it out.

He held up the item before his eyes. It was a small folded note on white paper. Jimmy looked around to see if anyone had noticed his surprised reaction, but the others were either in the process of leaving their shifts or starting new ones. He opened the note: six handwritten words were clearly printed upon the paper. Six words that ended Jimmy’s hopes of maintaining his ailment-free start to the day.

---

You don’t belong here, Little Man Go.

---

Dizziness overcame him first, followed by the black cracks, like crevasses in space, then darkness. That is how it always happened: The triggers were always different, but the process was the same when Jimmy passed out. In the darkness, he dreamed as he often did, although the typical incoherent imagery was replaced by something different, something new.

A field of lush green grass filled Jimmy’s vision. Adjacent to the field was a river with the clearest water he had ever seen. Tall trees were dotted along its meandering banks with cows lazily basking nearby in the morning sun.

Sun!

Perhaps