"First, we have to look for suitable crops," I said.
Menko nodded, determination in his posture.
We ventured into the forest, scanning for tubers or anything easy to grow. The usual patch where I'd found potatoes was gone. We had to go deeper, farther.
Along the way, I reminded Menko that we needed to eat sparingly. Our bodies—new, synthetic, and surprisingly resilient—could last almost five days without food or water. It was the perfect moment to teach him what his current body could endure.
Suddenly, a herd of deer appeared in a clearing. I signaled Menko to hold Lily back.
"Go hunt the largest one you see," I commanded.
Menko froze. "How? I have no weapons, and the deer are faster than me."
I smiled. "Then figure it out."
He hesitated, eyes focused, muscles tensing. The forest held its breath as he prepared, testing the limits of both his skill and courage.
There he was—running faster than I had ever seen him move, a speed his old body could never have achieved. The look on his face told the story: disbelief, exhilaration, and awe all at once.
He moved almost like he was flying, each stride devouring the forest floor. The deer didn't stand a chance. With a powerful leap, he seized the fattest one in the herd, his face widening in surprise at the sheer strength he now possessed.
Then he turned, carrying the deer back, still bleating in alarm, while Menko's amazement lingered in every step.
With the deer successfully captured, we finished the hunt. Its legs were tied, and we had Lily carry the heavy body back toward the bunker.
On the way home, something caught our eye—bright orange tips protruding from the soil. Carrots. Fresh, hidden gems waiting to be gathered.
I crouched down, brushing the soil away from the carrot tops. "Here, Menko," I said, handing him a small clump of dirt-covered roots. "This is how you pull them gently, so you don't break them."
He mimicked my movements carefully, hands shaking slightly with excitement. A few carrots snapped at first, but he laughed at his own mistakes. "Like this?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Yes," I encouraged.
"Now try again. Be patient—nature has its own rhythm."
Soon, he got the hang of it. Carrot after carrot, he dug and pulled, carefully placing them in a small woven basket. There was a satisfaction in seeing the results of his own hands, a connection to the earth that words couldn't capture.
"Now, we store them properly," I said, showing him how to layer the carrots in straw to keep them fresh. "This way, we won't have to forage for a few days. Every bit of care we give them now will pay off later."
Menko nodded seriously, absorbing every motion, every instruction. His small hands worked with surprising precision, and I could see a spark of pride in him. For the first time, he wasn't just surviving—he was learning to nurture life around him.
By the time we reached the bunker, our basket was full, and Menko's steps were lighter, more confident. He glanced at the farm I had set up earlier, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.
Menko: "I think… I want to make my own," he said softly.
Menko: "A place just like this."
After we emptied the basket near the bunker, Menko crouched by a small patch of soil. I handed him a few tools and guided him.
"First, we prepare the soil," I said.
"Loosen it thoroughly, remove stones and debris, and break up any clumps. Carrot roots grow best in deep, loose soil, so they won't be crooked or stunted."
Menko mimicked my movements, digging carefully, turning the soil with his new strength but precise control. His hands moved methodically, smoothing the surface into a flat, even bed.
"Now, we'll use these carrot tops," I explained, handing him the fresh carrots we had found. "Cut about an inch of the top from each carrot. That green part can grow new roots if placed in moist soil. Carrots don't grow from seeds easily in this environment, so we use the tops instead."
Menko pressed the carrot tops into shallow trenches I had prepared, arranging them neatly with the green side up.
Menko: "Like this?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, nodding.
"Space them a few centimeters apart. Each top needs room for roots to grow. Cover them lightly with soil, just enough so the green tips peek through."
"Now comes the water," I continued.
"Keep the soil moist, but not soaked. Too much water will rot the tops. We want them damp, soft, and ready to sprout."
Menko poured water carefully, letting it seep gently into the trenches.
"Over the next few days, the tops will send out tiny roots," I explained.
"Once those roots are established, small green shoots will appear. Keep watering lightly every day, and make sure the soil stays loose. If weeds appear, remove them immediately—don't let them compete with your new carrots."
He stepped back, surveying the neat little rows.
Menko: "It feels… mine," he murmured.
Menko: "Like I've made something that will grow, that I can rely on."
"Yes," I replied.
"And if you care for it, it will care for you in return. This is the first step toward self-sufficiency. These carrots will be your food."
Lily leaned nearby, her massive form barely moving, tilting her head as if she understood the importance of the task.
In that quiet patch of soil, Menko began his first true farm. Not just a collection of vegetables, but a lifeline.
After giving the farm some finishing touches, we returned to the bunker.
I told AIN, "Check our farms every twelve hours. My potato shoots have started to grow. Make sure no animals try to take our stuff."
[AIN]: "No problemo."
Just outside the bunker, we skinned the deer we had caught, saving the leather for later use. Half of the venison we gave to Lily, who accepted it eagerly, tail flicking in contentment. The other half we chopped into smaller pieces.
With a few potatoes on hand, I combined the chopped meat and potatoes in a pot of water and set it to boil, the aroma slowly filling the bunker. The simple meal would sustain us for coming days.
The next day, the early sun filtered through the trees, painting the forest floor in soft gold. I found Menko already awake, his movements careful but eager, Lily resting beside him.
"Today," I said, my tone calm but firm, "you'll start your own farm."
Menko's faceless head tilted slightly, a silent question in his posture. I led him to the small patch of soil beside the bunker.
"Before planting anything, the soil needs to be ready," I explained.
"We enrich it with compost so the plants will grow strong."
I showed him the cuboidal box we had prepared the previous day. "See these layers?" I asked.
"The browns—the shredded leaves and twigs—give structure. The greens—the food scraps—feed the microbes. Earthworms help break it all down into rich soil."
Menko crouched beside me, mimicking my movements, carefully layering the leaves, berries, and scraps. His fingers were tentative but precise, a natural curiosity guiding him.
"Make sure the layers are even," I instructed.
"Not too compact. Air and water need to flow freely."
As he worked, I could see the subtle thrill in his body language—the way his posture straightened with each step, the quiet excitement of creation. Lily watched closely, occasionally sniffing at the piles, her massive head tilting in curiosity.
"This is important," I continued.
"Good soil gives strong plants. Strong plants give us food. Everything is connected. If we start well, our farm will last."
Menko nodded, clearly understanding. He carefully added the final layer of soil and patted it gently. For the first time, he wasn't just following instructions—he was thinking, planning, beginning to take ownership.
"There," I said, standing back. "Now the soil is ready. Tomorrow, you'll plant your first seeds—or tubers. But today, you learn patience. Compost takes time, but it's worth it."
Menko stepped back from the patch of enriched soil, his movements deliberate, almost reverent. For a moment, he simply watched, absorbing the rhythm of the forest, the quiet patience of the earth, and the power of creation itself.
Then, his faceless head tilted sharply toward me, urgency creeping into his posture.
Menko: "What else… what else can you teach me? Show me everything you know."
His words cut through the soft rustle of the morning. Lily shifted beside him, her massive body a silent witness to the boy's unquenchable curiosity.
A pause. Then, as if the question had been burning inside him all along, he added:
Menko: "…Also… you never told me your name."
I allowed a brief, almost wry smile. "It's about time you know. My name is Bunks, Bunks Vessel."
Menko tilted his head, the gesture questioning. "…That's a weird name."
"Perhaps," I replied calmly. "But from the time I come from, names don't carry the kind of meaning yours do. They are just… identifiers. Nothing more."
A spark lit in his stance, a restless energy coiling through him. His curiosity was no longer idle—it demanded action, discovery. He glanced back at the soil, at the composted layers waiting patiently.
Menko: "I want to learn… I want to do it myself."
And with that, he crouched over the earth, hands poised to touch the soil, ready to take the first real step in creating something of his own.
The morning light filtered through the trees, warm and bright, but the tension of possibilities hung heavier in the air. Whatever I could teach him—every secret, every skill—was about to unfold, one deliberate step at a time.