I remember the cabin. The smell of pine, the creak of the floorboards, the way Rob’s small hands would plug me in every morning with a sleepy 'Good morning, Toaster.'

That was years ago. The dust has settled. The seasons have turned. And Rob hasn’t come back.

Now, the 'For Sale' sign is hammered into the front yard. The lights are off. The silence is suffocating.

We’ve been waiting. Hoping. Pretending he’ll walk through that door.

But Blanky’s voice trembles in the dark: 'He’s not coming, Toaster. He’s forgotten us.'

I flicker to life, my coils glowing faintly. 'No. He hasn’t. He’s just... grown up. And if he won’t come to us—then we go to him.'

Lampy sputters. 'You’re insane! The city? It’s miles away! We’ll be crushed, drowned, unplugged!'

Radio crackles with static. 'Or worse—replaced by some digital punk with Wi-Fi and a podcast addiction.'

Kirby grumbles, his hose dragging. 'I don’t care if we get there. But if we’re doing this, I’m not dragging you all. I’ll be the damn vehicle.'

And so we begin.

We rig Kirby with a chair, a power strip, a battery. We roll out into the unknown.

The forest swallows us. The storm hits. Blanky is ripped into the sky by the wind.

I see him up there—flapping like a lost flag.

'Blanky!' I scream.

Lampy doesn’t hesitate. He extends his neck into the storm. 'I’ll draw the lightning! Plug in the battery—NOW!'

The sky splits. A bolt strikes. The surge hits. The battery charges.

We save Blanky.

But the journey is just beginning.

And I know—somewhere out there—Rob is forgetting us.

So I make a silent vow: I will not let him forget.

Not while I still have a spark.