You figure that your best bet is to stay put. Maybe Red will come back to check up on you, and you can ask her for advice, or at least to return your adult memories. Failing that, maybe morning will bring some better options. Maybe.
Meanwhile..., meanwhile you are hungry and in need of finding somewhere to sleep.
Wandering, you come across a set of Men's and Women's rest rooms contained in a small building, separated by a third door, labeled "Park Employees Only". Figuring it must be used for storage or something, you first tug, then push on the door. Unfortunately, it doesn't budge.
Frowning (pouting, really) at your rotten luck, you kick the door and walk around the building. In the back, looking up, you see an open window, in the wall directly opposite where the "Park Employees Only" door was.
On the third attempt, you managed to grab the lower sill with your outstretched arms. Luckily, it seem that Red made you skinny but wiry. With some effort you manage to pull yourself up and through the window.
Into darkness.
Boxes of chemicals, rolls of toilet paper, and other, less identifiable things are in the dark storage chamber. Moving some stuff around, you manage to make a hidden space for yourself, and, using some rolls of toilet paper as a poor substitute for a pillow, you settle down, trying to ignore your hunger and to court sleep.
...later...
It seems sleep must have eventually arrived, for you awaken suddenly.
What woke you?
Bright light streamed in through the dusty, dirty window, but your body tells you it must still be hours before sunrise.
Sliding a huge box of toilet paper underneath the window, you climb up and peek out.
A grassy area of the park is being illuminated by brilliant construction lights mounting on tall, mobile stands. In the area ringed by light are a huddled mass of homeless people being herded into the gaping maw of a machine of some sort mounted on a semi-truck flatbed trailer.
A deep bass thumping is being emitted from the machine, nearly, but not quite, drowning out wailing and shrieking coming from the homeless. From the other end of the machine, what at first appears to be the same homeless people are coming out.
But they are not the same, you soon realize. They are behaving far too calmly for people just herding through-- whatever that machine is-- and they are being examined by emotionless, all but identical androgynous technicians upon exiting. The technicians, in shiny gray, look into some sort of opening on the back of the emerged, then shut some sort of panel. The panel seals invisibly shut, then the replacement homeless person lower their shirt over where the panel was, and wanders off.
"Dead and improved," says a cynical voice.
You freeze. Discovered?
"Replaced," responds another voice.
Glancing around quickly, you spy an older, overweight, balding man, wearing steel rimmed glasses and hard eyes walking towards the restroom. With him is a pallid faced, skinny man of indeterminate age, wearing all black. Both wear expensive, tailored suits.
Ducking down, you hope they did not notice you. For once luck seems to be with you.
Quietly, you crawl down and move back to your hiding space-- straining to hear their conversation.
"How is this test run going?" asks the first voice. It sounds like the older, balding one.
"So far, even better than last night," replies the other. "No one has had to be chased down. No malfunctions with any of the replicants. The earlier batches all seem to be responding well to the broadcast orders."
The door to the Men's side squeaked open.
"Damned place is full of bugs!" grumbled the older one's voice. He then returned to the conversation.
"Then we are ready to ramp up to Phase One?" he asked, or, perhaps, ordered.
The one in black treated it as a question.
"Yes, yes we should be able to do so as soon as the rest of the replicators are on line. No one pays attention to the broken, the beaten, and the damned," he answered cheerfully. "You can have the replaced homeless as the initial base, then proceed to Phase Two. In a year or two, your first objective will be a reality. Barring any inconvenient developments."
"I am not paying you for 'inconvenient developments'! I am paying you for results!" warned the older man as the sound of a urinal flushing comes through the wall, accompanied by what sounds suspiciously like a pipe dripping nearby. "What are you talking about?!"
"Nothing," the other replies quickly and smoothly. "All factors can not be accounted for, however, so some unforeseen development may impede progress. Pushing the bleeding edge always entails risks-- but the rewards should be worth it in this case. The end result is what truly matters, is it not?"
A second urinal flushed, and water ran in a sink.
"Of course," replied the gruff voice of the older man. "I hate these damned hot air blow drier pieces of junk!"
"Here, take my handkerchief," offered the pale man.
"Even your handkerchief is black?" asked the balding man.
"Clothes do make the man," replied the other, a smile apparent in his voice.
"I imagine so," allowed the larger one. There was the sound of the Men's room door opening.
The older, larger one resumed their former conversation.
"What really matters, in the end, is power," spoke the older of the pair. "With enough power, anything is possible. My father and his friends tried in 1933 to clear away the nonsense in this government, only their allies were unreliable. This time we will be in full control of our foot soldiers, and will not, can not fail!"
"And I am here to pave the way," assured the pale one.
With that, they move out of range of your hearing.
The machine continued its thumping, each thump turning into a groan, then a hiss.
Sleep does not return.