The Little One -- [COMPLETED]

Shaky breaths escaped his chilled lips, exhaling wisps of quickly dissipating vapor into the precipitation. His cranium pounding an unfamiliar yet loud beat, he coughed hard and realized a slight numbness has seeped into his left cheek. Pushing his eyelids apart by sheer will, he groaned upon his blurry vision adding no substance to the murky world of colors his eyes attempted to behold. As the pounding began to subside, it became steadily replaced by motorized vehicles whizzing past and the familiar splatter of countless drops against the pavement. Pavement? He could only hope he wasn’t lying in the middle of a busy highway. His stiff fingers slid across the non-giving, slick surface beneath his body. No wonder the side of his face felt numb. How long had he been outside in the downpour? Wiping the rain from his eyes, he finally heard heavy rumbles from above. It may have been smart to get out of the weather. Bracing himself against the concrete, he pushed up. It took less effort than he would have thought to get to his knees, but even that thought was quickly pushed aside when his brain caught up with the strange sight his clearing vision beheld. Apparently, his left hand had been clenching an item while he was out. Encased in a black sheath ornamented with numerous, overlapping circular patterns, a sword rested within. Where had the weapon come from? Why was he holding it? Upon closer examination of the circles, he noticed five dark rectangles near the hand guard that appeared out of place with the rest of the sheath. It reminded him of the solar strip embedded in basic calculators. He rubbed his thumb across their film-like surface, but there was no reaction. His gaze drifted to the hilt which was decorated identically to the sheath, save for a white infinity symbol embedded in its bottom. Curious of the weapon itself, he firmly wrapped his fingers around the hilt and pulled. The blade within caught on something and would not release despite another pair of quick tugs. With a frown, he searched the sheath for a latch or something that would free the sword. Nothing… and after a few more tugs, he eventually gave up. For a moment, he considered tossing the thing aside, but it did look old. Maybe an antique dealer would hand over a hefty sum for it. Realizing his headache was nearly gone, he rose to his feet and rubbed his cheek until feeling began to slink back in. Looking around, he realized that he had been laying on a walkway adjacent a lengthy overpass. Traffic rushed by in both directions, giving the slightest care to him or the rain. But as he stood there, watching the cars and trucks go by, it finally dawned on him. Every vehicle was an older make and model. Had there been a car show nearby? That might have explained why some of the vehicles appeared nearly fresh off the lot. But now that he paid attention to more than just the traffic, he realized the overpass didn’t look familiar at all. He turned around and spotted a bustling city near, filled with towering buildings and heavy traffic skittering in every direction. Where was he anyway? Moments later, he heard a car horn blow loudly. He turned in time to see a beige, two-door Chevrolet Impala pull up to the shoulder. The driver – an older, balding man in a dirty, brown duster – leaned over the passenger seat, rolled down the window and shouted, “You’ll catch yer death in this weather! Get in here!” As much as he didn’t want to remain in the rain, he also didn’t want to upset the old man into an ulcer. He quickly hopped the walkway railing and climbed into the passenger’s side while the old man turned down the radio’s volume. “Thanks,” he told the old man, “and sorry for dripping on your seats.” The old man waved it off and took his foot off the brake. “Pay it no nevermind, son. But what in sam hill were you doing walking this far when it’s raining cats and dogs out? You trying to catch puh-neumonia?”

He smiled. “Not a clue. I’m not even sure how I got here…” He glanced back to the unfamiliar city slowly passing outside and muttered, “…or where ‘here’ is exactly.” Shaking his head, the old man chuckled. “A little young to be hitting the bottle so hard, ain’tcha? Don’t rush it. You’ll have plenty of time to drink yer troubles away after yer married. Best relationship medicine I’ve ever had!” The young man forced a smirk, but the old man must have caught his less-than-enthused expression because he responded directly to the young man’s spoken concern. “This here is the great city of New Wylden… always expanding in every which-a-way.” The young man’s mind raced. The tall buildings that flew by and even those still under construction didn’t ring the slightest bell, along with the name. New Wylden? Where was that? How had he gotten onto that overpass? How had the weapon ended up in his hands? He stared down at the weird sheath and tried one more time to draw the blade. It still wouldn’t budge. He released an exasperated sigh and realized his leg impatiently bounced along with the cluttered thoughts fighting for sense, for understanding. He honestly couldn’t remember much before waking up drenched, but it wasn’t total amnesia. He knew what a car was… a bridge, but he couldn’t recall what day it was, the last thing he ate or… “Where should I drop you off?” the older man asked before chuckling. Guess he realized how absurd the question was. “Not a clue.” The young man once again looked at the now daunting buildings pass by. “None of this is familiar. Maybe you should just let me out. I don’t want to waste your gas.” The old man guffawed. “I may be old, but I ain’t senile yet! Can’t leave you wandering the streets all willy-nilly. Naw… I got the perfect thing for hangovers. It’ll clear the cobwebs and set you right as rain.” With a hearty laugh, the old man cut a hard right at the next intersection and cared not for the pedestrians who barely jumped out of the way in time or the puddle of muddy water he splashed in their direction. The young man could just imagine the livid obscenities they shouted through the downpour. He sympathized, but just glancing at them in that brief moment bothered him. The more he paid attention to everything – the attire, the architecture – the more things felt off. Everything felt old-fashioned, but he couldn’t explain why. Where was he from? Where was he going? What was his name? After a couple blocks of less-than-cautious driving and half a dozen buildings that looked just as foreign as the last, the young man found the vehicle slowing as they approached a considerably smaller structure tucked away between a pair of towers. Although the rustic hideaway looked a bit out of place, several patrons didn’t seem to mind as a number of cars were parked in the lot the old man started pulling into. Genuinely grinning this time, the young man arched a brow. “What were you saying about hitting the bottle?” “Heh heh… Yer not getting any more spirits today, boy. What you need is a jump-start.” What did the old man mean by that? Other than liquor, what else could a bar offer? Still, the young man kept quiet as the car pulled up to the corner and went dead at the turn of a key. Rain continued to pelt the car’s metal roof and hood, giving off a strangely comforting rhythm the young man focused on as he opened the passenger door. The old man grabbed his hat from the dashboard, yanked the key from the ignition, and threw his door open. “You can just toss that thing in the back.”

“Fine with me.” The young man tossed the sealed weapon over his shoulder without the slightest hesitation. It clattered onto the white leather, but as soon as he stepped his foot out on the wet concrete, there was a loud beep that echoed in his ears. A slight throb emerged around his left temple, but what caused the noise? He looked back at the weapon. At first glance, it looked the same. He almost turned around without noticing it. Fully turning around, with his knees on the seat, he carefully reached for the weapon and lifted it by the sheath. He stared in silence, wondering what had happened. Of the five rectangles on the sheath, one now glowed bright blue. He gently brushed his thumb across its surface, and it remained blue. Maybe he’d triggered the lock? He quickly tugged on the hilt again, but the blade still would not release. So what changed? “Hurrup, boy!” the old man called back. “Yeah!” The young man dropped the weapon back on the seat, almost hoping it would beep again. He exhaled. Nothing. With a forced, heavy sigh, he left the weapon in the car and hurried to catch up with the old man who had already reached the bar’s main entrance. He clattered into the stuffy, stogie-stenched room and shook off the rain like a dog fresh out the bath. “Watch it, Willie!” a sprayed patron sitting at a table near the door shouted while hovering over his half-empty mug of dark brown liquid. “Ah, shaddup, Mac. You need a bath anyway.” A couple other patrons scattered about the dimly lit room chuckled, but interested eyes found their way to the young man lingering a step behind Willie. “Who’s the kid?” The question belted from a scruffy, heavily bearded man under a dingy trucker’s cap sitting at the bar across from the entrance. Willie hung his hat on a wall-mounted rack just inside the room before shedding his dripping trench coat. “Probably ‘nother one of them frat kids from the university. Just look at his get-up. Says he can’t ‘member who he is though.” More chuckles seemed to echo around the room, but this time the gray-haired man behind the bar—whose face looked less wrinkled than Willie’s—spoke up. “You wanna give him a jump-start?” he asked while wiping down shot glasses and stacking them on a shelf behind him. “Read my mind, Leland.” While the two older men engaged in chat as Willie approached the bar, the young man caught glance of a wide mirror adorning the wall to his right. Although it had a big crack running from its top left corner down towards its center, the young man still quickened his pace to get closer. After rounding an empty table, he stopped to get a direct stance unobstructed by the crack. The reflection in the glass was as foreign as every other face in the bar. The pair of blue eyes staring back at him frowned. They didn’t recognize the dark brown—nearly black—wet bushel on his head, didn’t know the slanted nose nor the dimples on either side of chapped lips. The young man didn’t know which was weirder: chapped lips that didn’t feel dry or a completely unrecognizable visage that apparently belonged to him.

“Gettin’ anything, boy?” Willie called out. The young man slowly shook his head, still enamored with the reflection. “It’s like meeting a stranger,” he muttered under his breath. After seconds of more inspection, he finally gave up and turned toward the bar. “Nothing,” he resigned in a voice loud enough to be heard. “You hear about this kind of stuff happening, but you always think, ‘They gotta remember something!’ But it’s like I’m a complete tabula rasa.” Willie and Leland exchanged a mutual glare of confusion, and Willie spoke their single thought. “Tab-what?” The young man took up a stool next to Willie. “It’s Latin… means ‘blank slate’.” Leland chuckled while mixing several drinks into a cup-sized clear glass. “Guess you are a college kid. Not a lot of Latin flying ‘round here. Hey, Mac!” he called out. “Speak some Latin for the kid!” With a barely visible smirk, Mac took a heavy swig from his mug and swallowed hard before unleashing a belch that sounded like it rose from the darkest depths of his rotund gut before slamming the now emptied mug down on the table. Leland chuckled louder. “Now that Latin I get… means ‘pour me ‘nother right now!’” “Damn right!” Mac confirmed heartily. Even though he began to feel completely out of place, the young man smirked. Nothing was making any kind of sense, but he couldn’t fault Willie who was doing what he could to help. He might as well go along with things until his memories started to resurface. It was in that moment of resignation that he actually started to pay attention to the different bottles of dark red and brown liquids Leland carefully mixed into the glass. With an ever-growing concern, the young man asked, “What exactly goes into this ‘jump-start’ anyway?” “Probably best you don’t know,” Leland defended, “but if this don’t help you ‘member your name, then nothing in the world can unscramble that mess on top of your neck.” Despite the agreeing grunts from around the room, the young man wished he could feel better about the barkeep’s declaration. He suddenly wondered if someone had taught him a lesson about accepting weird-looking drinks from strangers. Who would that person have been? A father? A girlfriend? Not even the slightest detail of his life surfaced in random moments. There was just nothing. Did he even have a family? Was he an orphan? What could have caused him to go all amnesiac? Who was he?! “Bottoms up,” Leland said before setting the finished drink on a coaster and sliding it in the young man’s direction. Snapping out of his brief trance, the young man quickly brought his hand up to cradle the glass full of foggy, dark liquid to a slow stop before a single drop could dribble over the rim. “Nice reflexes.” The young man barely heard him, his eyes fixated on the drink. “You really expect me to swallow this?” “The faster, the better.” Willie gave a confident nod before requesting his own brew from the barkeep.

Even as the young man lifted the glass, his stomach fluttered. He took a whiff but strangely, caught no scent from the concoction. Maybe that meant it wouldn’t taste too bad? To be on the safe side, he thought it would be best to down as much as he could in a single gulp and hope his stomach could handle it. Gathering up his courage, the young man inhaled sharply, closed his eyes, and downed a mouthful. He tried to swallow before his taste buds could kick in, but the damage had been done the instant the lukewarm fluid hit the back of his throat. His tongue felt like it had just been drenched in fire. The flaming trail followed the liquid down his gullet and into his stomach. He wanted to curse Leland for giving him the mix, but the hacking coughs dominated everything his blazing pie-hole could do. He really and randomly hoped no one had told him to avoid drinks from strangers. They would’ve been highly disappointed if they could see him now, writhing and clawing at the fire spreading throughout his chest. An annoying ringing rising in his ears drowned out the bar’s sounds, culminating in a loud beep that accompanied a throb in his head. His hands gripped the bar to keep from doubling over. A minute passed. Then another. The burning just wouldn’t stop. It continued to spread down his arms and into his stomach. He really wanted to shout, but his throat already felt like it was being ripped apart. Shoving off from the bar, he knocked over the stool while stumbling back to the entrance. The pounding in his head drowned out everything else as he pushed through the door and staggered back into the rain. His vision blurred slightly, and the drops splashing his face made things worse. Squinting his eyes shut, he threw his head back and opened wide. Not even the raindrops could deliver the slightest relief to edge of his tongue. How could he have been so stupid?! He slammed his fist down on the metal roof of Willie’s car. The sound of the impact suddenly echoed clearly despite the continuous headache. He opened his eyes. The blurriness worsened. However, it didn’t affect everything. He wiped the streak-filled window and peered inside the car. While the interior had become a haze of white, somehow the weapon—and every pattern on it—could be seen as if his vision was perfect. And that’s when he noticed it. He leaned in closer to make sure. A moment later, he scrambled around to the passenger door and yanked it open. Less concerned with dripping on Willie’s seat this time, he reached into the back and lifted the sealed weapon that now had a second light illuminated on its sheath. “You’re causing this migraine, aren’t you?” his lips managed in a raspy whisper. The young man didn’t expect a response, but he badly wanted one… some kind of answer to the growing weirdness that he started to assume was connected to this weapon. And it remained a weapon—after a tug—that wouldn’t release. Just what was wrong with this thing? How on earth did he hear it beep from inside the bar? More importantly, was it somehow blocking his memories as well? “Give me something!” he pleaded weakly. “Who am I?!” “Hey, kid!” Willie shouted from the bar’s entrance. “’Member anything yet?”

The young man looked up and opened his mouth to answer when he glimpsed a semi entering the intersection at the end of the block. Although it didn’t do anything spectacular, like plow through half a dozen cars before exploding into a property damaging fireball, something about the symbol on its side drew him. It looked like the blue outline of a star with the top point segmented and a stylized green “N” overlaying the rest. Nothing about NeWave Industries—printed below the symbol—rang a bell, but that star symbol meant… something. He could feel it. Maybe there was something to that drink. Without a second thought or word to Willie, he chased after the semi with the weapon in hand. It was an entirely weird sensation to feel more connected to a funky logo than his own reflection, but he couldn’t deny what he felt… what his mind struggled to discover. Of course, now that he realized he was running through the rain to catch up with a moving 18-wheeler, he had no idea what he would do after catching it. Slow traffic along the road ahead helped him gain ground as he ran “NeWave” through his mind over and over. Nothing came. Could he have worked there? Or maybe someone he knew? Any answer would do as long as it jogged a memory… any memory. Unfortunately, the crosswalk light caught him as soon as he reached the intersection. Heavy traffic discouraged him from a quick jaywalk, but he kept an eye on the semi steadily creeping down the four-lane road ahead. That’s when he noticed his vision had begun to clear, which made it more curious how he managed to see the logo from the bar’s parking lot a few dozen yards away in the first place. Now that the thumping in his head lessened, he could think. He could question if the blurriness was truly caused by the cocktail or the locked weapon he still chose to carry around. He could ask himself why he felt so drawn to the thing that could’ve somehow been the source of his amnesia. He could grow frustrated at how long it was taking the crossing light to change! A loud crash filled the air, followed by a pair of successive booms that sounded like thunder nearby. Weird how the thunder didn’t sound like it came from the sky. The solid ground beneath his feet even trembled a little. Then came a cacophony of horns blaring from the same direction the truck headed. He looked up. The light had changed. He hadn’t even noticed people scrambling to and away from the loud noises, covering their heads with umbrellas, thick newspapers, and whatever else was handy to stave off the rain. He pushed through the cluster, melding with the flow that headed across the street and down the busy sidewalk towards the noises. Whatever caused people to lean on their horns up ahead also stopped traffic, giving him the chance to run out into the street next to the idle semi. Rain splashed his face as he stared up at the logo again. Still not placing it, he jogged over to the passenger door of the cab and stepped onto the running board. “Excuse me,” he said after pulling the door open. “What does NeWave do?” The dark skinned, skinny man behind the large steering wheel stared back at him behind a pair of wide-rimmed glasses like he had lost his mind. “Boy, are you blind?” The man pointed towards the windshield. The young man noticed the extra height from the cab allowed him to get a clearer view of the commotion in the road ahead. Apparently, the random crashes of thunder weren’t connected to the rainfall. Through the drenched windshield and rhythmically swinging wipers, he could make out a pair of figures in the middle of the road several cars ahead. He couldn’t really make out features on either of them, especially since the rain started to come down harder, but he could tell they were fighting… and not in any way that looked normal. When one moved, a sort of darkness appeared to follow him. It almost seemed the shadows shifted around him, but for all the young man knew, his vision could’ve been screwing with him again. He couldn’t even tell what was casting the shadows in the first place. However, there was no mistaking the weirdness surrounding the other person. Whenever he—actually, the way it moved looked more like a she—attacked, thunder crashed as small, bright sparks seemingly appeared out of nowhere and vanished in a flash. Just catching one of them off a glance made his eyes burn a bit. Diverting his gaze, the young man finally asked, “What’s going on?”

The truck driver sighed heavily and leaned back in his seat. “Prob’ly a pair of them freaks you been hearing about lately. Y’know, the ones with superpowers and stuff, like the films.” The young man didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but he could tell that whatever was going on in the battle threatened the people in the area. Those loud, bright sparks looked like enough of a problem to send people running. In fact, some had already abandoned idling vehicles closest to the battle, but they hadn’t cleared the area. Most of them kept just enough distance so they could be spectators in the rain… which was doubly stupid. “Shouldn’t they run?” The man laughed. “And miss the show? Feh… Now either git in here and shut my door or move on, kid.” Sticking around wasn’t exactly a sound idea. But where to go? Back to Willie? Ask him if he knew anything about NeWave? One thing was for sure. He didn’t want to get sucked into the weird battle going on, and something within him really wished the bystanders would put more distance between it and them as well. He didn’t want any of them to be harmed, especially if— A loud beep echoed in his ears again, soon followed by that throb near his temple. He looked down at the weapon and sure enough, a third bar was lit. He pretty much guessed nothing would happen until all five bars glowed blue. But what was it doing? Charging? No, that didn’t make any sense. It’s not like the thing was plugged into an outlet. Maybe it was some kind of strange timer counting down to… something. A sudden snap of rattling thunder erupted, demanding his attention. Tandem large sparks lit up the street between swarming, black shadows that carved through the light like razor-sharp scythes. The constantly shifting of light and dark made it impossible to see the combatants through the rain anymore, and the sparks—growing in intensity as well as size—impacted several vehicles nearby. “We need to—!” His insistent desire to leave the area was cut short upon a spot in his vision clearing through the downpour. It was as if the semi’s water-streaked windshield faded from view and every plummeting raindrop outside fled the direct line of sight to a child standing across the street on the sidewalk… way too close to the action. “Move, kid,” he muttered a moment before another large spark exploded with enough force to knock the child back, sending her sprawling across the wet concrete. Without a second thought, he jumped out of the semi, wondering where the child’s parents were during this mess. As soon as he rounded the front of the truck, a sudden bright light consumed his vision and burned his eyes before he could squeeze his lids shut. The deafening thunderclap that immediately followed sent a ringing through his ears and hurled him back through the air. He even managed to catch a glimpse of the semi’s front end lifting off the ground before his back crashed into the windshield of a compact. He rolled off the hood and slammed into the asphalt shoulder first. He cried out, as if his voice could be heard over the tandem crashes of thunder and frantic screams of frightened pedestrians finally fleeing the area. Though the ringing dominated all sound, another sound managed to make itself known. Another—louder—beep echoed so hard that it rattled his skull and challenged the pain in his left shoulder. By reflex, his fingers curled tightly. Somehow, the weapon remained within his grasp, and for the moment, he couldn’t focus on much beyond that. Head-racking vibrations nearly blacked out his entire vision… with the exception of one sole object. When his head rolled aside uncontrollably, he opened his eyes and could perfectly see the crying child even though the thunderous crashes went mute, the cool drops of rain pelting his flesh ceased, and the heavy stench of exhaust and ozone dissipated. There was just the child—a terrified little girl who could do nothing but weep her eyes out while curled up in a ball. Where were her parents?! Someone had to remove her from danger! No doubt those exploding sparks would incinerate the girl if they exploded within a couple feet of her! Someone needed to help her!

He blinked. A car appeared—“reappeared” would be a more fitting word. Yet, the rest of the world remained black. That was probably a good thing considering the car was upside-down and hovering several feet above the child. “Move!” he shouted for all the good it did. He couldn’t even hear his own voice. Even worse, he couldn’t move a muscle below his neck. “I swear, I’ll save you! I SWEAR!” A fifth beep resonated. The audial world returned. The throbbing between his ears quickly degraded. The black in his vision gave way to the visible world, returning gradually every few seconds. He could see each individual raindrop creeping toward the ground by the millimeter. He could hear the muffled boom of a spark as it began its initial stage of eruption. But more importantly, he could move again. Pushing through the pain and confusion, he scrambled to his feet and ran for the child. The world steadily grew clearer. The drops accelerated toward the ground. The only thing that mattered was the next few steps. Nothing was more important. He knew that while watching the floating car edge closer to the child. Without thinking, he lunged forward while drawing the sword from its sheath. Shouting, he swung the slightly curved blade upward with all the force he could muster in the moment the rain resumed beating down on him. Among the continuous crashes of thunder, a light metallic shing cut through the air for barely an instant. He would have missed it himself if it wasn’t for the weird sensation the nest few moments brought. Even though the world was clear again and ran at its regular speed, his eyes registered every detail as if things were still in slow-motion. He’d just managed to bring the sword up in the time for the tip of its blade to scrape across the roof of the vehicle. But the metallic sound had been more than just the sword against metal. During his swing, the space around the blade became distorted, causing a swift ripple effect along the path the blade traveled. As the car collided with the blade and the distortion, it was essentially ripped apart as if a much bigger and stronger weapon cleaved it in two. Half spiraled off to his left and crashed into a furniture store, collapsing the entire front wall under its weight. The other half barely missed the child as it tumbled past and wedged itself in the alley between the store and a warehouse. As soon as he realized the immediate threat had passed, he turned around and scooped up the bawling child, grunting under the extra pain it inflicted on his shoulder. He still had to get her away from the chaotic conflict that showed no signs of letting up. Through her wails, she latched onto his neck as soon as he lifted her up. Practically shouldering her felt odd since he held the sword in hand. He was several yards up the sidewalk before realizing he’d abandoned the sheath. Other than wondering what made the weapon decide to unlock at that particular moment, he began to worry about his growing—and unintentional—attachment to the thing. Wouldn’t a normal person drop both sheath and sword to rescue the child? Blaring sirens from squad cars and emergency vehicles filled the air as they jammed the intersection ahead. It was as close to the action any of them could get on wheels with all the abandoned vehicles cluttering a stretch of the road. When officers clambered out of their cars, a sense of unease washed over him. A guy carrying both a crying child and sharp weapon with all the commotion behind him would surely raise more than a few questions.

One of the squad car drivers ran straight for him, his right hand already tense on his holster. When his mouth opened, an explosion rocked the entire street. The girl squealed and tightened her arms around the young man's neck. Cowering at first, the officer soon reached for him and the child, shouting, “Move! Move!” Useless command though. The young man's stride barely slowed the entire way. If anything, the explosion kicked his pace up a notch. The officer hustled them toward the paramedics while subsequent thunderclaps boomed behind them. The ground still trembled, but at least the girl was relatively safer now. He tried telling her that while carrying her to the male-female pair opening the rear doors of the ambulance. “She got knocked down back there!” he told the medics. “I don’t know if she’s hurt!” “We’ll take it from here,” the woman said. He tried handing the girl over, but she held on with a vice grip. “You’re safe now,” he reassured in the calmest voice his labored breathing could manage. “They’ll help you get back to your parents.” Though still crying, the girl lessened her grip enough for him to wiggle free. It was the first time he managed to get a clear look at her. Despite the tears, a cute, round and wet face stared back at him. Hope filled the sea green eyes locked on him from behind red, messy strands that had been pulled into ponytails on either side of her head. Wrinkles filled her yellow flower-patterned dress, and when she pushed back the hair from her eyes, he noticed a bracelet made of red and gold yarn around her small wrist. Tears still rolled down her cheeks while the medics checked for abrasions or worse. What unnerved him, however, was the girl’s steely gaze. No… It was deeper than that. Something about her eyes stirred a familiar sensation deep within him, even more so than the logo on the truck. Thunder crashed. Loud as it was, it came from above this time. It distracted him for a moment, just long enough to break eye contact. His gaze happened on the sword first. The thing was still gripped tightly in his right hand, its blade streaming rainwater to the ground from its tip. He wondered exactly what happened back there with the thunderous light show and seeming lag of time. Events like these had to be difficult for anyone to forget, even an amnesiac. Absolutely nothing about this city—this world—rang a clear bell, and it was beginning to frustrate him even more. But what now? He didn’t have a clue where to turn. The sword shook. The male medic noticed before the young man could turn away. He tried loosening his fingers from the hilt, but they remained tightly curled. “C’mon,” he muttered, gripping his wrist and shaking it fiercely. “What the--?” “Sir?” the lady medic started. “I can’t open my hand,” he blurted out while noticing the growing intensity of the shaking. The little girl hopped down from the ambulance and grabbed his free hand, tugging as hard as her small fingers could manage. Not wanting her to get pulled into any more weirdness, he tried breaking away from her. Strangely, his hand wouldn’t swat her fingers away like he wanted, allowing her to fight for another chance to grab hold. The more the sword shook, the more he felt himself losing control of his body. Suddenly, his feet edged away from them. More frightening, they shuffled back in the direction of the explosions.

“Where are you going?” the male medic shouted. “It’s not me!” the young man shouted back. “I can’t control my legs!” The little girl finally caught another desperate grip on his slippery wrist. For a moment, he grabbed her small wrist, wanting to exert some form of self-control. When he realized each painful step pulled her toward the chaos, he struggled to loosen his grip. His fingers now stiff and difficult to uncurl, he shouted, “Grab her, please!” The lady medic took the little redhead in her arms, causing her to cry out. Realizing he was steadily losing control of his body, the young man tried wrenching free from the little girl’s grasp. His fingers barely responded, loosening just enough for the lady medic to pull the girl’s hand free. However, the man’s fingertips inadvertently snatched off the girl’s yarn bracelet in the same motion. When his hand clamped shut around it, he could only listen as the girl’s wails seemed to drown out the rain and thunder. No matter how hard he tried, his fingers would not release the bracelet nor the sword. “Hey!” the officer shouted, pushing against the young man in utter futility. The constantly shaking sword continued to guide his steps back toward the fierce battle continuing to rage in the streets. “Stop!” The young man couldn’t even respond now. His lips defied his will, refusing to do more than tremble. Maddening since his legs did the opposite. The relentless officer pulled with his every ounce of strength but could do nothing to slow the young man’s stride. It was a terrifying feeling to watch his body continue to move independent of his will. Above all else, he deeply wished the officer could do something to stop him. Any hope in that fleeting desire died seconds later when the officer practically gave up his efforts after being dragged several yards down the drenched sidewalk. But why can’t I stop? he thought before his eyes were drawn to an unnatural illumination on the ground near the vehicle he’d been flung into. As he drew closer, the illumination looked more like a rippling puddle of light spread across a section of the sidewalk. That was when he noticed the sheath. It curiously lay almost in the middle of the growing puddle, and it appeared the liquid light was inside it. Personally, he would have chosen to reach the sheath without stepping in the strange liquid. His feet did not share the same sentiment. They stepped right into the middle of the puddle before his body crouched to grab the sheath without releasing the bracelet. The various symbols on its surface glowed white similarly to the puddle, but after lifting the sheath, he realized the stream of glowing fluid poured out of the sheath itself. He tilted it downward, allowing the fluid to run onto the ground. Whatever it was continued to gush forth with alarming volume, like a faucet with a broken valve. The small puddle grew more turbulent as its size expanded across the sidewalk. It began doubling over itself, creating waves that climbed higher with each splash. Even the fluid at his feet pulled away, adding to the scaling wall of liquid. When its height easily doubled his, the fluid began to taper off from the sheath. By that point, the wall looked more like cycling waterfall feeding and drawing from the inches-high "pool" at its base. It wasn’t until the last drop fell from the sheath did he realize the bars on its surface had gone dark again. Although the symbols still glowed, he had a thought. The sword in his hand still trembled, but he cautiously attempted to return it within the sheath. It took several moments to guide the sharp tip of the blade inside without nicking his hand. Once the tip no longer endangered his hand, he quickly slid the sword inside until a click echoed louder than the cacophony already in play around him. The sword gradually stopped shaking with the glow of the symbols fading. Checking to make sure things had returned to normal, he gave the hilt a tug. It wouldn’t draw out. Somewhat fortunate for that, he began to wonder when exactly he’d regained control of his body. Correction: majority control of his body. For unknown reasons, his hands still would not relinquish the sword nor the bracelet. The confusing thoughts took a backseat upon noticing the light within the liquid coalescing beneath the waterfall’s surface into the shape of a wavy rectangle. It was like staring into a distorted door of light. “What now?” he muttered with little effort. His shoulder still aching, body soaked to the bone, and no spark of a memory to his identity, the young man stared with a deep desire for a sense of normalcy. Part of him expected someone or something to emerge from the waters, but nothing did after several seconds. Then he stepped back. “You want to go through.” Though the statement was aimed at the sword, he kept his eyes on the light and chuckled. Now he understood why the sword wouldn’t allow him to let go. The first thought that entered his mind was the toss the thing right into the light. He frowned. What projected the light anyway? What’s the worst that would happen if he entered it? Death by drowning? Maybe, if he ran really fast, he’d just emerge on the other side a little wetter… if that were possible. “But if I’m lucky,” he thought aloud, “I’ll get total recall.” Inhaling deeply, he lowered his head and charged into the light. Far, far away… watching silently with eyes like endless, serene ocean, a feminine presence expresses no emotion from the events recently transpired under her watchful gaze. After witnessing the gateway’s closure upon entry of the Chronoblade, her attention is drawn elsewhere. A line that slips into the past. Countless choices need be carefully monitored. Give and take forever by her side, maintaining balance with careful precision. She ensures the proper path is followed within the beat of a single heart… because time waits for no man. END