AN-Just doing this for fun. Don't expect much from it. Parts are labeled for my own personal organization. Let me know if it's too annoying. Also, slow start. Will try to answer any questions asked.

Distant Thunder

Arc 1 - Doppler Effect

Chapter 1 - Waking up here wasn't some joke. Something funny, I must've smoked.

Part 1~Thunder,

There was a fundamental shift.

The crack of thunder booming directly overhead startled me awake. I kept my eyes closed, waiting for the ringing in my ears to stop. The sound was far louder than anything I'd ever heard by magnitudes, reverberating inside me for several terrifying seconds, rattling me to the core. I let out a weak whimper as my insides churned, slowly becoming aware of the distant sounds of storms and screams as I regained my bearings.

Rain fell freely on my face, confusing me, but bringing me back to my senses. My eyes snapped open, staring up at a starless black sky with clouds and mountains in the background. Lightning danced across the sky in the far distance, close to the peak where mountain and clouds blended. The flashes were trailed shortly after by the far-off rumble of thunder.

That struck me as odd, what I was seeing now was far, far in the distance—further than I should've been able to see without glasses. The thunder I was hearing was also nowhere near the level of sound that I'd just heard. I stared up at the sky, trying to put together what was happening when some premonition hit me. I stared up at the point resonating the strange feeling, overwhelmingly confused at what I was so clearly feeling. In the next instant, I was blinded by a massive fork of lightning lancing from that exact spot, striking me dead center.

For a brief second, there was nothing but white.

Then, both pain and blinding light encompassed my entire being for a short eternity.

The light vanished in the next instant, searing itself forever into my memory.

The pain stayed behind.

My eyes burned, feeling as if flash boiled inside of my skull.

My skin was raw, more of a sandpaper-like texture than actual skin.

My lungs seemed to be quickly filling with superheated air.

The worst feeling that struck me was the new set of veins branching out. They were a liquid fire burning tracks underneath my skin, tattooing the pain onto my soul.

I couldn't convince myself that this was a dream.

I screamed, the pain far too intense. My wailings sounding weak and strange to my numb ears, almost as if listening through a filter. I screamed until I was hoarse, but no help came. My screaming petered out to a small whimper as I realized the direness of my situation.

'I could die here,' I made clear to myself, mentally iterating the thought. One of the repeated lines struck a cord, spurring me into action.

I risked movement, expecting the worst. The pain was still there, but the intensity hadn't ramped up, allowing me to move through tears. It was uniquely difficult to reach up, almost as if my nerves didn't work the same way, damaged by the electricity. There was a warm, wet trickle leaking out from my ears, mixing together with the rain still falling on my face. Panic welled up inside me, along with another sensation that I couldn't describe. I cried my heart out, begging for any relief to be found. I was blind, in pain, and so very confused.

I froze, unable to move as heavy tension built in the air. It had a physical feel to it, like static hanging in the air. Several claps of thunder so massive they rivaled the first sprung into existence, turning my world into nothing but noise again. Terror gripped me as that strange feeling of premonition built up once more, forming from multiple points this time.

It was a tender mercy that blackness consumed me.

Part 2~then lightning.

When I next woke, I found myself resting on my side, staring at a nondescript grey wall through black bars, completely awake and aware as if a switch had been flipped. It spooked me, but I casually took it in stride, filing it away for later thought.

The dream had made an impression on me, motivating me to do something. Anything to get my mind off of it.

I absently tried sitting up, unused to waking up in this alien fashion, but nothing quite worked how I wanted it to. Slight twitches rippled down my body instead of true movement, making me intimately aware of the ailments that plagued me. Every point that made contact with what I was lying on was sore as if I'd spent several days on it. My skin was almost rubbed raw in some areas, extremely sensitive to any minute adjustments. It was thankfully nowhere near as uncomfortable as to what I'd felt from the nightmare before. I frowned, wondering if this was just a sadistic continuation of it.

I tried lifting my hand, finding that I could move it with that same unique difficulty from before. Now that I was thinking clearer, it seemed distinctly similar to the moment a cast is taken off—awkward, but perfectly healthy. My frown grew deeper making the connection to the accident I had when I was younger.

A quick, casual check let me confirm that nothing was seriously damaged: I could smell and breathe perfectly fine, there was no damage to my ears, eyesight was blurry as usual, and my sense of touch wasn't skewed in the slightest. It was just movement that I was struggling with.

As I thought more on the strangeness of my situation, things began making less and less sense. If I'd been asleep or in a coma, I would've expected to be stiff and sweating, along with hungry or thirsty. I wasn't feeling any of that besides slight discomfort, no signs that I'd been struck by lightning, and no signs that this was a dream either. Everything felt distinctly real. At this point, I managed to figure out how to floppily lift my hand to eye level—promptly going wide-eyed.

'That isn't my hand,' I realized, the panic that I felt before stirring.

My eyes flicked across the room, trying to pick something out that would explain what was going on. Nothing stood out to me. I was essentially in a black cage with bars inside a small grey box. There were no doors, windows, or anything that could tell me where I was. It certainly wasn't a hospital or my room. The question of how I was getting air came to mind but was ignored in favor of focusing.

With trepidation, I checked myself more extensively, trying to sense what my body felt like outside of the discomfort.

I instantly realized that everything was different, but not wrong. It escaped my attention before, but it was glaringly obvious now that I was focused on it. I was small, almost dwarf-like in stature, though it didn't feel strange as I tried to stretch out my limbs. My arms, legs, and fingers were incredibly stubby with fat clinging to the bone, not what I was used to, but not bothering me either. Confusingly, it seemed as if I was almost infant sized.

Something clicked, and everything slowly started to make sense. 'Infant sized,' I iterated, thinking the idea over. It was possible. Not likely, but possible.

'I guess that there's only one way to know,' I resolved, flicking my tongue and pressing it where my teeth weren't.

Strangely enough, that singular fact made me realize that I'd been reborn and was now an infant. It wasn't the fact that I'd lost my teeth. No, it was the fact that I didn't feel unusual about not having teeth in the slightest. I felt no compunction to rub at spots my teeth were missing, and couldn't find anywhere that teeth broke the surface of my gums. I wasn't physically uncomfortable with the changes to my body, because this was my body, with the ingrained instincts and all.

Mentally, I was rocked. I spent several minutes worrying about what kind of effects that this would have on my psyche, then quickly turned my attention to more practical, less theoretical matters. I decided on a goal and began breaking it down, working through the steps. I was still a boy, thankful that somehow that transitioned also. Trying to put together how old I was based on my physical appearance was difficult, but not impossible. There was no way for me to observe my own body, and I also couldn't sit up or support myself yet, which put me at the less than several months old range. My goal easily and quickly accomplished, I began thinking of what else I could do in here, only to become thoroughly stumped. Being unable to move properly meant there honestly wasn't much to do, and I quickly found myself becoming nervously bored. That wasn't good, I wanted to put my mind off worrying and be productive.

'Being reborn is exciting and all, but what kind of insane place puts babies into enclosed cells?' The thought came unbidden, my doubts surfacing it with nothing else to focus on.

I could only speculate on it, which I did wildly. I weakly gripped the bars in my miniature baby hands, barely able to grasp my crib of penance. I tried to calm myself as gruesome images of worst-case scenarios came to mind, failing miserably. I started to shake as fear gripped me, desperate for a distraction.

To my surprise, I found that the bars on my cage were fairly flimsy, bending ever so slightly to any applied pressure. They even had a rubbery texture to them, making me second guess if this really was a prison for people committing the crime of being reborn.

I paused, an insane idea forming.

I debated the merits of it, shrugged, and began crying—acting my age for all I was worth. I cried so hard that snot dripped from my nose and down my face, then ignored the urge to stop and sniffle to continue pushing my lungs to their limits. My screams reached fevered pitches, hurting my ears in the confined quarters.

It was humiliating and degrading, but it was in my best interest to learn about where I was. I had the grand idea that if I was put in a box, someone should be watching me. There was no way for me to tell if my commotion was working or not, but I figured that if I kept screaming for long enough, something would eventually happen.

Several minutes passed, my voice was starting to strain, taking on a raw tone, but I wasn't tired yet. I'd forgotten that babies had the potential to stay up all night screaming—a truly terrifying weapon of psychological warfare. I remembered that there were studies saying that babies could cry at the perfect pitch to elicit a response from adults. Apparently, I hadn't hit it yet—not being a true child must've had something to do with it, but I had the determination to keep at it until something happened.

Even if it took—

Part 3~Something happened,

When I woke up, I found myself resting on my side, staring at the same nondescript grey wall through black bars, completely awake and aware as if a switch had been flipped. This time I was a little more spooked, taking several seconds to mentally scramble and catch up.

I stayed unnaturally still, processing what just happened. A beat later, I realized that the sores on my body had gotten worse, hurting despite no movement. 'Days, maybe even weeks of not moving,' I noted, wondering just how that came to happen. Breathing was enough to cause pain. I stifled my breath as best I could, becoming unnaturally quiet lest my observers think I should lose more time.

Panic gripped at me, but instead of giving in, I decided to take stock. A quick check left me confused. Everything was physically normal with me, the room was unchanged, and there were no gaps of missing memories aside from when I blacked out. I also wasn't hungry, thirsty, or need to use the bathroom at all. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in, calming myself. 'Okay, the strangeness factor just went up a notch. I can deal with that. But really, did they just sleeping gas a kid? What is going on here?'

The question was left unanswered, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Hours went by with no change at all. There still wasn't anything for me to do inside my grey box. I twiddled my hands, babbled as a baby would, and further completed the image that I was a normal kid with random drool strategically placed. I couldn't support myself to sit up and explore or push my boundaries, so I played dumb. I became incredibly bored with it, even with the prospect of losing time hanging over me if I acted out of place. I debated the merits of trying my luck at crying again but couldn't see how that would change anything. If they decided that I was feral, they may not deem to wake me up—ever.

Like that, I found most of the time passing in sullen acceptance of my fate. I couldn't keep track of time, but eventually, I did get hungry and thirsty. That thought excited me, letting me know that my observers weren't omnipotent. I found myself torn between crying out and trying to catch a glimpse of what put me to sleep. If putting off what I needed for a couple hours would benefit me, I'd gladly do it—so I did. I kept my charade on throughout the entire time, seemingly oblivious as a baby should be.

Eventually, the hunger and thirst compounded, turning ravenous. The need to use the bathroom came and went what felt like hours ago. Sitting in the foul mess was awful, disgusting, and humiliating—but it yielded results.

There was no tell in the room, but I could somehow sense that something was different. I casually looked around aimlessly, trying to pinpoint what was off, then realized that it seemed to resonate from everywhere. The feeling felt familiar, but I couldn't name it. It washed over me, tickling at my new veins, seeping inside and curiously poking around. I'd nearly forgotten about them. It reminded me of the unpleasant, dreamlike experience of nearly dying to get them.

My breath caught in my throat, terror rising as I relived the memory again. Something shifted in the veins, the next second they constricted painfully. A sudden feeling of premonition struck me, the same as before, even though I was inside away from the sky. The spot was directly overhead, with no way for me to avoid it.

The terror rose to new heights with its appearance, I could hear thunder playing out in my head, feel how my body was almost destroyed by the unnatural phenomenon from before. My heart raced, weakly hammering against my tiny ribcage. I didn't realize how badly I was affected by what I thought was just a nightmare. I wasn't sure what was going on, I just knew that I wanted it to go away.

And it did. That strange, familiar feeling withdrew swiftly along with the premonition. I strangely missed it. There was no gradual disappearance of it, just the absence of it suddenly imposing itself in my cell. I might've missed what caused it, but I didn't care. I sucked in huge breaths, heart pounding at the prospect of near death.

I then threw up all over myself, either from terror or the smell that clung to my infantile body.

I cried myself to sleep. There was no faking this time.

Part 4~that I learn to accept.

I woke up the same as usual, finding myself resting on my side, listlessly staring at a nondescript, boring grey wall through black bars, completely awake and aware as if a switch had been flipped. The strange feeling was in the room as I expected, but I wasn't spooked—I'd grown far too used to it for that. I routinely checked myself, ignoring the pain from my bed sores, bored with the cycle that must've happened dozens of times.

Wake up with necessities taken care of, fall asleep when needed to be taken care of.

'Why though, are my bedsores never taken care of?' I wondered dully, the thought failing to expand further. I was too tired to studiously think.

The only flavor in my life was that strange, familiar feeling hanging in the room. The feel of it changed slightly every once in awhile, but the general feeling of it was always the same—familiar and strange, unable to place a name for it. Several times I woke up, feeling it in the room with me, only for it to quickly go away. Once, it started poking in my veins as I slept, instantly waking me. I freaked out, leading to the feeling of premonition forming in the air.

I was promptly knocked out in the regular fashion, but then instantly awake the next, feeling it digging its way inside me. It backed off as soon as premonition formed in the air again. Me getting knocked out and waking up to intrusion repeated several more times in what I guessed was the span of minutes, leaving me haggard and worn after the ordeal. It hadn't happened since, but anytime the feeling was in the room I was now on guard.

I couldn't tell if they were trying to break me. Time started to lose it's meaning, simplifying down to awake and asleep. Anytime the feeling appeared in the room, I'd wake up. It was instinctual, almost a 6th sense. To me, lack of sleep was nothing compared to the prospect of death that hung in the air anytime the feeling made its way inside me. Death was a great motivator.

This time, the feeling hung in the air. I glanced around, unsure of what was different. It didn't close in, alter in any way, or make any adjustments—it was just making itself known, not bothering to leave. Maybe, if I focused I could feel it slightly pressing up against me, but it was nowhere near the level of intrusion that I felt before and probably just my imagination. I warily looked around, waiting for something different to happen.

Nothing did, so I settled down in wait. It made me uneasy with the change of pace, but the feeling wasn't trying anything. I found myself suddenly and strangely tired, feeling the lack of sleep catching up to me. I didn't doubt that I'd wake to the feeling of premonition if it tried to seep in, so I took a second to debate, then decided that I could chance to sleep in the same room with it.

I promptly drifted off. A strange, familiar, and happy dream awaited me, making me uneasy. It was nothing like the bone-weary, dreamless sleeps that I'd grown used to. This dream was incredibly abstract, laced with general happiness and the feeling of a good night's rest. That was ridiculously pointed for a simple dream. It was something I'd expect a child to be dreaming, something easily forgotten by the time morning comes. It made me suspicious. I couldn't tell if it was some trick, making me grow even more uneasy.

My veins twitched in response to my doubt, rousing me. The dream was dispelled, leaving me wondering if it was all just an illusion. Anyways, I was surprised. That was the first time I'd felt my new veins move without any pain being associated with it. There was no premonition, no panic, and no sense of danger. It actually felt relatively nice. The strange feeling was still laced in the air, unmoving with no changes. I heard faint rustling as I came to, peaking my interest.

I opened my eyes, confused at what was going on. Hovering over me was someone in a silver mask, wearing nondescript black clothes, fiddling with the lid of a bottle. The mask was simple, having two tiny slits for eyes and several strange markings on the forehead. What looked like a tiny engraving of clouds stood out to me. I blinked, trying to put together what I saw, not coming up with anything. Something must've given me away because the hovering figure tilted their head towards me.

I wasn't able to get a read on them. Their expression was covered by their mask, but I was still able to feel a sense of dread emanating from behind it. I shifted my attention from them, glancing behind the figure and noticed that a section of the wall of my room was simply gone. Looking through it, I saw half a dozen tense similarly dressed masked figures staring through the conjured doorway inside—directly back at me.

"Found you~" I called out, grinning widely.