Christian POV
If life was supposed to be getting better from here, it most definitely wasn't.
Hey. I'm Chris. Or Christian. However you may like to say it. I'm supposed to be the protagonist, so I should better keep talking.
I come from a modern world. A modern, western world. You would probably know which country I live in if I told you I ate chicken salad, string cheese, and onion rings. Yup. That's the place.
I work in the prototype lab, a laboratory where people of all ages (actually more like teenager to adult) go to make really cool gadgets, weapons, crafts, and other useful things that are basically futuristic things much farther in time than the last time we thought the earth orbited around the sun. I'm a trusted member of the lab, and I am a currently a 16 year old male. (It's more like 516, but that comes later.)
You see, we have these weapons of mass destruction and guns of innovation. We have sci-fi plasma cannons and portal guns and time stopping wave rays that stop time in a certain area. (That's how I'm 516. The big details come much later.) I've gone all over in different universes so much, in places where magic exists, thing where you never imagined were real, were real! I've probably been going around so much, that a little part of the front of my hair has turned white and my eyes glow gold yellow from my usual brown, so that's nice I guess.
Most importantly of all, I have an immense amounts of life puppets. These puppets would be cute, if it weren't for the fact that they look like yourself, they're glowing, and they're stabbed with ten needles. Why are they so important? They save you from death. But I wanted to help others in times of need, because I felt bad. So I turned the life essence of the puppet by squeezing it into a yellow fluid, (gross, I know) and stuck it in a needle gun. It was basically stem cells that would immediately heal the organism, if you didn't believe magic.
When I got all these things, where do I put all of it? Thanks to a couple magic planets, I have an infinity bag, where it can hold anything, no matter how big or the quantity. The bag would only show its contents to its original owner and not anyone would also come back to its owner. Seems overpowered, I know. But many protagonists have a hubris. Or a couple. And I'm going to tell you one of them. Being slow. And I hated myself for it.
That's what I thought when I was falling through the air, with a ruined hovercraft on my left, and a heaping mess of wire and metal trapping my arms from doing anything.
If I weren't so slow, I would've been done with the situation already. I knew I would be fine when I hit the ground, thanks to those life puppets. But pain hurts, and I didn't like pain. No one likes pain. But I was going to get it anyways.
3…
2…
1…
BAM!
What do you expect? I blacked out from the impact.
