Chapter 1
Thomas
It should've been a normal day, that stupid Tuesday.
"Yes, I'll be home for dinner, mom."
"Your father and I have been planning this for weeks now, you hear?"
She always did prefer redundancy to simple, crisp, and clear replies. "I'll be there by eight, and yes, they won't rope me into any more overtime. I promise."
"Good," she said. "See you soon sweetie."
"Bye for now, love you." I hung up.
The clouds weren't any more ominous than an hour or two of rain at their worst and judging by the annoyed traffic honking to a snail's pace, today was sure to be conducive for just not giving a fuck. Even after so many years there, having to cuddle with those goddamned audit pricks still ruffled my jimmies.
Crossing the street and dodging a stray newspaper floating in the stale wind, I swiped down the screen and checked the time: nine forty-five. I remember when I first started this job I made it a point to always show up thirty minutes early—with eight thirty at my latest, then the compliance department happened.
Damned audit bastards.
Smog blanketed the streets as sunlight filtered through in rays. The big burning ball of fire peeked over the horizon, yet the calm glow conflicted with the angry red road rage down here. It was a given how much traffic we got, but it didn't help attract people to pay more attention to the place. Cars, trucks, the occasional bus, and the many dozens of douchebags on motorbikes littered the streets of Tulley, and for us blessed enough to not need them suffered their presence anyway.
It was sheer dumb luck all those years ago how I'd landed a job just a few minutes away from my flat. The pro obviously was how I didn't have to go far every damn day. The con, however, was that I was the guy management went to to fix most of the shit that popped up. It wasn't bad per se, and less a testament of effort and more of necessity, I got some nice raises along the years and a nifty promotion that more or less allowed me to settle into a cushy career.
Now if only I had a life besides that.
Old street lamps on old sidewalks passed like an old cartoon's background while faded red fire hydrants punctuated every other block. Tulley was an older part of the city left behind by the times. There were no buildings higher up than twenty storeys, and its skyline was a uniform stonewashed grey—the structures having been built close to and aged together through the years. The streets were just as bland in dull asphalt, almost blending in uniform with the curb.
And then Hubert and Hubert Defense's office stuck out in vibrant aluminum paneling red like a bloody screaming pimple whenever the sun rose or set. That, or a bloody dick according to those hippie protesters. I was half a mind from running from the restructuring meeting in an hour. Half because murder was illegal, but a guy could dream, and half because not showing up could cost me my cushy job. Even if I'd already climbed my way up from the shit stains off management's boots.
A horn blared bloody murder.
"Get off the road dumbass!" The man in the too tight shirt honked up a storm from his beat-up sedan.
"Sorry," I said to the balding Pillsbury dough boy wannabe.
I was too caught up plotting a crime I'd failed to notice I'd already crossed into the next street. He wasn't familiar though, so that was a small mercy at least.
The one thing I hated about Tulley was despite the nice coffee shops, parks, grocers, and pretty much everyone who lived here was that anyone who got on these roads magically turned into grade A assholes like it was some shitty spell the city cast on them. Then again, that's probably what happens when the subway doesn't cut through your part of the metro.
"Fucking idiot," the man grumbled, then sped for all of five feet before stopping at the next rush hour queue of near eternity.
That guy could go suck it. Believe me when I say working for a military contractor doesn't help with anger management issues. Getting it done was easy enough in theory, but it was the clean-up that tripped off the feds. So yeah, that guy gets to maybe live for another few years if his road rage doesn't give him a stroke or heart attack somewhere down the road before I went postal.
I went back on my way, merrily skipping—read as walked like a proper adult—to the schadenfreude of these poor louts suffering through traffic hell.
One block faded into another then a quick turn around the corner of the next building. And viola, the oldest McDonald's ever. For the metro at least.
I entered and was greeted with the aroma of too hot grease and fresh fries in the air. They held the promise of a proper day ahead.
"Hey Tom," said Casey. She was a new face, friendly and young and not that jaded yet with the ways of the world. A sweet summer child and a management trainee to boot. "You having the usual?"
"I shouldn't." Said common sense and my fears of bulking up again, but two critical issues over the past three days said I needed this more. "But I will anyway."
Casey scrunched her nose. "It pays my salary, you're doing me a service, Tom."
No need to make the world any less kind than it already was. And besides, she wasn't exactly here to actually man a store. Had she been working those fryers, and no matter what anyone said everyone—and I mean everyone—would one day end up working those beasts one way or another, would screw her skin up in a heartbeat. No, her type was the main office kind where all the other think tank people were, the well-kept hair and the properly observed skin care regimen said so.
She was like me.
A notification came with a buzz. It was ten now with the sun well above the low skyline, and I just received the first of today's shipment updates: munitions and replacement hammers were on point, but the barrels were delayed. Not outside of expectations, but things going out of plan still sucked anyway.
Casey punched out the numbers and I tapped my card on the terminal when she gestured to it.
Then a call came in. It was Jim from IT. Screw these incompetent shit biscuits, but as someone who carried weight with our own department, propriety demanded I answer as a proper professional, "Hey Jim."
"Hey Tom," a Laura answered back.
Fuck me sideways three ways to Thursday.
"H-hey, Laura"—shit shit shit—"is Jim doing alright?"
Note to self, that no good shit stain of a waste of matter is dead to me.
"He's fine Tom," she said, terse. "But you've got a meeting in ten minutes, and I am not getting in the same room with those demon spawn. Get your ass here. Now."
"I'm stuck in traffic, I'll be there soon." Maybe if I booked it to St. George's hospital I can still make it to Doc Zimmer's first appointment for a quick game of hookie?
"Baker street, the green apartment building just after the deli. Second floor, room three." That wasn't a threat but a statement of fact.
Ah, audit, fuck you guys. "You know what, I'm really near the building already." I was five blocks away. "I'll be there soon."
"Good," she said, and hung up.
"Duty calls?" Casey passed me the paper bag that someone else prepared for her.
"Thanks, Case," I said. "See you tomorrow, maybe?"
She shrugged. "Maybe try that with a tonight next time?"
I sighed. "If I'm still alive by then, sure."
That was that. I tightened the straps of my backpack and prayed all the little nicks and doodads wouldn't stab me accidentally when I started running. Laura was a great cook, and an even better friend, but when audit started breathing down her neck our three years in college together went out the window faster than a guy could fall down a flight of stairs.
Or how I figured how long it'd take once she threw me off.
#
"Tom, we needed that file yesterday," Vito said. He was nursing a headache in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His suit looked and smelled like shit and the guy really needed to get a life outside this rat hole.
We found a— rather the bug in the gps locators earlier and so had to pull out all stops to release a patch and cover it up as soon as we could. This goddamn thing was what was causing us those problems Jim and the others had been wracking their heads over for the last two weeks, and had anything bad happened in that time we weren't watching, then shit would've splattered everywhere. Possibly literally.
The server gods were angry and demanded blood, we probably didn't have enough virgins on shift or something, but at least it wasn't the big guy, Simone, here himself doing the bitching. Maybe I ought to put 'plays Fortnite' as a plus for the next time we were looking for a recruit or something.
On the plus side, I got to cancel the meeting with audit so that was something, but on the horrible and not so fun side, I was stuck again in the office until the wee hours of the night.
And on the night of my parents' anniversary and siblings' birthdays too.
My eyes were already bogged down by ghost writings from staring at the codes all day, hoping against hope I'd see something different and wrong—not just different and stupid. The last guy who coded on this crap basket couldn't make a sentence with two words even after burning through all seven or so brain cells he had left, and that was being generous.
I closed my eyes hard and pressed on them with my palms. The throbbing pain behind them said I'd had more than enough time against the screens already. "Laura already got it twenty minutes ago, that bitch just needs to finish checking for anything off."
It was already eight-fifteen and I had yet to get away from here.
My watch buzzed. It was from mom. Fifteen minutes, it said.
It was hard being one of the most senior guys, but it had its perks. And as much as what little social life I had suffered, my team and bosses were mostly okay. For people I wanted to murder with my bare hands like every other day, that is. It was just how annoying technology was for being so prone to breaking down somewhere somehow eventually that topped the cake.
As much as we humans loved our little trinkets and improvement projects, we weren't as great at keeping things running like clockwork because the goddamn clock smiths weren't perfect. We were human no matter how skilled we were, and there would always be a little bit of stray code here or maybe a loose connection some somewhere and with such big and complex systems of both hardware and software there was so much dependence on the faith that all the devious little details on the edges of awareness would just come together and play a symphony out of this chaos. Maybe if there were magical computers that just did what we wanted then it'd all work out better, but tough luck there. We didn't have the budget for that.
The door burst open and in barged Nikita almost smacking against the clear glass. Her hair was a spectacular mess, but the victorious smile promised something else. "Laura said we're good, let's go live. Now."
Vito threw his paper cup hard into the waste bin and hooted as splotches of coffee decorated the fine carpet and his suit. Thus completing the shit theme he had going on.
I knocked my head against the glass table, the strength having left once that beautiful mess finally handed me my parole. It was over for now and I had better places to be. I started packing away my bag and the rest of my shit. "I gotta go, guys, dinner's waiting."
Vito waved my way, one hand up in the air and waving about his tie. "Tell your family I said hi."
Nikita slumped against her chair, the head of our department so drained from the drama we were getting from the top. "Get me a slice of my favorite too, please? For tomorrow?" she groaned out. "I'm serious."
Not even a triathlete could hold up her shit in front of those magnificent bastards. With a wave goodbye and no looking back, the elevator had me by the lobby the next moment and I was out the door faster than anyone had any right to be.
Our reservations were in this fancy restaurant in the only respectable mall complex in Tulley—which was just a few blocks away from here, thankfully.
My family was already there and I wasn't gonna miss any more of it than I already had. Why else was I working this hard for anyway. I didn't have too many ambitions besides finding immortality. And failing that, there was always making the people that mattered happy—and maybe finding someone else to share that happiness with.
My bag clanked away against my back. The little doodads and my laptop were all having a party inside and it was with high hopes I wouldn't regret forgetting to strap everything down after this. George hated me more than enough already. Seriously, I forgot to turn off the servers one time and poof, bad blood for all the years since then.
One street after another, then dash through the next block. One foot in front of the other. A steady but hurried pace under the power of human feet—and I'd sooner fly all the way there if I could. If only magic was real. But alas, such was life.
It was already so late.
I took my phone out and scrolled for mom, hit call, and ran on.
But one second turned into two, then to three. And still, silence. Not even a notification on why the call didn't go anywhere.
There wasn't anything wrong with my phone as far as I could tell. The screen was working just fine though it was stuck on the call loading animation. And yet there weren't any sounds coming out, nor any indication of a connection made.
Just more silence for the next minute or so that I kept running and hoping.
I hit back. Nothing happened. No matter how expensive or top of the line something was, it would, eventually, still break at one point or another. Even pressing down the power key wouldn't turn it off. It was too much to hope my family hadn't started yet, but it sucked even more to think they might be waiting, thinking I wouldn't come at all.
And without a call either.
I crossed the next street.
And kept going and going along the crosswalk, never reaching the next block.
The cross-walk pattern stayed on the white where my first step landed despite the bite of asphalt against my soles.
I was moving against the ground, or at least felt so, and yet I didn't. Good thing the streetlights were green to cross else I might've been ran over, but there were no cars anywhere.
And Tulley never ran out of traffic.
Walking faster didn't achieve anything more than wind me, even if I was half-running the next bit. Each step rattled all the way up my head and pushed and pulled and strained and still my body wouldn't move. It was like I was on some gigantic treadmill with the rest of the scenery as a backdrop with the colors set to something other than normal.
None of it was right.
I pinched myself and rode through the pain.
Nothing changed.
I gritted my teeth. It wasn't a dream, but it couldn't be reality either unless I ended up with some hallucinations for whatever reason. Was there some logical explanation for what was happening?
Turning back didn't change the scenery either, and I stayed locked facing forward. Neither could I move to either side, and even jumping didn't remove me from where I was cemented.
Taking in a deep breath, it was no small effort to stop and clear my thoughts. But it caught somewhere halfway down my throat as a ringing hissed against my ears together with a thumping pounding pulse. It was beginnings of something else, and I wasn't prepared to go have an episode right now. Not like this.
A slap and a flash of pain helped me focus. At least it wasn't dark out just yet.
But it was just my luck how the lights then dimmed.
From the lonely light of the one street lamp within view, in crept a cloud of shadows from behind it and god knew where.
It obscured the light and masked what little comfort I had left. There weren't any chemicals or combinations that could do all this to a person, but what did I know? I wasn't military—as stipulated in my contract—and I'd left behind my chemistry degree years ago. And even then I doubt I would've read up on something like this.
The cloud spread and clung against the air where it passed, held there like blooms of ink against a heavy gel. There was no wind to carry it had it been smoke, and yet the night was colder than I remembered.
The blackness spread like smoke and stilled like stone, the thick blooms deepening blacker and blacker until the light no longer phased it. It was now so black to the point that all manners of dimension were lost and it was like looking at a hole in reality.
It was wrong.
That's when it came for me. Slowly, oh so painfully slow, pulsating and stuttering and always moving ever forward, but it was clear as day how all of that creeping now inched its way to where I was stuck. The tendrils that had scattered before now angled the very ends of their growths at me. Like some terrible octopus poised to eat its prey beak first.
For what good it did, I still tried to run.
It made sense in my mind that I was moving. But my body did not, like I was stuck in space and not. I was not seeing any changes, and the dissonance threatened and gripped my heart. My breath came shallower and faster, ever faster, as my pulse strode in time with the coming blackness.
The first tendril was not just a foot away.
Then something bright hit the cloud and tore through the wrongness with rays of burning harsh white, and with it came the biting smell of rain.
The cloud spattered and screeched and raked against my eardrums and I wanted nothing more than to cry and scream and hit my head against the pavement from the discord, but my body was still frozen in space and even the small comfort of just being ablt to physically react or try to protect myself was taken away from me.
I bathed in the unnatural screaming, unable to answer with my own.
Then the harsh light cleaved through and parted the blackness into chunks, and where it hit the buildings and the streets the light burned red hot lines of glowing stone through. Trees fell, glass shattered, and stone burned. I didn't dare assume it heated them to that high a temperature in a flash, but I wasn't curious either on its effects on flesh and bone.
And the wrongness wasn't having any of it.
It accelerated and expanded despite the burning to engulf my entirety.
The tendril reached my eye and the rest of me and seeped and burned and electrified my bones, veins, muscles and entirety. I screamed myself raw, or at least tried.
Then the light hit me square in the chest and the white and black clashed and warred and tore me up in the middle.
#
I awoke to daylight and a face full of cobblestone. Tulley's streets were all asphalt and concrete.
I tore my face away from the ground. It was light out. I pushed myself against the worn bricks to sit on my ass. This hangover-like development was nothing short of bizarre. I stayed the night outside, exposed to the elements and unaware of just how I got here. Just what in the name of fuck happened that night?
Shadows that bloomed into the air and light shows from nowhere? It was a scene straight out of a nightmare that left more questions than answers and surprisingly nothing sore.
I remembered the pain and the panic, but felt nothing of it after.
My shadow dropped straight down with the sun up high. It was noon time, and the heat brought warmth to my cold bones. Even crazier was how I was smack dab in the middle of a small alley of a long row of brick houses and wood roofing. There was no such thing in the old city, not even in the oldest of our streets.
A teeny tiny voice at the back of my mind said it had a feeling we weren't in Tulley anymore, but the bigger part of common sense said there had to be an explanation.
Though I was sure I wouldn't like it.
Checking myself over, my phone was still here with the battery full… somehow. That couldn't have been more than thirty or so percent when I last checked, and there weren't any signal bars either. No missed calls too.
I called up mom, but the thing didn't connect. The internet was out as well.
Speaking of my family, it hurt to think of them worrying after what happened. But for now, figuring what, where, and when the fuck was more important. I had no means of communication, but at least my wallet was still with me, and the few bills I kept were still there together with all my cards. Even my passport—which had no new visas secretly stamped out. Nothing was taken. And that didn't compute—unless whoever took me didn't do it for the money.
I knelt down and put my bag on the ground before rummaging through all its pockets. My laptop, power banks, speakers, the few tools I kept, everything I always brought was there—even the loose roll of tissues I took from the toilets for the heck of it. I didn't lose anything except for my memories of how I got here. Which would've been preferred over the laptop really. It was just heavy as hell. Screw George and his budget pinching ass.
That mess last night, or I at least hoped it was just last night and not like a few damn days ago… I didn't want to imagine the shit mom was going through since I never arrived. If I were lucky, she'd just be angry I missed our night with the fam without calling, but if she called Nikita and the others… she'd know something big happened. Not that those idiots had something to do with this, I hoped.
Fuck.
Priorities, Tom. Kidnappings usually meant someone wanted something, and besides what I knew, there were only a few things I might be good for other than maybe a sex slave. Okay, maybe divulging some company secrets are in there, but I'm not that high up the ladder. As far as I know.
I unbuttoned my shirt and touched myself all over, checking for any wounds and besides the few sweat patches on my shirt, there was nothing to find. No stolen kidneys or eyes or feeling weak from getting my blood drawn or something. Nothing.
My hair was a tangled mess and matted. Enough time had passed. I was in the middle of nowhere, and the only other place this looked like was Europe. Any kidnappers worth their fees wouldn't go through the hassle of kidnapping someone without doing anything of note, and I wasn't ugly but I wasn't super good looking enough to be mistaken for good material.
Okay, that last one may be a little flattering but so not the point right now. And besides, I doubt there'd be some sort of rich old lady who wants nothing more than some fresh young man with a cynical outlook on life to marry and spoil into a lavish life of luxury and nothing but sex all day every day.
Fantasies were great and all, but shit like that just doesn't magically appear. If it at all.
I placed my hand against the brick wall, the grit pressed into my palm with a sharp and genuine profile. I lightly elbowed the brick and got a satisfying thud and a little pain despite my sleeves; the little jagged cracks were hard like proper stone.
I stomped on the ground a few times and didn't find anything strange from how solid the pavement was. I jumped up and willed myself to fly—and landed on the ground a moment later. I slapped myself hard, and still nothing.
It was worth a try in case this was a dream. And it clearly wasn't.
I held my phone against the sunlight and tilted its screen to an angle. Light reflected off it with a myriad of colors. Physics was still working as expected and there were no super-duper sophisticated computer simulations I could think of that could properly recreate light diffraction within any simulations available to the public. Again, who knew how far technology had come or if aliens abducted me or I was maybe just hallucinating all of this while tied to a hospital bed.
My stomach growled.
I hung my head and walked on through the alley. I just hoped I wouldn't find myself in the middle of a tentacle people village or something.
The road twisted and curved then opened to a wider street lined with broken down stone walls and moss covered, well, everything. There were some rough cast iron streetlamps with clear glass that had fallen over and rusted in places at a regular internal and no one in sight. And the bricks were all uniform, the sort to have been baked in an oven and not just dried in the sun.
There was a small tower further down with a bell barely visible at the top and some fallen columns by the ground, and in the far-off distance was an even taller tower but that one looked more intact. The leaning tower of Pisa came to mind, but then the darned thing was standing up straight and had a pointy top. Pisa had a flat top.
With nothing else of note to see—because damn did this place hold some history, I turned back and went the other way.
The entire experience so far left just a few farfetched explanations built on very wishful thinking, and a whole lot of bullshit: one, I was under some medical condition that was making me hallucinate; two, I was dead and was now in some after life; three, I went to some parallel universe via time or something else; and four, the messed up kidnapping stint that placed me in some unrecognizable place without a discernable reason.
I read way too much science fiction and fantasy not to call a spade a spade, but damn was it fucked up anyway. How did time work here assuming it was elsewhere? Was I still on the same Earth just in a different kind of dimension? How was I breathing correctly if this indeed were somewhere else? Had Nikita already fired my ass for not bringing her her cheesecake? Was I actually still on the same Earth—and I hoped it was this one—and that this was just somewhere I couldn't recognized since the culture was so different? Meaning I had to have been brought here from where I came from maybe by boat or plane, which was doable with enough drugs…
I put down my bag and took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves. There were no needle holes or anything I could identify. I pulled down my pants and checked my thighs. None here either. I took the selfie stick I had in my bad and rigged up my phone to take suggestive picture of a half naked me, which in context would make sense but if anyone saw they'd only see a pervert out in the open. There were no marks on my ass either.
And if I really were kept out of it with so much drugs, I doubt a dosage that could keep me out of it long enough would need reapplication multiple times.
Fuck. I got dressed up and deleted the panicked nudes I took. Out of necessity and fear. And not out of any other reason… okay maybe this last one looks a little sexy… but no. Not the time.
After that little episode, I kept my eyes pealed for anything that could hint at where I might be. The barren row of houses turned from aging stones to newer bricks, and that's when the noise of daily life wormed in. It was the incessant white noise of people living day to day, talking and doing stuff and all that. That much activity turned up noise, and it was the kind of noise our field guys were always on the lookout for when they were on tour.
I kept walking and soon enough saw laundry hung out to dry here and there, some open windows—some in wood, some in glass—on the higher floors, a few doors but all closed. Good news, the clothes were normal. It was the same t-shirt style with two arm holes and one for the head and one big one for the body. And either I was in the humanoid district or these were all there were. Or these were normal people.
Chancing upon an open window, a quick look in revealed a large lady—not that far off from normal—almost like some sort of gigantic man and just as muscular. She was dressed in a white apron and had a purplish grey dress with her hair done up in a ponytail. She was barking orders at some smaller women in the same clothes as her but with green dresses instead.
Some of those women had animal ears and tails—there was a recent thing on the net about wearable tails so this isn't that far off either—and they were bringing what I believe was food from somewhere to some other—okay, this was a restaurant. There were veggies and meat, the usual anyone would see at a diner, but the blockier woodwork spoke of less finesse—or maybe of budget cuts, and I couldn't recognize any specific dishes. Which didn't really say much because I wasn't too adventurous with my food.
If I could google shit, maybe I might be able to search for a similar recipe visualy and try and work out some region where it was usually served at and make an educated guess from there.
The large lady saw me and said something loud I didn't understand—it wasn't a tone or sound I could recognize. It wasn't Asian for sure, maybe Eastern Europe, or Latino, or African. Which left a huge ass margin, but not impossible. The lack of internet could just be from a mismatched carrier, but the lack of Wifi was more telling.
Still, I had a feeling I didn't want to know what the lady said. I pulled away from the window and continued on, eventually reaching a proper street where other people walked to and from and following the old style of dress the people from the restaurant had on.
But that's about it. Here, there were men and women both with armor pieces strapped to their bodies, some more animal people in skirts, pants, and even some that was for all intents and purposes the sort of bikini armor one might expect from games; it was a varied and anything goes sort of feel.
Okay, so I forgot to add virtual reality death game to the list of possibilities of where I ended up but I could forgive myself that. It didn't make me feel any better though since this and the dream in a coma thing were the worst situations I could be in. Honestly, even ending up in another time or world was better since that'd mean there was a better chance at coming back as opposed to being deathly sick or mentally incapacitated and needing outside care. Some very expensive outside care I or my family wouldn't be able to afford.
Stereotypical elves and dwarves and smaller people—hobbits? They all roamed and bartered and whatever else it was the people did in these, I guess medieval sorts of settings. There were more animal people too, which, I guess would be natural and not simulated through the use of toys. Of note though were the dark skinned women all in, for lack of a better term, lingerie and other near states of undress—it was a sight to take in and had I my priorities less spot on maybe I'd be turned on some more, but no, there were too many questions for me to enjoy how human-like these people—maybe creatures, all were.
Okay, so, that really only ticked off one of my choices, that being I was still on Earth. Assuming this was true.
But then, fuck.
I took a deep breath to steady myself, then sat down on the ground. I massaged the bridge of my nose and groaned out. Then groaned some more. Even seeing all this didn't actually give me a definite answer. What was true was not necessarily what was truth. And even with the genuineness of the experience I was having still did not hammer down a proper explanation.
Light was both a particle and a wave, but that shit was easy because the observer had the fucking luxury of being in a state of having the powert to observe the outcome instead of having to move within the fucking uncertainty.
I clenched my fists and hit the ground. The pain didn't do me any good and the frustration didn't go away either. I could—and would—grit my teeth and grumble all day and just be an all around shit, but none of that would change what I needed to fucking do.
So I screamed.
And screamed and screamed some more for all the shit I had to go through in god knew however long it took. I screamed for the shit that brought me here in the first place. I screamed for the pain of not being able to complain about my day like usual, or for being annoyed at my mom always pestering me to find a girl, or do something else besides my job and watch porn. I screamed for the little scratch I got from my tantrum that might turn out infected because of how stupid I was being.
Then something hit the side of my head.
It was a wooden bowl of some sort, and my temple stung. It came from the left and I saw the large lady from before leaning out of the window. She signed something rude my way, and I bowed my head in apology. Or at least hoped it worked?
She spat and went back to her building.
I took another deep breath and stood up. Screaming myself tired just now helped lessen the building… whatever. Anxiety, anger, frustration, whatever. Now, a common trope of those taken to other worlds was the language barrier and assuming—taking this with a pound of salt—that I really were transported to some setting as I was currently contemplating, then getting help wouldn't do me any proper good unless I can meet some magical NPC who'd lay down the plot for me.
That, or I already received the ability and I could talk without issue and maybe we just magically even shared the same language. But I didn't understand the big lady just, so that didn't died before it could walk.
The wider street was just ahead of me, where more people—I hoped they were people—were and help might be. But on second thought, stepping out into the open and looking nothing like the general populace was usually a bad idea. All it took was a stray word and a little panic to get a mob coming for blood during times of distress.
It was best I didn't risk it.
But then where did I go from here? I doubt I could get away with stealing food—again assuming with a boulder of salt that I was in a reality, simulated or not, where my biological functions mattered—from these people. I was someone born and raised in the city and a computer analyst dammit, I was paid to think, not hit or lift stuff. I didn't have any cheaty magic, nor anything that could be respectable called as a weapon in my bag unless I somehow sharpened the edges of my drinking flask maybe.
I could make my way through the back streets, but the alleyways weren't my friend either. It was only with luck that I hadn't run into any thieves so far—and if this really was that kind of setting then they were all but an inevitability. Hell, even if it wasn't that kind of setting any kinds of backstreets were dangerous too.
Damned either way then.
I punched my fists together as hard as I could, and stepped forward into the unknown. Better the devil you know. At least here I'd probably see who'd stab me if any, and I could make a show of running, crying, and screaming too if it went down to that.
But something held my hand and pulled me back hard.
It was a pretty little redhead in a pony tail and grinning like a madwoman. She was in some skimpy blue and black outfit, and even if her grip was hard, it wasn't firm enough to keep me in place. She also barely had any muscle on her though the lines of her body, nubile and young as they were, had a sensuality to them I couldn't deny. That was the muscle tone of someone who used their body well and knew how to use it, the physique of a proper athlete.
She was bad news.
"!" she said something I didn't understand.
And a blonde kid climbed out of the window the big lady came from earlier. He was dressed in purple.
I whipped my hand away from hers and ran.
But something held my hips back and robbed the ground from my feet. The little blonde kid somehow caught up and was holding me aloft like a stuffed bear.
I twisted hard with my elbow in the lead and hit him across the nose. But the guy took it like a champ. He smiled.
A swift kick caught him in the knee, then another to the nards. I reached out with my hand to claw out his eyes but the guy avoided everything I did like a tiny white Mike fucking Tyson. Not even sweeping with my arms could I catch even a whiff of him, so I flailed and screamed and struggled and just made it all kinds of hard with all my strength to take me away, and besides, all this panicked struggling was universal for asking for help.
And yet the few passersby met my eyes, and none moved to my aid.
Until a blonde girl dressed in white landed in front of me from nowhere. This was probably the moment I'd be saved and taken to some sort of plot relevant exposition sce—