Know Your Enemy (2)

The Strangers

After what seemed like a neverending spiral of freefall, a silver tiled floor approached Shinichi at breakneck speed. Or rather, he approached it at a speed that would surely kill him and send body parts flying in every direction. Knowing full well it was futile, he threw both arms across his face to brace himself for the impact.

The impact never came. Shinichi cracked open his eyes. Instead of breaking his arms, he floated just a few inches above the tiled floor. Before he could catch his breath, the suspension broke and he landed with a soft thud. Shivering and panting, Shinichi managed to roll over on his back. Stars flashed and swirled in his vision.

"Are you Shinichi Izumi?"

He uttered a wordless groan in response. Who said that? Murano? God, he was so tired of that question. Just when Murano stopped asking it so many times, too…

"Murano, is that you?" he managed to ask.

"Are you Shinichi Izumi?" came the voice again, this time louder and more insistent.

A man's voice, not Murano's. Shinichi slapped his cheek a few times. Was he dreaming? Why did he fall asleep? Wasn't he just going out to get boba tea with Murano? He was hoisted off the floor. Shinichi tried staggering to his feet, only to wave them uselessly in the air. Something was holding him up. He couldn't feel any hands on him. How was that possible? After falling through what seemed like a tunnel of darkness, the lights reflected from the floor made him squint and blink rapidly. He heard cushions sigh from the weight of his backside.

He also heard a swirl of voices, all in English and nothing he could understand. This had to be a dream. None of this made any sense. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the back of his hand as hard as he could. Instead of Shinichi waking up to find himself back in his university dorm, a man knelt before him so that they were eye level with each other. The man had a long, solemn face, and eyes that seemed to have seen countless things beyond Shinichi's imagination. White hair streaked his temples; otherwise the rest of his hair was dark. A red cape draped over his blue tunic, and some sort of pendant hung at his neck. Shinichi had never seen a man like him in his life, not even in dreams he had before.

The man pointed a finger over Shinichi's chest. "Are you Shinichi Izumi?"

Dazed, confused, and understanding only his name, Shinichi nodded slowly. After several hard blinks, his vision sharpened, and as it did, he realized that behind the man were others: people who didn't look Japanese at all, let alone familiar. Maybe it wasn't the smartest idea to tell them his name. He couldn't stop shaking. Gripping the sleeves of his upper arms, Shinichi cowered before the strangers who converged around him. They kept their distance, however, with guarded expressions on all of their faces, especially the face of the only woman among them…as if they somehow knew his true nature.

Sam, who held the shield of Captain America in his right arm, scanned the newcomer from head to toe with skepticism. "You're sure this is the right guy, Strange?"

"I'm sure of it." Dr. Strange straightened his knees and didn't take his gaze off of the one named Shinichi. "He's the one we need."

"He's…just a kid." Rhodey folded his arms across his chest the best way he could with the War Machine suit. "Can't be more than eighteen, looks like."

"Remember when we thought that Spider-Man was 'just a kid?'" Bucky angled his left side more toward the young Japanese man. "One thing I learned from that airport fight is not to underestimate people who could pass for 'just a kid.'" Out of habit, Bucky faced potential danger with his left arm, so he could quickly defend himself.

Out of all the Avengers gathered around Shinichi, Wanda stood the farthest away from him. "He's different," she murmured. "I know it. The presence is faint, but I can still sense it in him." Legs spread apart as if ready to run, shoulders squared, and hands almost curled into fists, she appeared to emanate tension and unease from her body in waves. "If I were you, Dr. Strange, I wouldn't stand that close."

Though the terse warning was meant for the Sorcerer Supreme, her comrades edged farther away from Shinichi.

Smooth confidence laced Dr. Strange's reply. "He won't hurt us. He can provide valuable information."

"Can we be sure about that?" The arm that had used the Infinity Gauntlet was healed now, so Bruce wrung his hands and looked dismayed. "Even if he's willing to cooperate, he can't talk to us. He doesn't seem to speak English." He scratched his head. "Uh…does anybody here speak Japanese?"

Shinichi's wide-eyed gaze darted like a pinball as the strangers discussed amongst themselves, then lapsed into an awkward silence at the big green man's question. Incomprehension at what they were saying fueled his fear, making his heart pound against his ribcage. Shinichi continued to pinch the top of his right hand until the spot smarted and grew bright red.

Why wasn't he waking up? Why weren't the strangers going away? He refused to believe that any of this was really happening, that he found himself in real danger with no idea of what was going on, where he was, or what these strangers wanted with him.

Could they all be Parasytes? The thought sent a wave of cold dread down his legs. If that was true, he had no way of telling, and worst of all, he had no way to protect himself.

"Come on, Migi, where are you? I need you." Shinichi's whispered plea went unheard by the sleeping Parasyte. Or so he thought for a few seconds.

Then a familiar tingling sensation coursed through his right hand, spreading from his palm and shooting into his fingers. His hand, dormant and perfectly ordinary since Migi retreated from contact, stirred to a life of its own once again.

Shinichi's heart soared. "Migi, you're back," he cried.