The response from the last chapter surprised me, and it surprised me a lot. I didn't expect more than five people following a story with the OC tag. I really don't know how to put it into words, like I'm really surprised.

I didn't expect it to take off like that, but I've no reason to complain nor grow complacent.

I'm in a different world. Different world. Different.

You know that feeling that's drilled into your brain from a young age from your parental figures and teachers? The feeling that's also been permanently ingrained your genetics from your ancestors. The one that blares when you see a hooded person in a dark alleyway?

Danger?

Well, up till this point, the only real sense of 'Danger' I had ever really experienced was presenting my final test results to my parents when I was younger and that one time when I didn't 'mind the step' when getting off the train after Uni.

I hadn't felt it in a while, really. Mostly because I didn't take trains anymore, but I hadn't even had many dangerous run-ins when travelling either. So, when that feeling of danger immediately blared in my head in the morning when Garrick smashed his empty liquor bottle, I fucking listened to it.

I have to get out.

There wasn't any room for debate.

The thought had been plaguing me during an eventful night of being constantly haunted with strange dreams of static, waking up in a cold shock as the murkiness hiding my memories refused to lift. It had plagued me as we all bundled up into the cart, shivering in the morning cold as we journeyed along towards our destination with Garrick and Roddick occasionally yelling back instructions for what was going to happen today.

The thought plagued me as I listened to their words – to what they were planning to do. From burning… To pillaging… To rape, I could feel my stomach turning and knotting itself in anxiety as trembling hands tapped on the tome in my hands.

Whatever I had gotten myself caught up in, was something way out of my paygrade.

I have to get out. I repeated it like a mantra, playing it repeatedly as the sun eventually hung high in the sky and our journey neared its ending. Chatter amongst the others had long since petered out, with some choosing to catch up on a few moments of lost sleep and others choosing to double check equipment. Donnel had been unresponsive the entire journey, instead choosing to bury his head in his pot as he shivered in a half-addled sleep. I wasn't much better, instead constantly looking around my surroundings for any chance to escape.

Something… Didn't sit right at all – the spring air that was fresh and inviting now felt cold and claustrophobic, like I was breathing after eating an intense mint.

I have to get the fuck out.

Wherever this place was, this wasn't Earth – especially after what I had seen last night – and I was definitely trapped in some shady shit.

This wasn't like I had just walked round a corner on a dark alleyway and witnessed a drug trade, these people… These people looked like they had seen and done some shit, it's hard to put it. But the way they carried themselves and the dead fish-eyed look didn't make them look like fucking Mary Poppins out on a stroll. No. They were armed to the yellows of their teeth and with reason to be.

A myriad of said reasons came to mind, each one of them ever so slightly more terrifying than the last. The feeling of my stomach turning refused to leave, hands becoming slick with a cold sweat. I'd been given a long time to think things out during the entire journey, how I'd gotten here in the first place, how I'd get back, how I'd stay alive. What was going to happen in the coming hour.

I didn't have an answer to any of these questions.

Panic snaked around my heart and tightened its hold ever so slightly each time the cart wheels turned. I was never great with anxiety and this was beyond insane for a simple guy like me. Sure, I'd travelled a bit, stumbled my way through foreign countries and butchered their languages, but never had I been so alone and scared. I'd at least have a translator, or a pocket dictionary, or a tour guide or Google Maps or something.

I sure as hell wouldn't be mixed up with these… Bandits in the foreign land. There wasn't any other word to describe them. They looked, acted, laughed and smelt the way you'd think of a traditional bandit, with stained yellow teeth and dirt-matted, oily hair. There was no way on hell that these people were innocent at all, which was doing nothing at all to ease my fears right now.

Those fears right now? Right now, I had nothing. No phone. No dictionary. Nothing but a metal book judging from the various symbols and the clothes to my name – screw that, I didn't even have a name at all.

Hands are shaky, something something Mom's spaghetti. A small, addled part of my brain sang as I allowed myself a deranged, silent chuckle. Wonder if this place's got Eminem.

My thought train quickly derailed with the harsh sound of metal being dragged across stone as gates were slowly pulled open and the cart coming to a momentary stop. Peering through the tiny holes in the cart's walls told me that we had just entered a settlement, probably the Southtown that everyone kept mentioning. Garrick and Roddick were holding conversation with two unarmed men who had just pulled the gates open – something about them being traders.

My heartbeat rocketed.

Dread settled into my stomach and my throat closed in on itself as the cart followed on into the village, eventually slowing down once again to a stop. A stop that felt final. I swallowed heavily, feeling the insides of my mouth become sand.

"Why… Why are we stopping?" I croaked out quietly to nobody in particular, glancing nervously at Garrick's cart in front and back to the other bandits.

"Where do you think? End of the line." A burly swordsman grunted, his blade at the ready – sheath long since tossed aside, the blade itself glinting in the sunlight that peeked through the peppered roof, but I could still make out signs of rust by the tip where a black stain had gathered.

Cool. Skyrim jokes. Brilliant. I nodded mutely at the words, forced my eyes off the disturbing stain and the implications it brought, instead turned my attention back towards the conversation Garrick was having with the fellow that had approached their cart. Roddick took one glance at us, whistled lowly and hefted his axe.

If that didn't terrify me, then the immediate hustle of the rest of the crew unsheathing their weapons quietly and turning to the cart exit did, the exit still blocked with long billowing curtains as the rest of the men lined up, leaving me and Donnel the only ones seated still. The young lad had woken with a start, bleary and fearful eyes glancing around himself as his hands tightly squeezed on the makeshift lance.

It was like I was watching one of those war movies on D-Day, with the troops lining up in their little ships moments before landing on the beach. Except… You know, they were bandits.

"The hells are you doin?" The bandit beside me roughly dug his foot into the side of my thigh. "Get movin!" He angrily whispered, reaching over and picking up me and Donnel by the scruff of our shirts. I struggled against him momentarily, before realising that my noodle arms weren't exactly going to do much to his burly physique. He shoved us forward to the front, where quiet snickers broke out behind us as I stumbled, humiliation and dread burning my face.

"You little shits better scream loud'n'hard, let em know that you're bandits, yeah?" He jeered quietly. Outside, Garrick and Roddick were slowly making their way to the front of the cart, conversing quietly as they continued their little trader façade. "Though you'll probably be soundin like a bunch of women, that's what."

"Why… Why should I listen to you?" Adrenaline was starting to pump through my veins, like I was standing at the starting line to a relay race. Adrenaline that gave my courage an unwanted boost. "What happens then, huh?"

My answer didn't come in the form of speech, but a cold, sharp metal point that poked into my back. My confidence vanished in a literal instant, as the tip pushed in slightly, pricking my skin.

"That." A voice hissed into my ear. "That is what happens."

The smartass comment about his breath died instantly in my throat as I nodded dumbly, eyes darting around, trying to peer out of the peppered folds for any chance of escape. We were in the middle of a market plaza, with some alleyways between small brick and wood houses that gently puffed out smoke from their chimneys. It was hard to see any further, with the angle which the sun was glaring down from.

Maybe I could make a break for those alleyways and hide? No. That wouldn't work. I had seen the accuracy and deftness that these men had with their handaxes. I wouldn't even manage to make it for two steps before having one buried in my head. The cart was a no go, nor the foodstalls. These people looked ready to torch and burn, if the small ceramic jars of oil were anything to go by.

"When do we move? It's getting real hot ere-" A voice behind us grunted as the party shifted uncomfortably. The bandit that had been threatening me moments ago pulled back his knife and turned to face the speaker.

"When Garrick gives us the signal, we go. Torch the buildings first, smoke em out. Only let em out when they give us them valuables and kill the men." He harshly whispered.

What about the chapel? I glanced up momentarily to see the looming tower above, casting a mighty shadow over the cart. Would these churches have basements to hide in? If they were distracted for even a moment, nobody would notice me backing up into the church and barricading myself in, right?

I let out a shaky breath and tensed, my brain beginning to jump hurdles as I prepared for my run. There was a moat only a few meters behind us with a steep incline – I could hurl myself in there and hide until the chaos ended.

Right. My mind attempted to calm itself down to no avail. That works. That works. Run when the fight starts, dip into the alleyway and into the moat, get the fuck away. Yeah. That works. That works.

I closed my eyes briefly and attempted to calm my breathing, despite the spiking heartbeats that hammered in my ribcage.

You've got this, Seven. In. Out. In. Out. In-

I opened my eyes and found myself staring through the tiniest of holes in the cloth, where large, childish eyes stared back.

"Momma! Look! There's people in here, look!" The child laughed.

Silence.

One moment passed.

Then another.

"Bandits!" Just like that, my plan dissolved into panic and chaos broke free from its reins as all hell went loose. I hadn't even a chance to run out alongside Donnel, who had immediately turbo'ed forward, his face contorted into a terrified shriek.

Instead I was roughly shoved out of the cart as everyone behind immediately surged forward, almost tumbling face first into the dir as they roared a savage battlecry. After a minute of trying to restabilise myself on my feet, I refocused my vision on the scene before me, blinking away dark spots in my vision as sunlight burned down while the sound of metal on metal and lots of loud screaming filled my ears.

This… This was a battle. I froze on the spot and continued to stare – the bandit that had almost stabbed me seconds ago was knocked onto the ground by two men armed with knives and hatchets. I blinked in surprise at the lack of his weapon before spotting it about a meter beside him, his severed right hand still clutching it.

Oh. I didn't know whether it was thanks to constant desensitivity of the 21st century internet or the sheer unbelievability that I was actually in a medieval slaughter didn't make me throw up on the spot and start crying for someone. That looks like it hurt.

Tearing my eyes off the severed limb – the image continuing to lurk in my mind disturbingly – I turned to see one of the men bring down his hatchet onto the bandit's head.

Blood splashed… Fuck, no it didn't. It was like a painter had dipped their brush in red and then violently flicked it across canvass. It stained the grass black before me as the garbled begging the bandit had been wailing came to a sickening stop.

The shitty little book slipped out of my grasp and tumbled onto the grasp, its contents spilling out. I paid no attention to it, instead staring numbly at the hatchet buried deep into the corpse's skull – so deep that the villager was struggling to pull it out, a mistake that cost him his life almost immediately as another bandit – the one who had complained earlier – surged forward from the right side and buried his blade directly into his ribs – which then prompted the second villager to scream in anger and open the bandit's throat with the paltry knife.

They were like dominoes – and not the pizza kind. Each fighter would get killed by one who would then die to another who then died to another – I just kept watching, as more and more blood ended up soaking the soil. Each kill brought me closer to throwing up as I watched people get killed in completely new ways each time.

It was… Everywhere. Every fighter on the field was covered by some aspect of it – with some bleeding out from the heads to others being drenched in the blood of their foes or comrades… The red stained grass black yet glistened bright ruby as they wrestled to the death in broad sunlight, watching as two more villagers made a mad dash towards the two new bandits that had come up from the left.

A moment passed, I watched the next villager open his mouth in a noiseless scream – or maybe I couldn't hear anymore – before Garrick's hatchet buried itself in his skull. The man in question was at the far left, chasing a fleeing family with hungered eyes.

Another moment passed. This time it was a young lad, about ten years old give or take. He dashed out of his mother's arms and charged forward with a wooden sword in hand. He was impaled with such a strength that the bandit skewering him held his corpse high in the air like a kebab.

Ah. I stared, at the inhumane carnage and death before me as I came to the only sensible conclusion. I see.

This isn't real.

My mind was tripping balls. I'd never taken drugs before, but I'd have to have been on something. I gave up on trying to figure this shit out.

This is some fucking movie set or TV prank. I'm done.

Fuck whatever I'd said the night before, this was just plain ridiculous. The clothing, the people, the food… This was just some elaborate set created for someone's idea of a slightly more fucked up Beast Quest.

Like they'd convinced me in the cart, really. With nothing to look at or talk to apart from some extremely good actors that looked, behaved and smelled the part, like look at what I'd said before! These people had me scared shitless! Hell, 'Donnel' deserved an award – maybe this year's Oscar nominee – for his consistently top tier performance the night before and today.

It was starting to make sense, in its own little fucked up way. Like this was that one movie where the guy was stuck in a fake world – The uh… Truman's Show. Yeah, it was like that. They'd almost caught me off-guard by taking me and putting me in here immediately with nothing, but I wasn't dumb. There was no way in hell I'd been taken to another world – they'd have to teach me magic like Harry fucking Potter or some shit to get me to believe them. Right?

And I was not having any of it.

But really, I had to give props to the producers, to bring in such good actors like Donnel and Garrick. They really did their part in making me almost feel like I'd been trapped in a new world. But I knew better, even if the… Bloodshed and violence was extremely accurate.

Fuck, man! I don't need to see a man's eyeball pop out!

Or the sight of a ribcage being pried open! There was so much fucking blood – they had to have used red dye – I don't know what goddamn visual effects they were using to make intestines look so visceral in natural light alongside with such a pungent metallic smell but it was honestly beginning to nauseate me. Which was probably a win for them, if they actually managed to get an actual physical response out of my desensitised 'I watched movies on WW2 and played violent video games' brain.

That was when I noticed that the bandits had stopped coming, instead there now stood a lone villager amongst the body of four bandits – almost half of the number of us in the cart – and beside the body of ten of his own ill-protected villagers, strewn out across the plaza in the hot sunlight.

Is this the start of the movie? Is this some sort of revenge story? Some part of my brain that hadn't been shell-shocked commented, my body too numb to respond to any of my actions… Was this the feeling of being surprised into inability?

The man's eyes landed on me and his face contorted into a harsh snarl, flecks of spittle flying out of his mouth and mingling with the pooling blood at his feet. He looked horrible, matted brown hair with a handaxe buried into his side and ruby red hands that caused the blade in his hands to squelch horribly as he clenched it.

"O-Okay." I tried to steady my breathing – wow, I had been hyperventilating? "I'll say, you're a real good method actor, I'll give it to you. How'd you get the axe in your side? You got padding there?" I took a tentative step back as he took a single step forward, the popped-out eyeball crunching underneath his boot. My body kickstarted itself back into life while my mind failed to budge.

"Look man, I'm not part of this stunt crew, so if you get the director to stop fucking filming so I can get my clothes and go home – then we can all walk away from this scot free, comprende? Kapeesh?" I took another step back as he slowly approached.

He let out a guttural scream and I let out a terrified one as he stormed forward, almost tripping over my feet as I backed up. "Okay! Okay! You win! You win! Stop!"

This was supposed to be when this entire thing ended, right? The asshole director stops the cut and pulls me up onto a stage in front of a fucking million people and says "What-ho, Seven! You've been fooled!" right?! Geneva Conventions said something about killing people on TV, right?!

Right?!

I was scared so shitless that I tripped over my feet and delivered a sickening blow to the back of my head off the wooden cart I'd been shoved out of moments ago. Wooden splinters dug deep into the back of my neck, but I was too busy reeling from the pain and dizziness that spiked through my brain.

But even as I tried to refocus my swimming vision, I could still make out the man before me raise his blade high and hear the blade whistling through the air as he brought it down.

I clenched my eyes, waiting for the end.

Maybe it'd hurt less because it was straight to the brain, or maybe it'd hurt a tiny bit and then I'd be gone. Did dying hurt? What was going to happen now that I died? Was I a ghost?

A moment passed.

And then another.

Nothing happened, no pain except the now-pounding headache, no feeling of being cleaved in two and no feeling of death.

I groggily opened my eyes, still fighting the urge to vomit from both visual-induced nausea and general dizziness. Was this a concussion? Was I bleeding?

Fuck. I'll need some paracetamol for this shit and a good fucking paycheck from this producer or my insurance will claim their shitty little company- My thoughts came to a sudden stop as I stared at the man before me, lying on the ground, glassy eyes staring into nothing and a mouth twisted into a battle snarl. Dead. The axe in his side had finally killed him, judging from the blossoming red that soaked through his tunic. The sword he had swung down had buried itself in the wooden cart, millimetres from my right ear.

I giggled, feeling the warm blood trickling down my forehead and into my eyes. I woozily blinked as red tinted my vision as I stared at the corpse in front of me.

His blood looked like it, smelt like it and probably tasted like it too.

I let my mind collapse in on itself as the headache continued to hammer me.

This is real.

The world went dark.

Searing air.

Fire.

Smoke.

Screaming.

Metal.

The five senses slowly returned to me as I choked myself awake, almost suffocating on smoke. For a dizzying moment I thought it to be night, but a glance upwards with constantly burning eyes told me all I needed to know. A black smoke hung above because everything was on fire.

It's all on fiiiiiire, my mind hummed as a small spike of pain in the back of my head worsened. Yay.

I felt drunk. Like my brain was trying to tell itself it was sober, which created this little conundrum between whether I was drunk or not. The dizziness remained, like a constant hangover after a night out. In essence, I felt like shit.

Everything felt hot, everything looked orange.

Breathing was already difficult, with my ability to walk strangely harder. I stumbled forward, blood-caked hands clawing at my throat. There was a moat… Right? To the left? The right? Behind? I coughed violently, causing spasms in my chest as I continued to drag myself forward.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Tic. Tac. Toe.

There was a small alleyway to my right, past the burning remains of a stall and a crumbling storefront. Yeah. That was… That was to the church? Was it? Did they have a church? Was it in session? Was it Sunday? I yawned into the smoke, feeling my lungs instantly reject the acidic air. That wasn't funny.

Flames licked the ground greedily, scorching grass and sprouting between the edges of cobblestone. Nearby, a chimney collapsed from the flames, razer chunks of cobblestone and rock raining down onto-

Huh. I swayed slightly, almost tipping my arm into the cinders of a once-food stall. I stared at the rubble, where a small red pool was forming. Was there someone there a moment ago?

I giggled, each exhalation feeling like someone was punching me in the gut. It's like that Pokémon move. I continued past the puddle, my foot making an inaudible splash like a kid in a summer rain. Rock tomb. Super effective.

I didn't care at that point, the delirious fever and smoke torching any sense that I even felt anymore. My body felt… Serene, almost. Where nothing could be heard nor felt, not even the flames that were inches away from my hands. I didn't even feel my body register me stumbling over a fallen body, and as I tumbled into the alleyway I turned to look back at the obstacle.

I wish I could fall asleep like you… I swayed dangerously as I pulled myself up to my feet, gazing dreamily at the charred corpse. I poked at the cinders by my bare feet, leather shoes long since melted away. Falling asleep sounds real good right now, yeah.

Yeah. I continued onwards, using my hands to grope through a particularly black cloud of smoke that came through a small home that I half-crawled by. A nice bed… Did I have a single, or double bed? Double? Pillows? I would've giggled again if I even had the air for it, I instead chose to gag.

Black spots filled my vision momentarily before I broke through the cloud, onto… A street? There was something tall only a few meters across from me, across from a burning bridge. The church. Probably. Maybe.

Oh. I smiled happily, watching people flailing as they jumped off the bridge and into the moat, their arms thrashing wildly as flames sprouted like wings from their clothes. They're Olympic divers, look.

Were the Olympics this year? Or were they next year…? My legs gave out and my knees buckled as I tumbled towards the bridge. It was weird, it felt moist but hot at the same time, with congealing blood staining my clothes and getting into my fingernails. Oh well. Some part of my body continued to push me onward, my hands and legs digging deep into the wood and pushing and pulling, regardless of the splinters. Closing my eyes, I hummed contentedly to myself, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star? Or was it the Alphabet Song?

The back of my head felt hot.

Left hand forward. Right leg forward.

Right hand forward. Left leg forward.

Part of the bridge decided to join the diving competition too. The wood beside me melting away and raining hot splinters onto swimmers that hadn't left the diving pool already.

I smiled happily for it.

That's 10 points for Tom Daley.

Left hand forward. Right leg forward.

Right hand forward. Left leg forward.

"Dies irae. Dies illa" I paused my little journey and pondered for a second, letting the flames lick the soles of my feet. That's not Twinkle Twinkle. I shrugged, feeling my eyes begin to flit. Oh well.

"Solvet… Saeclum-" Left hand forward. Right leg forward.

Dirt. Cold dirt. The wooden ground disappeared, the bridge finally collapsing in on itself. Beside me, a man stumbled forward, lacerations and burning splinters embedded in his back as he banged on the door in front of us in desperation, the last vestiges of life leaving him.

The church door refused to budge. As if someone was pushing against it with all their weight. To keep people outside. The sound of screaming inside the church reverberated in my head, like a whip of noise lashing my brain.

"Well that's not nice." I giggled once again, watching the man's body crumple and bend backwards oddly before tumbling down the hill, back into the moat. "Bullies, the lot of them."

If no-one was going to open, then why bother trying? I curled into a ball, suddenly feeling cold. That was weird, really. It felt really weird. Like I'd gone from the Sahara to Antarctica.

I blinked slowly, taking a final look at the church before me. Inside, faces pressed up against the stained glass in terror as they stared at the scene in front of them. It was like walking past a school bus filled with kids. Terrified, old-man and old-woman kids.

I tried to wave as I made eye contact with them, but my body for some reason wouldn't move. So, I gave them a nice little smile instead. It was starting to get hard to lift my head.

Time for my bedtime too, it seemed.

"…-cussion, smoke inhal-"

"-issa! He needs-"

"-know what I'm doing, Chrom!"

"-ome on, stay with u-"

"Seven! Wake up! Your plane's due in a couple of hours!" I blinked myself awake in shock, a shuddering gasp leaving my mouth as I curled up in my covers in vulnerability. The voice below sounded familiar. Soothing, even.

"Y-yeah, Dad." I managed to choke out. I felt like I'd just suffered a horrible nightmare, but I couldn't remember what had happened for the life of me. My hair was still plastered to me from the sweat and my sleepwear frankly felt too stuffy to be in. "I'll be out… Soon."

"You better!" Dad guffawed. "Can't have a repeat of Japan, yeah?"

I laughed alongside him tentatively, my vision focusing on my surroundings as I pulled myself out of my bed. Downstairs, Dad closed the door behind him as he chattered to Mom, their incoherent voices below filling the silence as I straightened myself out.

"Bad dream, Seven" I chided myself softly, "#&% would laugh at you for being so weird."

I paused.

Whose name did I just say?

Ah, whatever. I didn't bother thinking about it any further and instead slouched my way across the room onto the chair in front of my computer and-Holy shit, it's already 2 o'clock.

Dad was right, my flight to #£$^# was only in a couple of hours and I didn't have long to get to London Airport. I'd have about 2 hours to get ready before he'd do the customary Dad-thing and get me there an hour before the plane arrived.

There was that feeling again!

Where was I going?

I chalked it up to me recovering from a nasty nightmare, my brain would probably be a bit scattered after something like that, I concluded. Besides, I'd only need to check the ticket in my wallet to see where I was headed.

Isn't your wallet lost?

I yawned lazily and pushed the power button to my computer; I'd give myself half an hour to laze in the afternoon English sunlight before properly getting ready to head out.

The United Kingdom never has sun.

Grinning slightly as the screen flickered to life, I could see what I'd been doing the night before – playing Titanfall 2 till the early morning again, apparently. Trying to complete one of the last missions on its most difficult mode, 'Master'.

"One day." I chuckled ruefully at the mechs frozen in the pause screen. "One day I'll beat you, Viper." I let the cinematic play out before me once, respect for the stupid program that managed to beat me every time.

"Voodoo One, Viper's on station. Your journey ends here, Pilot - the skies belong to me. Nowhere to run… Nowhere to hide." He'd be a real motherfucker if he hadn't been the coolest boss fight in the game. I let myself get blown up onscreen out of respect, hearing the headphones strewn on the desk beside me vibrate as the coolest bass-drop in gaming history got Jack Cooper killed again.

It was probably the coolest, never had much time to game past Titanfall 2, really.

I paused again. Had?

What weirded me out was that the internet wasn't working. Like at all. Chrome gave me that stupid dinosaur game that I'd managed to hit a score of 9999 before accidentally clearing the app data, Internet Explorer just refused to budge – It had always been a stubborn piece of shit, that's what.

I decided to ditch the computer, seeing how I couldn't access my social media or Youtube even if I wanted to. Tossing on my clothes – a simple jean and hoodie combo, I traipsed downstairs lazily.

Downstairs was just as I expected, with my Dad talking to my Mom from the kitchen as she sat on the ground in the living room, hastily shoving my clothes into my luggage.

"You, young man. Are ever so lucky to have such a caring mother who double checks everything you bring with you on holiday." She placed her hands on her hips and tried her best to look crossed as I chuckled ruefully.

"Yeah, in all honesty I thought I'd be fully packed up. Guess I must've missed a few things, huh?"

"Seven, you forgot your toothbrush." I slapped my forehead in exasperation. Damn, I really did forget these things, didn't I?

"Come on, the boy's busy. Can't have everything remembered at the last minute, right?" Dad reappeared, with a plate of eggs and sausage. "Come on, kid. Breakfast's served-" He squinted at the clock. "At 2pm. Damn, that's a new record."

"Men." Mom deadpanned, tossing in a small handtowel and my toothbrush, she reached over and swung the luggage closed. "How this household managed without me is a complete mystery."

Me and Dad shared a good laugh at that. Sitting down by the table and accepting the meal thankfully, I turned my attention to my parents who had begun eyeing me.

"What?" I managed through a mouthful of bland egg. Huh, that was weird. My dad was like the best cook I'd ever seen, maybe today was an off day or something.

"You're leaving for Japan, for an entire month." Mom began, fidgeting her hands. "That's a long time, you know." Dad nodded, sitting down beside her and patting her on the back encouragingly.

"Gotta admit, kid. It's a pretty long time, yeah." He agreed, offering me a crooked smile.

"A month? That ain't that long, puh-lease" I chuckled as I soldiered my way through the tasteless sausage. "Remember when I spent a year in Africa?" I still remembered that country, absolute wonderful culinary experience and a great humanitarian experience too at the time. Loved working with those local charities.

Dad blinked, before he shared a glance with Mom.

"Seven…" He tilted his head in confusion. "You've never been on a trip, much less to Africa."

"Huh." My munching stopped as his words pinged through my head like a pinball. "I… Haven't?" I swallowed uncertainly; I swear I'd been travelling before.

My parents moved on, as if they'd never heard my words to begin with. Dad turned his attention to the television that he flicked on – apparently some movie was playing – and my Mom returned to fretting over the over-extensively long list of items she wanted me to bring. They'd either not heard my previous outburst or had ignored it at all, which was odd.

"Mom…? Dad?"

"Hmm?" Dad turned to me slightly. "If it's transport then we've got a good hour or so, don't worry about it. Come on over, Awakening's just started – bloody good film from when I was as old as you!" He laughed, patting the carpet beside him. I wordlessly left my meal and sat beside him, confusion plastered on my face.

He must've misinterpreted my confusion, because he then launched into a tirade on the lore of these movies, something about stones and gems and dragons. It was great, watching Dad nerd out while Mom shook her head in exasperation as he reached into my luggage and used various items to assist in storytelling.

"And that's how Lyn-" He held up the comb to my eyes. "Beats the bad dude." He patted my hair. "-But that's not important, because if you played the games before the movies then you'd know that you can watch Awakening without knowing the previous-"

"Okay, Dad. I get it. I really do." I snorted. "Come on, the movie's starting."

I didn't pay much attention to the movie at all, moreso thinking about how weird this morning had been. Maybe I was still scatter-brained from the nightmare I'd had, or maybe I was just slowly going crazy from not being able to beat Viper even after watching that Youtube video on it.

My eyes traversed the room, from the yawning cat to the same three goldfish that still bubbled on after so many years, to the pictures of my family that hung the walls – of my Mom, Dad, Me and my sisters-

A sharp lance of pain drove its way into my head and I grunted in surprise, hands immediately going to my head as ist dug deeper. Something wasn't right, something that had to do with those family pictures. Something to do with my sisters-

"Seven? Is everything alright?" My mother's concerned voice broke my train of thought.

"Huh? Yeah, don't worry." I scratched the back of my neck as the headache faded. It was better to not think of those pictures. "It's nothing, Mom. Just a small…" I trailed off, turning to look at my parents.

They weren't there.

The whole room had suddenly saturated in color, the warm yellow sun now looked harsh and cold. The carpet beneath me was half-torn and littered with small concrete pebbles. The windows themselves were practically fully boarded up, only allowing the smallest of cold rays to illuminate the room past rotting wood.

I blinked once. For some reason, this didn't feel surprising or strange to me. In fact, it felt like I had just woken up from a dream, really.

"Mom?"

The screen on the TV flickered once and I found myself inexplicably drawn to it. The static and mess of images slowly melting away into an image – not an image. A woman.

White hair, red eyes. The combination you'd get from an albino cat, a pretty-scratch that, fucking beautiful face alongside a long billowing black coat with purple and gold designs that contrasted perfectly with her pale skin.

Okay, I'm stopping before I end up ogling her.

I inched closer to the screen, my hands brushing away dust and cobwebs that had gathered, as if they'd tarnish the beauty before me.

She turned to face the TV and I continued to stare back, a staring contest that lasted for a minute or so until something dawned in her mind and realisation flashed in her eyes. The woman slowly raised her palm, pressing against the screen where I'd laid my own hand to rest against, as if she was reaching out to touch me. Several emotions seemed to exist on her face at that one moment – anxiety, surprise, shock, joy and an extremely profound sadness, before they settled on a warm emotion that I couldn't really describe.

"Is… Is that you…?" The mystery woman murmured, almost as if she was trying to convince herself. Her voice tinkled gently, like goddamnit it suited her perfectly. "It worked? I… It- the- I'm… I'm back…?" The video flickered once again before restabilising itself.

I wordlessly gaped.

"Answer me!" She surged forward and pressed against the screen and stared directly at the screen – directly into my eyes, her hand almost seemed like they were going to melt through the LCD and grasp my own. "Is it really you? Seven!"

I blinked, and my vision shattered.

I looked away from this little side project expecting at most 5 people to be remotely interested, surprise to me, I guess. I really didn't expect that much support – at least for a newbie author writing a story about an OC.

Speaking about the OC, I haven't mentioned why I didn't talk about his appearance – I don't know, I feel like OCs aren't supposed to be properly visualised, nor do I want to give names to characters within an OC's life because face it, we don't care. Because they're not part of the original story, I treat them more as a way for the reader to see this new world I've altered. Hence why I don't give them a proper name, an age, nothing but a gender and his general build before letting the reader fill in with their imagination

Watch out though, Seven here isn't content being a simple watcher at all and his memories – or lack of – will come to play a large part alongside that beauty he's so enamored with.

Speaking of which, I was wondering whether I should do POV switches, seeing how I'm going to be writing this story focused on two protagonists, leave a comment on whether or not that's like totally coolio with you or not. I don't mind doing either, it's just fun to write.

Also, smoke inhalation sucks. I remember following my friends in uni to a smoking area and I felt lightheaded and silly just by being near three lit cigarettes for an hour.

Don't smoke, kids.

10/05/2021: General grammar and spelling errors fixed