"Good evening, Dr. Olsen."
"Mister President," Olsen wiped his hand off on his apron, "what timing. How was your trip?"
"It was fine," the President shook his hand. "My wife Julia sends her regards. Is Jesse around? I want to see him."
"Oh, yes. He's in the back," Dr. Olsen walked through his garage, stepping over piles and piles of schematics and toolboxes laid out on the ground to reach the door on the other side. "JESSE! Come on out, your father is here to see you."
Shortly after that, a young sharp looking man stepped out of the door and into the garage where Dr. Olsen worked. He had dark brown hair and a smooth olive complexion. His youthful bright black eyes shimmered with enthusiastic will to work, with his upper left eyelid stained by some kind of dark oil, likely from the work he was doing alongside Dr. Olsen. Which would become apparent upon seeing his dirty brown apron and his heavy black rubber gloves.
"Father," Jesse blurted out, "you're here!"
"It's good to see you my boy," the two of them immediately embraced one another, despite Jesse's dirty apparel staining the President's purple double breasted long overcoat, with dark violet checkered patterns on his collar. It most certainly ruined the texture and exotic color, and yet the President did not seem to mind.
"I'm glad to see you too, father. And I see you've finally met Dr. Olsen."
"Doctor?" The President raised his eyebrow. "He's your father-in-law, boy. Why are you so formal?"
"Well, Dr. Olsen has been good to me. Very good, indeed. But… he's not my father-in-law, yet."
The President nodded his head:
"I understand. All the more reason for us to finish our mission here as swift and efficiently as we can."
"Right on, Mister President. You're just in time to help me test out our latest invention."
"Before that, though," Jesse tapped Dr. Olsen's shoulder, "I'd like to have a word with my father about something first. There's something I'd lik…"
2 days later…
"FATHER! Hand me the gun!" Jesse shouted, hiding behind the massive boulder as flaming arrows flew by furiously, barely missing the young man.
But the President sat there stunned, staring at his own two hands as his blurry eyes struggled to readjust to the situation at hand. His ears were ringing with a strong buzzing noise that deafened his mind, numbing his thoughts.
Because deep down he knew that both he and his son were just elsewhere away from this heated battlefield mere seconds ago. He did not understand how either of them ended up here, and how he had vague memories of events in the last couple of days. What was more troubling was the fact that Jesse was out of his work apron, now dressing in his usual outfit. A silky yellow shirt with a silver belt holding up his striking sea blue jeans, accompanied by a pair of tall white boots and a pair of long white gloves. On his head was a brown rawhide cowboy hat with a silver butterfly badge pinned at the center of the leather strap.
Glancing over the boulder he was hiding behind, the President witnessed a sight he did not believe to be real at first – a scene of Native American Elephant tribal men launching spears and arrows. Yes, you heard it right, this was a tribe consisting of people who looked suspiciously like that of sentient elephants standing on two legs. Standing at a whopping seven feet tall average, with bulky legs resembling like that of a large old tree trunk.
The Elephants wore peculiar clothing, ones that the President recognized as that of the various Apache tribes. Many animal hide garment, brown shirts, leather belts. Some of the more cavalier warriors went with their bare chest, showing off red war paint, many symbols that danced on the surface of their skin.
Most disturbing of all however were the Elephants' hands – they were that of a human's hand. Sure, they were much bulkier and greyish in color. But there was no doubt about it, these Elephants had five fingers on each hand, and most importantly of all were opposable thumbs.
These tribesmen were not happy, and they were directing their displeasure at both the President and his son, Jesse.
"FATHER!" Jesse shouted, "The gun!"
There lying on the President's left foot was a small revolver with a couple of rounds spilled out on the ground. It was still in perfect condition, and the President vaguely remembered there still being a couple shots left inside the chamber. The Elephant tribesmen were closing in, and their spears were getting closer and closer. It would've been easy to just toss the revolver over to his son, who was just an arm's length away.
And yet…
Far in the distance behind a large cactus to their right were two horses, one with brown fur and some white spots, the other a white stallion with a distinct black mane. There were saddles on the two animals as well, which suggested to the President that those were their horses. It was too large a coincidence to be someone else's, plus he also had vague memories of riding into this site on top of the two steeds.
So with a decisive motion, the President leapt up from where he was hiding from, and grabbed onto his son's arm to pull him forth to the direction of the horses.
"Father!"
"Follow me, boy," he shouted back, "the gun was broken, can't use it. We need to get out of here, now!"
The two of them darted off into the distance, dodging the spears and arrows as much as they could. But there was something deep inside the President's heart that he could not understand, something that was urging him forward towards certain directions as he was running. Prompting him to wiggle slightly to the left one moment, then again to the right another.
He didn't really understand what it was, the low rumbling noise growled deep inside his body as his heart beat like war drums. But he suspected it had much to do with the green glowing light barely peeking out of his shirt, just below his neck, hovering over the upper right side of his chest. The light was glowing bright, perhaps telling him something? Or was he just imagining it?
He knew however that whatever it was, it helped him to dodge the incoming projectiles with an eerie accuracy. Almost as if Destiny herself was on his side.
"Get on!" Said the President as the two of them grabbed on the saddle, speeding off into the far distance shortly after.
"It's not over yet, father," said Jesse, looking behind as they rode. "They're hot on our tails."
"Don't look back, boy! Keep going!"
And the President immediately realized that this was something much easier said than done.
"Father…"
When the President turned his head around, he was horrified by the sight of an arrow piercing through his son's chest, blood spurting out like that of an old geyser and staining the yellow silk of his shirt.
A million thoughts began rushing through his heads, calculating every possible outcome there could be while trying out different solutions and scenarios in his head. Leap out of his own horse to catch the dying body? He would surely perish as well. Ride on forward leaving him behind like a heartless coward? Pull the body along with some rope? If only he had some on hand at the moment. Many, many more scenarios, but none seemed to be viable. And for what seemed like the first time in years, maybe even decades – the President began to panic.
The panic that gradually transformed into anxious confusion as Jesse's entire body inexplicably melted into the flesh of the horse. The President rubbed his eyes, initially thinking that was merely the boy slowly falling off his horse, falling over to the other side where the horse's body obscured his vision.
But as they went on, he eventually realized it wasn't the case at all. Jesse was in fact literally melting into the horse, and the President wasn't seeing things. The two merged slowly with one another as if Jesse's entire body were made of some sort of strange liquid.
Slowly, but surely, his body made its way through the innards of the horse, pulled down by the force of gravity. Soon he will fall off from his ride once he reached the other side.
"Hold on, boy! I've got you," the President cried as he reached out his hand to catch his son, forcefully pulling him out of the horse and onto his lap.
Once Jesse made it out to the other side, it was clear that something about him was off – as the spot where his arrow wound was supposed to be was nowhere to be found.
The young man's chest was smooth as a baby with no hint of a scar anywhere. Including his yellow shirt which remained absolutely unharmed as if it was fresh off the tailor. The President even flipped his son over to the other side to inspect his chest – same thing there as well, no wound, no scar. And to his surprise, Jesse had absolutely no idea what happened, too. Shuffling about, trying to find any trace of blood or even the arrow.
Nothing.
"Father… what is going on?"
Sweat began dripping off the President's forehead as a gut feeling kicked up inside, prompting him to turn his head around to Jesse's horse. Only to catch sight of the animal's neck being pierced by a long bloody arrow that burst open its vein, with a geyser of blood pouring forth like a fountain.
It was the exact same arrow that was lodged deep in Jesse's chest just mere moments ago.
Both the President and Jesse sat there on their one remaining horse as they stared back behind them to see the wounded horse tripping and stumbling to the ground. Kicking up a storm of blinding dust that immediately halted the advance of the Elephants. The two of them were no longer being chased, and they were a good safe distance away from the range of their spears.
And yet their sweat continued to gush out of their faces.
They sat there in silence, not knowing what to say, or how to even process what just happened. And yet… as it was always the case with the President, another gut feeling began to surface, some semblance of sanity in the middle of this sea of madness.
"Jesse… show me your hand. Your right hand."
The young man looked confused for a second, before instinctively obliging. Taking off his white glove.
To then reveal underneath, clear as day, the green glowing number 31.
"Father… what is this?"
The President's face hardened up, as his shimmering unblinking blue eyes looked forward in the distance. The eyes of cold determined steel, certain of what was going on.
"Jesse… there is much you need to know…"
11 years ago, September 1861…
"Mrs. Julia Cosay…" Dr. Olsen stood in front of the lit fireplace, wearing the nicest black suit he owned to take the woman's hand in his own, comforting the crying widow, "… my condolences…"
The quiet melancholy whispers continued to echo on down the long narrow hallway where a lone young boy stood staring out the window into the night. The stars seemed black and cold tonight, covered behind dark clouds of heavy rain crying onto the vast endless field in their backyard. He had taken his black jacket off and unbuttoned his tie, feeling a little stuffy after a long exhausting day.
"I'm sorry for your loss," a soft voice entered the room, making the boy turn his head.
Standing by the wooden staircase was a girl, no older than the boy himself. Wearing on her a simple black dress with long white stockings, and a black bow around her waist. She looked at the boy with her innocent green eyes, shining brightly despite the dark clouds outside covering up the moon.
"Your father…" she said, fiddling with her fingers, trying to find the right words, "he was… a good lieutenant. A good soldier… I… um…"
"Thank you," the boy forced on a sad smile, "you don't have to… you don't… have to…"
The girl shyly took a step back into the shadow, about to leave the boy alone to himself. Only for him to then turn away from the window and towards the girl, asking her:
"What's your name?"
She glanced at him, almost surprised at this almost newfound glee that was slowly creeping up on the boy's face. Something she thought to be impossible after what had happened. She didn't exactly know what to do, thus she merely answered:
"Tulip… Tulip Olsen."
The boy extended his hand towards her, offering to shake as he responded:
"I'm Jesse."