There was a roar of thunder and the boy hit the ground in the rain.
He hoisted himself up onto his elbows, shaking his blond hair to dislodge any loose moisture. This proved fruitless as the area he had landed in was raining. He staggered to his feet, his boots clopping on the black stone. He stumbled for a moment, completely exhausted, then tried to take his bearings. He was further disoriented when he found himself surrounded by dozens of similar houses, all of a design that he was unfamiliar with. People dotted the area, but that was as far as he got when a loud horn blared behind the boy.
The boy whirled, just in time for something red and cubic and on wheels to screech past him. The thing came to a halt, and the man inside leaned out and shouted abuse at the boy. But the boy did not understand any of it. He scrambled to get of the strangely smooth road, and tried again to define where he was.
The boy looked over the road and the sidewalk. Several more of the weird cubes where on the sides, but the boy could not see a single walker or fab. The storming sky could have easily concealed airships and Huxley's, the twisting road hiding walkers. The boy attempted the first thing that came to mind. He shouted.
"Help, help, I don't know where I am." He repeated this line a few times, but only got a few passersby to look at him funny. He seized one and took her by the shoulders. "I need to know where I am. Am I in a Darwinist city?" The boy shook the women, but she only looked frightened. Several people had stopped, and on had put his hand threateningly into his pocket. The boy resorted to shouting louder.
"What day is it? What year? Where am I? What's happening on the war front? What is happening in the great war?" The women cringed and the boy brought his hand out to slap her. The man drew his hand out and pointed something vaguely akin to a gun. The boy turned and ran.
People flashed by, the boy catching snatches of their conversations… "Comment est votre journée?" … "Qu'est-ce que maman?"… "Est-Xana aucun danger aujourd'hui?"… "Aimez-vous ce café?"… "Est-ce la pluie va laisser place?"… but none of it made any sense! The boy clapped his hands over his ears as the wind roared around him.
The boy charged out of the road and out onto a truss bridge. The boy skidded to a halt, throwing up a shower of water drops in his wake. A factory loomed before him, the faded words Renault declaring its owner. The boy stared at the factory, and then started screaming.
The boy seized his head in confusion, then fell to his knees. Dylan Sharp threw back his head and stretched his hands heavenward, and roared a desperate plea to all of existence.
"Where am I?"