The first thing Peter sees is the man crouching in front of him, tanned, and scarred, a long red line bridging across his nose. With just one look at the man, Peter knows he can't escape. The man crouches like a large cat, his muscles tensed and coiled, and Peter knows he can't run fast enough to escape him. The man reaches to brush some of Peter's long hair out of his eyes. After all, its been years since Peter got a haircut. Too many years. He flinches away from the outstretched hand,and the man hesitates, dropping his hand while keeping a firm grip on Peter's arm through the makeshift straightjacket with the other.
Then Peter sees the other man, the one he thinks of as "Whiney Voice." Even though the weight of the footsteps said differently, Peter couldn't help but attribute the voice to a different form, a smaller, weaker body. The complete opposite of the well-built man standing behind the one holding him. His instincts scream at him that the other man is the stronger of the two, despite the childish way of speaking. Peter knows one wrong move and this is the man that will crush him.
The trembling is back again, and this time Peter can't hold it back. The man holding him instantly tries to calm him again.
"Hey, hey, mate, its okay. We want to help you! 'm Jet. That's Alfred. Can you tell us your name?"
This time Peter manages to form the word and spit it out.
"P-Pet-Peter. " He stutters, and the man holding him freezes.
"He's British!"
The man in the back speaks up. "So he's one of Arthur's then?"
The name sounds familiar to Peter. Who was Arthur? His heart stings for a moment, painfully. Peter pushes it aside. There were at least 4 boys named Arthur, back when it started. There were a lot of boys called Peter too.
Now its just him.
"Hey Peter." The one in the back speaks. "Where are your parents? Is there anyone else here?"
Peter lets himself meet the other man's face for the first time in a startled shock. Peter can't remember his parents. He's sure he had some, he knows that, but he can't remember anymore, their faces and voices escape him. All Peter knows for certain is that he's alone.
When he meets the other person's face, he freezes. There's something about the face that looks familiar, although he can't remember why. Its a comforting feeling, one that makes Peter want to trust this man. A dangerous feeling. Peter tears his eyes away from the other man's face, but he can still see the face in front of his eyes. He answers both questions with a shake of his head.
"Shit..."
The man mutters. The man in front of him shifts, and Peter is jerked back too reality with a violent start.
"Hey, listen." The man in front of him begins in a practiced slowness. "We know you've been here a long time, probably your whole life. But we need you to trust us."
Peter stares. Trust them? Why should he? Peter knows better than to trust strangers, especially ones that come from the outside. The man continues on in a rush.
"You don't need to stay here anymore, mate, its okay to go outside now. Its safe now."
That sounds like the biggest lie Peter has ever heard. It hasn't been safe outside for decades. That's why they were in here to start with. That's why no one who had left for help and supplies when first the power, then the food ran out, had ever returned. That's why there are so many skeletons here.
"I know it sounds like a lie, and I know its scary and you don't know us, but I'm asking you to trust us, okay? I promise you that no harm will come to you."
Something about the lifting accent, the tone of the voice, the gentleness in the unwavering eyes, are making Peter want to believe them. That, somehow, the outside has magically become safe, that he can finally leave. There's a thought, or maybe a memory, scratching at the back of his mind. A reason that he can't leave, the reason that he's stayed there for so long...
There's a noise, ringing and shrill, and Peter realizes with a shock that it's a phone. There's a phone there, of course, but it hasn't worked in years, and the calls stopped coming long before the power went out.
"Ah, speak of the devil." the man in the back murmurs, fishing in his pockets and pulling out what Peter knows instinctively is a cellphone. The man besides him twists to face the man with the phone.
"England?"
A nod.
Somehow it doesn't seem strange to Peter that they would say a country is calling, but he cant seem to focus on his thoughts. He tries to listen to the call, he needs to know what they plan to do with him.
"Yo! Artie! Wassup?" A pause. "Any update on Mattie?" Another pause. "Oh."
Peter feels strange, and the room seems to sway. No, its him who's swaying.
"Yeah, you're not... lieve this! ... found one! A kid! ... get this... one of yours!"
That's weird. Why is the man's voice breaking up? Peter sways once more and feels strong arms wrap around hm and scoop him up.
"You alright mate?"
The voice sounds far away and echoey. The second voice joins in, upset and dripping with concern.
"Shit, what happened!?"
"Dunno, mate, he just collapsed!"
Peter struggles to keep his eyes open. The other face peers at him, but its blurry. For the first time Peter realizes that the man has blue eyes, a pointless detail.
"We have to get him out of here now, Jet, he needs help."
Its at this time that Peter's broken memory chooses to remember where he knows this face from, where he's seen it before. He blurts the word out, he knows he has to say it before he forgets. Something tells him that this is the key to recovering his memories. He fights to keep his eyes open, twisting to maintain eye contact. The blue-eyed man freezes as Peter whispers the word to him, barely a breath.
"America."
Then Peter can't see anything at all, except darkness.