The vents have a big enough space to crawl on, silently for my legs without the risk of alerting the men below. They were a dozen armed individuals with guns strapped on their thigh. Some held tasers. And there was one tailing the others who held a syringe with a sedative inside.

Briefly I wondered how I knew that when I just woke up a few hours ago. In a body bag.

In a room that was filled with more body bags. A stench surrounded the cramped room, clinging onto my skin and hair. The smell of decomposing flesh mixed with chemicals was the sort that made anyone throw up and feel filthy afterwards. Looking at myself, a thin medical gown was the only thing protecting me from the cold and I shivered.

No doubt that room was a morgue. On the far side were huge refrigerators that hummed every now and then. Many body bags sat beside me, arranged haphazardly. We must've been dumped here with no care. Even bodies of COVID-19 victims were given some semblance of respect after they died. They were cremated immediately while the rest of us were probably left in different stages of decay. I didn't stop to check if there's someone else like me – a breathing individual, unable to wake up and escape.

I was past the stage of panicking. Thinking how I ended up in this absurd situation won't magically open the doors. And hyperventilation certainly won't help me leave this godforsaken dead house.

The door was locked from the outside which must've been empty. Of course, what person guards dead people anyways? The security has better things to do than stay here so my calls for help went unheard. And now I find myself hiding inside the ceiling vents after climbing the refrigerator and apologizing to the dead for disturbing them.

"He's in the vents sir!"

Oops. I have to move on now. Carefully, I crawled into the direction where my guts tell me to go. They wanted me for some reason. But, I cannot explain their attitudes. Why carry a taser, guns, and syringes? From the limited spaces that allowed me to spy on, this building is not a hospital. Or, was I perhaps in the psychiatric ward? Or worse, in a medical facility for prisoners?

God, I hope when I find the exit that I'm not on an isolated prison island because I can't swim.

"Guard the gates. 007 escaped us before, I'm not letting another brat go."

I wasn't certain how long I've been traveling through the vents. In the movies, the actors made it appear easy and exciting with the thrill of adventure keeping them forward. But oh boy, my knees were starting to ache! I didn't stop, fearing that when I did, the walls would close in on me. Claustrophobia wasn't on the list of things I fear but the longer the stay here, thoughts of my impending doom starts up my anxiety.

Suddenly, my mind contemplated retracing my steps and going back to the morgue.

No way! What if the person who woke up from those body bags was a zombie? A chill went down my spine as I shook that idea away. Zombies weren't real anyways. Continuing with my escape attempt seemed more ideal than getting stuck in the vents, or coming back. Prison island or not, staying would either get me shot or electrocuted.

I just wished someone could help me. Then, I fell.

I was in shock so I couldn't scream. Down I go sliding.

Down.

Down.

Down, and finally there's light at the end of the tunnel. A similar smell greeted my nostrils as I dropped straight down on what looked like garbage before landing on something solid. Vaguely, my mind cataloged the odor the same as the one in the morgue.

"What kind of rotten luck do I have?" I laid there, unable to move as my back sent a jolt of pain. The skies overhead lack the beauty from my hometown where it has orange and pink tones of sunset, the kind that made you stop and admire it for a second. This place, however, has smog so thick I failed to notice a silhouette of a man walking towards my direction. He was coughing, his hand covered his mouth as if that would prevent bacteria from spreading.

I couldn't get a good look from my position but he doesn't appear to be in cahoots with the men inside. They had uniforms, they were well-groomed. This guy had holes on his clothes, thin, and bore the resemblance of a patient with tuberculosis.

"Excuse me." My hoarse voice caught his attention as his eyes went wide, head turning around trying to spot my form, "Please help me."

"W-where are you? Are you a ghost?"

This dark, chilling atmosphere and dirty street could pass as a horror alley, a similar one that I used to visit as a child, however the awful rotten smell ruined the mood. No ghosts would want to haunt this place.

"I'm a human sir. Please help me get out of this place." With that said, I lifted my hand and gestured him over. True enough, he does seem sickly. His gangly figure towered above my prone form, observing with the eyes of an old man who looked like he'd seen far worse than a semi-paralyzed person laying on garbage.

"What's a child doing in this part of the city?"

"I woke up here." He frowned, pulling me forward as gently as he could when I grimaced. Another jolt of pain occurred. I felt like something was stabbing my back.

"Kids like you play a different game than what I used to play with ma' friends. The hell, did your buddies try to dump you here?" He tried to put me on my feet.

I collapsed instead. To summarize how my day has been: it sucks. The last thing I remember was listening to my professor's epidemiology lecture. I couldn't even recall what she was droning about, her voice lulled me to sleep. My knees and back hurt, I was inhaling air pollution, some military men were after me, and now this man saw me as a bullied kid.

"I wish that's the case." Groaning, I gestured for him to carry me. To my surprise he obliged with little effort and complains. "Let's just go far away from here, please?"

Sunset's over and night came. There were few street lights open and I could see the rest of them burnt out. Now that we're off that stinky back alley, this new street doesn't look better but at least it provided that normality I was somewhat craving. However, the street has busy people walking. They were dressed in similar fashion as this guy I met – outdated, dull, and clearly worn out. Some had luggages, the one that's rectangular and made from leather. It didn't bother me at all since no one was paying attention to a man carrying a boy on his back, despite me wearing hospital garments. That was until after we passed a payphone.

These people, heck, all of them looked like patients who belong in the ICU based on the number of coughing and cigarette smoke around. I could guess that I'm on the bad side of the city. But they were talking. Actually conversing with another person. And not a single human being was holding a smartphone. Not even an earphone. This revelation suddenly frightened me, "What's the date today mister?"

"Eighteenth of May." Great. It was the same day as the last lecture I had.

"What year exactly?"

He glanced at me. If he was worried about my condition, he didn't outwardly showed it. "Did you… bump your head or sumthin'?"

I remained silent, waiting for him to answer my question.

"It's 1962, kid. About a decade after the war."

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Spy x Family is my current addiction lmao. And since the lack of SxF fanfics here led me to create this! SI is a child with powers he isn't aware of and doesn't know how to control. :)