In a room that was neither large nor small, a boy lay on a bed, his body drenched in sweat. At first glance, he appeared to be sleeping, but a closer look revealed the torment etched across his face. His features were twisted in pain, and his body writhed as if caught in the throes of a nightmare. He rolled from side to side, his movements erratic and desperate, like a worm writhing on hot coals.
This agonizing struggle continued for several minutes until, abruptly, his eyes snapped open. He shot up into a sitting position, gasping for air, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon. His face was pale, and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead.
"*Huff... huff... huff...*" he panted, unaware that the moment his eyes opened, a faint tremor rippled across the world—a tremor so subtle that only a handful of individuals noticed it.
The boy took a few moments to steady his breathing, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. 'What... what was that?' he thought, his face still lowered, staring at the sheep-wool-like mattress beneath him. He hadn't yet noticed the peculiar details of the room he was in. If he had, he might have been more alarmed.
He had just experienced a dream—or rather, a nightmare. In it, he had felt like a ball floating in mid-air, encased in something that felt like an eggshell. The sensation of floating wasn't the problem; as someone from a civilization that used airplanes, he was no stranger to the feeling of being airborne. But the dream had taken a dark turn.
Without warning, he felt a hand beneath him, lifting him gently as if he were a fragile egg. The touch was careful, neither too firm nor too soft, and he could tell, even without seeing, that the hand belonged to a woman. He wasn't an expert on women, but the softness of the touch and the faint sound of a heartbeat gave him enough clues.
Suddenly, the hand vanished, replaced by an overwhelming surge of pain. Black fog enveloped him, obscuring his already blurry vision. The pain was so intense that his mind went blank, unable to process the agony. He woke up gasping, only to find himself in an unfamiliar room.
"Wait... where am I?" the boy muttered, his voice trembling as he looked around.
The room was sparse but oddly arranged. There was a furnace, cold and empty, a workbench cluttered with a hammer and unrecognizable pieces of iron, a bookshelf, and a small table with a chair. The bed he was lying on was the only piece of furniture that seemed out of place in what looked like a mix between a blacksmith's workshop and an alchemist's lab.
'Is this... a hospital?' he wondered, though the absence of medical equipment made that unlikely. The room felt alien, unlike any he had ever seen. His eyes scanned the space, landing on a paintbrush and a few other objects he couldn't identify.
His thoughts were interrupted as a memory flashed through his mind. "My heart!" he shouted, his hand instinctively flying to his chest. He expected to feel a wound, a scar, or at least some sign of injury. But there was nothing—no bullet hole, no stitches, no evidence of surgery.
"So, what happened?" he muttered aloud, his voice tinged with confusion.
As he shifted on the bed, his foot accidentally kicked a tray of water he hadn't noticed. The tray clattered to the floor, water splashing everywhere. He barely registered the mess, his mind still preoccupied with the flood of memories rushing back to him.
He closed his eyes, focusing on one memory in particular.
---
On a quiet road, free from the usual traffic, a white car drove at a moderate speed. The road was typically busy, but today it was eerily empty, the cars spaced far apart. Inside the car, two men sat in silence—one driving, the other gazing out the window with a thoughtful expression.
"We're close to your destination, boss," the driver, Bob, said, breaking the silence.
The passenger, a young man named Zilon, turned to him with a friendly smile. "Bob, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me 'boss' when it's just us?"
Bob sighed, glancing at Zilon through the rearview mirror. "Zilon, even though we've been through a lot together, you've suffered the most out of all of us. If it weren't for your idea, we'd still be under the thumb of those scumbags."
Zilon chuckled softly. "You just said it yourself—we've been through a lot together. Besides, you guys were the ones who insisted on working under me. At the end of the day, we're brothers, aren't we?"
Bob's eyes softened. "Here you are, about to get married, and I'm still single. So, tell me, will you name your son after me?"
Zilon laughed, the sound filling the car. "We had the same conversation with her, and she almost shaved my head with a stone when I suggested it."
The two men burst into laughter, the atmosphere light and carefree. Bob, caught up in the moment, increased the car's speed.
"Hey, hey, do you want the cops chasing us?" Zilon teased, wiping a tear from his eye.
Bob grinned. "Hah! Could they even catch a fast uncle like me? I'll teach them how to spell 'Bob, the fastest of all time!'"
Their laughter was cut short by the sharp crack of a gunshot.
"Phaa!"
The car swerved violently, flipping twice before coming to a stop upside down. Bob, despite a bleeding gash on his head, managed to kick the door open and crawl out. He immediately turned to the passenger side, his heart sinking when he saw Zilon still trapped inside.
"Zilon!" he shouted, pulling at the jammed door with all his strength. When it wouldn't budge, he smashed the cracked window with his fist, ignoring the shards of glass cutting into his hands. He reached in and dragged Zilon out, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the gaping hole in his friend's chest.
"No, no, no! Zilon, you can't die here! Hold on!" Bob fumbled for his phone, his hands trembling as he tried to dial for help.
Zilon's hand, slick with blood, weakly grasped bob's wrist. "Bob... there's nothing... the doctors can do... the bullet... it pierced my heart."
Bob froze, his world crumbling around him. Zilon's voice grew fainter as he struggled to speak. "Bob... you and the others... live a good life... forget about me... don't seek revenge... if there's a second life... I'll get my revenge... tell her... I'm sorry..."
His hand fell limp, his eyes closing for the last time. Bob's anguished cry echoed into the night. "ZILONNNNNN!!!!"
------
The sound of a door clicking open snapped Zilon back to the present. His eyes flew open, and he was startled to find a pair of brown eyes staring at him with cold indifference.