The Streets - Revan's Perspective
The city was a cacophony of sights and sounds, a bewildering assault on Revan's senses. Towering structures of glass and steel scraped the sky, their surfaces reflecting the harsh sunlight, creating a dizzying kaleidoscope of light and shadow. Strange, wheeled contraptions roared past, their engines spewing noxious fumes, their occupants seemingly oblivious to the chaos around them. People swarmed the streets, their faces a blur of expressions, their voices a jumble of unintelligible sounds.
Revan stumbled through the unfamiliar landscape, his mind reeling, his body aching. He had no memory of his past, no understanding of this strange new world. He was lost, alone, adrift in a sea of confusion.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his head, a blinding white light engulfing his vision. He saw a fleeting image, a young woman with fiery red hair, her face contorted in terror, her body engulfed in flames. He gasped, the image vanishing as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a lingering sense of dread.
Another flash, another image. A middle-aged man with kind eyes and a warm smile, his chest pierced by a jagged blade, his lifeblood staining the pristine white of his shirt. Revan cried out, his hands clutching his head, the pain intensifying.
The visions came in rapid succession, each one a gruesome tableau of death and despair. A child, his laughter cut short by a speeding vehicle, his small body crushed beneath its wheels. An elderly woman, her frail form collapsing in the street, her eyes filled with a quiet resignation. A young couple, their embrace interrupted by a hail of gunfire, their bodies riddled with bullet holes.
Revan fell to his knees, his body wracked with pain, his mind overwhelmed by the onslaught of visions. He screamed, his voice a raw, animalistic sound that echoed through the bustling streets, drawing the attention of passersby. They stared at him, their faces a mixture of concern and disgust, their voices a murmur of judgment.
"Crazy old man," someone muttered.
"Needs to be locked up," another said.
Revan ignored them, his focus inward, his mind consumed by the visions. He saw death, everywhere he looked, death in its myriad forms, its cold embrace claiming lives with a chilling indifference. He heard their screams, their pleas for mercy, their final gasps of breath. The weight of it all pressed down on him, crushing him, suffocating him.
Then, a deafening ringing filled his ears, a high-pitched whine that drowned out all other sounds. He clutched his head, his body convulsing, his vision blurring. The ringing intensified, reaching a crescendo of pain that threatened to shatter his sanity.
And then, silence.
The ringing abruptly ceased, leaving behind an eerie quiet. Revan slowly opened his eyes, his vision clearing. He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the bustling street, the curious onlookers, the indifferent passersby. But something was different. He saw them, not as they were, but as they would be. He saw their deaths, their final moments, their destinies laid bare before him.
He looked up, his eyes no longer their usual violet hue, but a deep, unsettling crimson. The pain was gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness. He saw a faint, misty red stream flowing through the air, a spectral trail that only he could perceive. He stood up, his body no longer wracked with pain, his mind strangely calm, his purpose clear. He would follow the stream, he would witness their deaths, he would fulfill his destiny.
Day Before Chapter 1
The Archive - Briefing Room
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile, unforgiving glare on the occupants of the briefing room. Ender, Kyle, Michael, Rex, Zane, and Arthur sat around a polished steel table, their postures a mix of boredom and barely concealed disdain. At the head of the table stood Jimmy Winston, a man whose appearance was as unsettling as his reputation.
Bald, with a face that seemed perpetually contorted in a grotesque parody of a grin, Jimmy Winston, or "The beast" as he was known in the darker corners of the Archive, was a legend. Not for his power – though his ability to transform into a hulking, bestial figure was formidable – but for his sheer, unhinged insanity. An addict for war, for chaos, for the sheer thrill of destruction, Jimmy was a walking, talking embodiment of mayhem.
Jimmy: Okay! Listen up, ya bunch of newbies, (he began, his voice a grating rasp that seemed to scrape against the very walls of the room.) The world that you've known and loved... Is GONE! The world out there now? It's a jungle. Full of bad guys, monsters, and all sorts of creepy crawlies that you've only heard of in story books. And You gotta be ready for anything, ya hear me?
He punctuated his words with wild gestures, his arms flailing, his face contorting into even more bizarre expressions. Ender stifled a yawn, while Michael exchanged a weary glance with Zane. Only Kyle seemed genuinely interested, his eyes fixed on Jimmy, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
Jimmy: But, like, the worst things out there? (Jimmy continued, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.) Are the ghosts, man. They're the real baddies. Sneaky, invisible, always watching, waiting to suck out the soul from your dick. And you know why?! (He pointed at Rex who shook his head.) Because they jealous of us! We get to have bodies while they don't.
Zane snorted, unable to contain himself any longer.
Zane: That's bullshit.
Jimmy glared at him, his eyes narrowing.
Jimmy: Oh? Bullshit huh? Okay, tell me mister Kenway, who's the instructor assigned by Viktor, here? me or you?
Zane: Uhm... You and uh, I'm not Kenway.
Jimmy: What? Then what the fuck you doing here? This is a lesson for them! Covert Operations Division!
Zane: I'm part of the team, idiot. I'm Zane Grants.
Jimmy: Zane Grants? (He chuckled) What a crappy name, man.
Kyle: Ahem! (He cleared his throat catching Jimmy's attention.)
Kyle: Are there different kinds of ghosts that we should know about? (he asked, his voice serious.)
Jimmy grinned, his teeth bared in a disturbing display.
Jimmy: Yes. There's maaany different kinds of ghosts. There are Wraiths, Wendigos, Revenants, poltergeists, specters and many many more.
Arthur: Ain't Ghosts and specters the same thing?
Jimmy: In meaning, yes but they not. There are ghosts out there that are the manifestations of every living beings' imagination. They are made real. Like the pagan gods.
Rex: Wait... P-pagan gods? You mean... they exist in our world?
Jimmy: Yeah. And trust me, you do NOT wanna meet any of them.
Kyle: How do we stop them? Incase they turn evil and what not? (Kyle pressed, his eyes fixed on Jimmy.)
Jimmy shrugged, his grin widening.
Jimmy: Unless you as fast as Jack and as strong as me, You can't. You just gotta hope they don't get ya first.
Michael, unable to take it any longer, let out a long, exasperated sigh. This is going to be a long session, he thought, his gaze drifting towards the clock on the wall, its hands moving with agonizing slowness.
The briefing continued, Jimmy's rambling monologue a bizarre mix of nonsensical theories, exaggerated war stories, and disturbingly graphic descriptions of his various encounters with the "creepy crawlies" of the world. The team endured, their patience wearing thin, their minds wandering to the more pressing matters at hand – like how to survive in a world where a Humagon was the least of their worries.