The helicopter's rotors cut through the air, a harsh mechanical buzz that felt alien to England's ears. Below, the Russian landscape dissolved into an endless stretch of dark sea, its surface glinting faintly under the moon's indifferent glow. As they crossed into Western Europe, the night gradually softened, revealing a world that felt at once familiar and impossibly foreign. Cities sprawled like constellations, their lights stretching into the horizon. Highways carved through the land, ribbons of motion animated by vehicles that moved with an eerie synchronicity. To England, the world below resembled a child's playset crafted by an incomprehensible mind. His enhanced senses heightened the surrealism, pulling into sharp focus every tiny inconsistency between the world he remembered and the one he now faced. Buildings no longer rose with the charm of stone and brick but with the stark perfection of glass and steel. Cars no longer sputtered but hummed, their lights weaving a hypnotic dance. The world seemed alive but not with the life he knew.
By the time the helicopter landed in the UK, the assault on his senses had only grown worse. The air was cleaner, yes, but tinged with a synthetic quality. Exhaust from electric engines, the faint hum of neon lights, and the pervasive aroma of technology. The ground crew moved with clockwork precision, their gadgets beeping and blinking like something out of a science fiction novel. Moore was waiting by the vehicle, a sleek self-driving construct that seemed more computer than car. She smirked as England approached, her amusement thinly veiled beneath her professional demeanour.
"Welcome to the future, Major," she said before opening the door with a flourish.
The drive through London was a tour through time. England watched the city he had known replaced piece by piece with something alien. Old stone buildings still stood, but they seemed like relics beside towering glass monoliths. The streets were alive with a ceaseless flow of humanity, faces lit by the blue glow of mobile screens. Even the language he understood felt alien in the mouths of hurried passer-by, their accents peppered with influences from far-off places. He saw little of the Britain he fought for. Instead, he witnessed a country transformed by decades of progress and conflict he hadn't lived through. A memorial for the wars he knew, dwarfed by tributes to newer conflicts. His old flat, replaced by a purple-branded building bearing the name 'Premier Inn'. The fog in his mind made everything feel like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, where the lines between what was real and what was not blurred incessantly. The past had been overwritten and, though he was alive, he felt like a ghost. The car pulled in near the pub that England had once spent the better part of a decade at. Apart from the words "FREE HOUSE" being lit up with a bright blue, not much has changed.
Moore exited the vehicle, "Shall we?"
Inside, the pub was a strange amalgam of the past and the present. The bar, with its worn wooden surface, remained but the bottles lining the shelves bore unfamiliar labels. The air smelled of craft beers and electronic cigarette vapour instead of tobacco. The patrons, heads bowed over glowing devices, paid little attention to the live band performing on a small stage. The music from the band was a mix of genres he couldn't name, their lyrics speaking of a world he didn't know. England sat at the bar, the stool somehow too ergonomic to feel real. Moore ordered two pints of cider, placing one in front of him. He took the glass without a word, sipping the drink that did little to warm him. His enhanced metabolism made alcohol pointless, a reminder of how much he had lost in his so-called rebirth. Though, if he learned anything from Genesis and Noah's discovery of wine, it was probably for the best. As he sipped, the world outside the pub seemed to press in. He looked at Moore, who was watching him with her usual calculating gaze.
"When did they start playing music here?" he muttered as he gestured to the band.
"About two decades ago," Moore replied as she sipped her drink with an air of someone who had seen many Londons come and go, "And that's when they're not filming whatever's on Channel 4 these days."
The fog in his mind lifted slightly as he studied the room. Here, in this strange collision of old and new, he felt the weight of his displacement more keenly than ever. His memories were history now, forgotten by all but a handful of survivors.
Moore tapped his hand, drawing his attention to the dried blood still clinging to his fingers, "The toilets are still in the same place as before so, unless you want people asking questions and me flashing my badge and pulling rank on every Tom, Dick and Harry that sits at this bar, I'd suggest you have a wash."
England stared at his hands before nodding silently. Rising from his seat, he found the bathroom exactly where he remembered it, though the inside was unrecognizable. Automatic faucets and motion sensors had replaced the familiar brass fixtures, the tiles gleaming unnaturally clean. He watched the water turn pink as it washed away the blood, then clear. His reflection stared back at him. Worn, weathered, and out of place. The surreal feeling persisted as he exited the bathroom before he sat back down. His cider was barely half-empty. Moore, on the other hand, had nearly finished hers.
"It's funny," Moore commented as she took another sip from her cider, "I've been coming here before you were even in nappies and yet, even as the world changed around me, this place still stayed the same."
England said nothing, just calmy picking up his cider and sipping from it.
"And yet," Moore continued, "Much like myself, this place has learned to adapt with the times."
England glared at Moore, "Your point?"
Moore said with a finality, "I know you may not see it this way but your hardships and suffering has finally paid off. You have been blessed with-"
England slammed his cider down onto the bar and pointed at Moore, "Don't...Start. Don't talk to me about God or sin or divine purpose or anything. I had a bloody gutful of it!"
Moore calmly pulled England's finger down from her face, "Dispensing with the pleasantries, are we? Alright. I'll give two options. I can rent out a flat for you to help familiarize yourself with the modern-day world so you can have something to do when off-duty or I can dose you with enough tranquilizers to kill an elephant and have you moved from facility to facility until I need you on the field again. Your choice."
England's gaze darkened, the fog momentarily replaced by clarity. He turned away from her, lifting his cider again.
"Flat sounds nice," Moore muttered in a poor impression of England's voice before switching to her usual tone as she finished her drink, "Why, thank you. It is funded by the taxpayer, after all."