Untitled 2

Chapter 1
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The hazy memories of the dream that had included the uninspired reaper pushed at the forefront of Toby’s mind. It had been a weird dream and frankly ominous. Dreaming of the reaper lurking in the corner and giving out a quest certainly couldn’t be a good thing. It also couldn’t be good that he hadn’t felt any pain after- he’d been sliced open! The fucking overrated, overused, trite cliche had sliced him up! The growing anger dissipated as Toby opened his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings.

A pounding headache formed as his body was suddenly assaulted by sensations. It was as if all his senses had suddenly been flipped on. It was painful, incredibly painful. Toby’s mouth ached as it opened, feeling incredibly stiff. His vocal cords failed him, leaving him in a silent scream.

White harsh light assaulted his eyes, searing them and making them sting. Tears started to well in them at the sharp scent of bleach, disinfectants, and whatever else belong in a dirty, uncleaned janitor’s closet hit his nose.  It was a clinical, pure, acidic smell. His ears erupted with the dizzying sound of dozens of different machines buzzing, whirling, beeping, and humming in the background. His tongue felt heavy and dry in his throat as he became painfully aware of the smooth, unblemished surface beneath him. The surface was also freezing cold.

Toby tried to move, to get out of wherever he happened to be. He had never seen this place before, not that he had anything but the ceiling to go off. He could make out wires in his peripheral vision, but nothing else. Frustrated at his immobility and irritated by the pain, Toby snapped his eyes shut, offering some brief relief. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Toby’s sensitive ears picked up a new sound that disrupted the buzzing mechanical background hum. Heels clacked against the floor, quickly growing louder as they seemed to move closer. A few moments later, another set of footsteps joined the heels. Toby braced himself for pain and opened his eyes. He stared into the white pristine ceiling, futilely struggling to turn his head to view who was with him.

The heels stopped painfully close to the bed yet still out of sight. The footsteps continued for a few moments. A shadow briefly fell across him as the second figure moved around to the other side of whatever Toby was on.

Toby wanted to shout, wanted to ask questions, wanted to demand to know where he was. His voice wouldn’t allow any of these things. Toby simply laid immobile on the bed.

A pen clicked and a feminine voice that belayed calm spoke somewhere in the unseeable void beyond the bed. “Agent, please report on the condition of the subject.”

A response came from the other side of Toby’s bed, this time from a masculine voice, “Alright.” There was a pause and the ruffling of papers. The voice spoke again, this time simply reading in a monotone, “Subject 5652’s result was about 78.2%. This number is preferable to the expected 65.9%. Subject 5652’s percentage is not higher due the anticipated amnesia and the misaligned musculature inherent in using an organic host. Short term amnesia is expected. Further expected issues include a lack of coordination, the lack of-“

“That information will be sufficient, Agent Nine. Please release the numbing on the subject.”

There was no response from the agent, but Toby assumed it had been followed due to the tingling sensations running through his body. It was slightly like the cold, jabbing pinpricks that danced over his arm when it woke up. Or it would have been, if the pinpricks were a thousand times worse and agonizing. They quickly ended, leaving Toby’s body feeling sore and heavy, as if waking up from a long sleep. He could flex his fingers, which meant he could talk. He could talk, which meant he could ask questions. His head spun and felt sluggish as he tried moving. His body felt cold and heavy, but it moved, if barely. Toby turned his head slightly, causing a small blond clump of hair to fall in front of his face. It took a surprising amount of effort to absentmindedly move his hand to his face and push it aside. He froze as he lifted the hair out of his eyes, staring at it.

It was blond hair.

It was a light blond, a cheery one that would have given off a nice, simple aesthetic of normality. The aesthetic was ruined by the black tips evident in the hair he held. It wasn’t the black spots that held Toby’s attention however. The natural blond hair color was what had him enraptured.

Because Toby knew he was a brunette.

His hair had been brown since birth and he’s never dyed it, not even once. The blond color looked too natural to be hair dye as well. It hurt his neck, but Toby lifted his head to look at the rest of his body, to see if anything else was different.

He was on the brink of freaking out when he saw what his body looked like. His skin was tanner then it was supposed to be. He was broader too. It seemed like his body was wider, more stockily built. His legs looked shorter too. Considering he was supposed to be a ghostly pale, stick thin, tall guy, this was most certainly a surprise.

Gathering coherent thought despite his surprise, Toby spoke. Even his voice was different, quiet but deep, “Excuse me, if I may ever so politely ask, but why am I strapped to this fucking cold table and why the fuck are the two of you grey aliens just staring at me?”

Silence filled the room before the woman looming out of sight spoke, “I’m terribly sorry-“

“-for interrupting me.” Toby cut her off before she could even start taking really, “Did I say I was finished? No, I didn’t. Apology refused. Now tell me why the hell I look like a stereotypical football captain in some teen movie.” Toby tried to push himself up, but his arms bent and fell to his side at the effort. Instead, he tried to make a tight, dignified roll to stare at his captors. The woman was somewhat short with a neutral expression covering her face. Coupled with the dark upwards hairstyle and glasses, she certainly looked like an intelligent person. The white lab coat furthered that point. His other captor, the man who had been called Agent Nine, was out of sight of Toby at this angle.

The woman responded to his demand with a question, “What year do you think it is?”

Toby stared dead at the woman and deadpanned, “Well, obviously, it’s the year  500. You can tell by the fact that I, obviously, am speaking Latin right now. Now stop evading the question and answer me! Who the hell are you people?”

The woman nodded ever so slightly, “Very well, as you wish. My name is Anna and my companion is Agent Nine. We are members of an organization known as Ember.” A man who could be assumed to be Agent Nine walked around the table Toby was on, standing with his arms crossed next to Anna. He looked exactly like Toby expected, with his dark close cropped hair and three piece suit. The Agent’s face was set into an expression of perpetual suspicion and disapproval, his lips curling down slightly.

“Great. Ember. That sounds like,” Toby coughed, wincing, “something a child named. I feel like someone put my insides through a blender. How many organs did you psychos take? If,” Toby groaned again, wincing as the pain he was ignoring started to ignite into a migraine, “if you were looking for a heart, sorry to disappoint.” Toby collapsed weakly against the bed, his strange, different arms giving out. He could feel phantom aches all over him, burning in his chest and starbursting in his head. He gasped for breath.

“Agent, please reapply the anesthetic.”

A cooling sensation washed over Toby, making the aches grow gradually duller. Soon he barely noticed them. He tried to move a limb but found it limp and unresponsive. Toby’s eyes widened in alarm.

Anna quickly reassured him, a calm tone in her voice, “The lack of motor control is supposed to happen. There’s no point in fighting it. You have questions, I assume?”

Toby nodded, hundreds of questions pounding through his head. He wasn’t showing it, but this was freaking him out. It never ended well when a person woke up in a different body in a room full of strangers. Especially not when coupled with exceptionally ominous dreams. “What don’t I have a question about? How do I even know I can trust you to tell the truth? Either of one of you psychos could easily lie to me.”

Anna tried to smile comfortingly, unfortunately making Toby tense up, “There would be no point in lying to you at this stage. Perhaps a white lie might be beneficial at a later stage, but currently truth is the only way to smoothly make impactful progress. As you might be aware, my name is Anna. The man beside me is Agent Nine. Both of us are part of an organization called Ember. I feel you could most adequately compare my organization to a civil rights movement or a regulatory group.”

Despite the seriousness of the information Toby was receiving, he should help but mutter under his breath, “Like PETA?”

Much to his surprise, Anna nodded, “That would be a fairly accurate example. Instead of animals however, we, in a manner of speaking, care for people. The question I first asked you, do you remember it, Toby Wallace?”

“Not wasting my breath when you’ll tell me anyways.” Toby would have folded his arms, but they were currently numb and limp.

“Don’t feel the urge to respond if you truly do not wish to answer. Your lack of cooperation reflects poorly on you, but this is neither the time nor place for such matters. The question I asked you upon when you regained consciousness was if you knew what year it was. The answer to that question is...” Anna trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging.

Toby frowned and shook his head, “I know damn well what the year is, as do you. Unless you’re some freaky time traveler or a hermit, only a true idiot wouldn’t know the year. You look like some nerd techno-geek, so I’d assume-“

Agent Nine loudly coughed, drawing Toby’s attention to the man. His arms were crossed, and his eyes narrowed slightly. His grey eyes stared into Toby’s own with a surprising intensity. The staring lasted several long moments before Toby blinked. He sighed and turned away, “The year is 2092, as if you didn’t know that.” Nine nodded slightly at the answer.

Anna smiled politely, “Your cooperation is appreciated, thank you. Despite what you may think, it is not the year 2092. Rather it is the year 2145.”

A pin could have dropped at the silence following Anna’s pause. Despite the limp state of his body, Toby stiffened. It couldn’t be 2145, it couldn’t. Toby quickly ran the math in his head. 53 years. That was impossible. Yesterday he had gone to sleep in his bed, safe and secure. He had even had the doors locked and the war bunker had no windows. There was no way someone had snuck in undetected or he had somehow been asleep for 53 years. There was no way. Toby stifled his confusion with practiced ease, knowing it was a joke. “My name’s not Rip Van Gullible. If you’re not going to tell me the truth, then turn the morphine or whatever off and let me leave.”

“My sincerest apologies, but I am not allowed to let you leave. Leaving is not, nor will it ever be an option.”