Chapter Text
Blinking into consciousness is a slow thing.
He doesn’t want to get up. Something must’ve jumpstarted the whole process, considering how reluctant he is to be awake, but he can’t really feel or hear anything out of the ordinary. There’s only birdsong from the trees and the soft movement of wind through the leaves.
Wait, trees?
A blade of grass moves with the wind, tickling his face. He opens his eyes, and yeah, he’s passed out in the middle of what looks like a playground. That’s not strange behaviour at all. He gets up faster after that, almost falling over as he tries to get up on his feet. He looks around. It seems like more of a courtyard than a playground, but that’s not exactly the relevant part here. He has no idea where he actually is, or how he got here. It’s not a strange place to be exactly, but it’s a strange place to wake up in, especially without any knowledge of who he is. Holy fudge, yeah no, he doesn’t know that either.
He takes a deep breath. It’s alright, let’s be calm about this. Maybe he’s just… found some leftover vodka and had a bit more fun than intended. He looks down at his clothes. Fairly normal, far as he’s concerned. Jeans, sweater, obnoxious yellow raincoat. He raises his hands to his face. Short hair, scruffy beard that’s been shaved short. Nothing particularly interesting. Although it does feel a little off, like there’s something missing. He goes through the pockets of his coat and jeans, but there’s a whole lot of nothing there too.
There’s– hm. He’d still been blinking the sleep from his eyes a minute ago, so he hadn’t paid it any mind, but his vision is still blurry. He doesn’t exactly have a frame of reference at the minute, but he can gather his vision is pretty bad. Definitely bad enough to need glasses. He crouches back to the ground in order to look, but–
“Squeak!”
He startles at the noise from behind him and whirls around to find– Yeah, no, what even is that. The thing standing in front of him doesn’t have a shape, not really. Not in the way objects do. It’s as if someone's taken a whiteboard eraser and just smudged reality a little from where whatever this blob is is standing. It’s small, and looks like some kind of animal? It’s black, with hints of beautiful purples and blue tones as well as… Well, he can’t really see clearly enough to make out the patterning. What’s more interesting is that it seems to be holding a pair of glasses in its mouth.
Hesitantly, he reaches out. “Hey, little guy, mind if I just, uh…”
He snatches the frames and pulls his hand back quickly. He doesn’t think the thing would bite him, considering it seemed to be offering them to him, but then again he’s not an expert in talking to animals. He could’ve been robbing the little guy of its most prized possession just now.
With his glasses on– he’s assuming they’re his glasses, considering the prescription seems alright –the thing looks almost like a fox. Smaller though. And space patterned. It’s almost mesmerizing. Staring at its form is like looking out at the sky with a telescope, except the comparison doesn’t even come close. It doesn't ever get that dark. Usually, the celestial bodies are faint, only seen with special equipment. But now, looking at the creature's pelt, the stars are clear. It’s like he’s in the sky himself. He’s surprised as the thing moves closer. He sits down for balance as the fox fully climbs on him. That’s weird. There’s been experiments, sure, and signs of some level of behavioral change in vulpine animals, but they haven’t been exactly domesticated, have they? This thing is way too friendly.
This thing is also a window to outer space though, so that’s not saying much.
The fox sniffs at his hand, and he raises it to scratch behind its ear. It leans into the touch. “What are you doing here, bud?” he asks, then laughs awkwardly to fill the silence that follows. “I, uhh… don’t exactly have much to give you, at the moment, but…”
He doesn’t want the thing to leave. If it’s domesticated, it’s probably looking for food or something. It’s not much of a conversation partner, but there’s something comforting about the presence. He’d like to keep the little guy around. “Don’t suppose you’d know where we are?” he tries. The thing just yips at him in lieu of a response. He sighs softly, and goes to carefully lift the fox out of his lap. This is nice and all, but he should really get to work on figuring out this whole amnesia thing.
Pushing himself off the ground, he accidentally hits something with his hand. Huh. There’s an apple on the ground, right next to where he woke up. He grabs it. Looks like a normal apple. He tosses it up in the air a few times, catching it perfectly. There’s something familiar about repeating the motion. He keeps fidgeting with it as he moves on.
He’s standing in the middle of a small courtyard. There’s a swingset, a slide, and a few monkey bars to swing off of, but all-in-all it’s a pretty depressing set-up. The apple must’ve fallen from the large tree in the middle of the area– except, that’s not an apple tree. Or, it could be, but there’s no leaves in it at all, nevermind fruit. Where did this come from, then?
He looks up to investigate, and– whoa, that’s a lot of stuff. The buildings surrounding him stretch on way higher than he thought they would. It’s a strange type of architecture, what with all the run down brick and concrete blending into rusted sheet metal haphazardly thrown around. There’s really no rhyme nor reason to the way the buildings are stacked up, windows and walls jutting out wherever they please. Various pipes, tunnels and bridges crisscross between the space he looks through, blocking almost all view of the bright orange sky. It’s a gorgeous shade. It actually makes him pause for a minute.
Have I ever seen the sky like that?
Turning his attention back to what’s closer, he can see a set of stairs that lead up to the buildings around him, spiraling across the walls of the courtyard. That’s probably his best bet. There isn’t much else around. Various boxes and barrels are stacked up against the walls, but it seems to just be junk thrown out by the residents living in the buildings around him. He rummages around a little in whatever he can break his way into, but none of the stuff inside seems particularly useful. Throughout all of this, the little fox follows him around, curiously sniffing at the surroundings not unlike how he’s doing. There’s other generic objects: discarded chair, fire hydrant, small water fountain, whatever. He does check that last one for if he could get a look at his reflection, but it seems to be out of order.
Right. Up those stairs, then. There’s more junk littering the pathway. The larger crates and boxes have been moved to the side though. However run down this place may be, there’s apparently still someone keeping the order. The walls are covered in posters; various ads and notices. And speaking of the walls– they’re in really bad shape. The bricks have turned two-toned in places from all the grime and oil coating them. There’s various cables running across the walls and crisscrossing between the buildings in a way that seems like a significant fire hazard.
A few pigeons startle as he makes his way up the path. None of this is familiar. Having no personal memories, or recollection of the specific place he finds himself is one thing, but what really throws him off is that the entire style of architecture feels wholly unfamiliar. The sky feels unfamiliar. It’s unsettling.
He turns to look back, and feels a strange sense of relief as he sees the fox-like creature still following him. It yips at him again, when he stares at it for a moment. He gives a noncommittal hum in response. I wonder if the little guy has a name?
The path ends at a flimsily built wooden bit of wall. There’s a door there, lying ajar, which leads into another not-quite-room with pipes running through it. He cautiously steps in. The path seems to continue through here, but he doesn’t get very far along it as–
–out of nowhere, a man jumps out at him. The guy grabs onto his shoulder and starts shaking him. He startles at the sudden touch. Woah, too close! Way too close!! Personal space, dude!
He shuffles out of the grip, floundering for words. The other man breathes heavily, seemingly trying to compose himself in order to get the words out. Do I know this guy?
The old man struggles for a few seconds, before opening his mouth “P- Please, you gotta he–”
He tries to grab him again and he dodges out of the way, not expecting the man to lose his balance and go crashing into the ground. His eyes widen “Uh– oh dang–” He backs away, unsure of what to do.
The guy looks panicked, gesturing for him to hold on. “Wait! You don’t understand!”
Yeah, man, I really don’t! You know, maybe it was because of the calming nature of the courtyard or the presence of his little fox companion, but he’d been keeping his composure surprisingly well earlier. Now, this man’s panic is really starting to infect him. What the heck is going on here!? He looks back at the man. Should he hear him out? Ask for directions? Run??
“You gotta save my boy!!”
…What?
“He’s this way, come on!” The man gets up and grabs his arm, taking off in a run and dragging him up along the continuing path.
“Whoa–! Hold on, wait up, what’s–”
He doesn’t get a word in as he’s dragged through a tunnel of some sort. The man lets go of him briefly, in order to pry off a grate that seems like it’s screaming ‘absolutely do not go in here’.
“Come on!”
–and he isn’t even getting dragged anymore, he’s just running after the man, because what??? He can’t process what’s going on. The tunnel is a horrid mess of sensory input. It feels more like a street, with the way there are window-like openings on the walls, seemingly leading into places for people to stay. There are people looking out of those windows, people in the hallway– just– lots of people everywhere, as he’s jostled through the current of the crowd making its way the complete opposite direction of where he’s being led. He opens his mouth to question where they’re going, but he can’t get a word in.
There are people talking to him, too. Amidst the flow of people moving, there are those who are still; idly chatting, warming their hands over a fire, waiting out whatever commotion is taking place. It’s a strange dichotomy between the panic he’s contracted from the strange old man and all the humdrum; all these people just having a regular day. Someone asks him for a light as he runs by. A pair of men playing cards give him a weird look, mumbling something about outsiders.
“Hey, doesn’t that fox look kinda like that spider from earlier?”
He opts to ignore the excess noise, best he can. This is overwhelming.
As they get closer to whatever their destination may be, the people around are starting to seem a lot more panicked. Something about a storm, something about gravity, monsters, something about run, go back where you came from, close your eyes and go back to sleep because surely this has to be a nightmare.
It’s so loud.
There’s wind now, and it certainly isn’t the light breeze from earlier.
He jumps ten feet in the air as a– what the heck was that!? It looks like a cross between a car and a scooter– except it’s flying. It whizzes past him in a blur, flashing red lights burning patterns into his retinas. They’re outside the mass of buildings, at this point, climbing a fire escape on the side of a wall. The strange man scoffs. “Oh, now the police show up?” He grumbles.
Police? Wait, so why am I involved??
He has the urge to curl up in a ball and just wait it out, maybe cry a little bit. There’s way too much going on; he’s just not built for this kind of thing. I don’t even know my name! Why am I the one being dragged into this!?
Fire escape turns into a street turns into a narrow alleyway beneath the layers of the maze-like city. The horrid architecture is making this unnecessarily complicated. A window crashes open against the torrential wind, its effect worsened by the tunnel-esque shape of the space. Someone shouts out at them. “Aujean, your house is breaking apart!” Are they talking to me? My house?? Is that my name!?
Decidedly not his house, or name. The man he’s following shouts out in a panic, and takes off running even faster than he was sprinting before. Right. Aujean, that’s who’s leading him to his untimely death. Great.
There’s debris hurtling through the air at breakneck speeds, turned into tiny projectiles by the gale. A particularly sharp piece of rock smashes into one of the flimsy pipes littering the walls and rancid black smoke leaks out around him, making him cough. His eyes burn.
“Oh, come on! Hurry the hell up!” Aujean cries out.
There’s so much noise. People jostle against him as he makes his way through the crowd. His glasses do nothing to protect his eyes against the dirt and gravel speeding through the air. All he can really be grateful for is that it isn’t as bright as– huh?
He looks around, finding most of the movement around him has stopped. He finds himself on a bridge-like bit in the middle of two buildings, and– whoa! Okay, don’t look down! Got it!
There’s still a crowd around him, but they’ve come to a standstill, staring up into the sky.
Aujean runs up to the railing of the bridge as well, holding onto it with a white-knuckle grip. He looks up like the rest of them.
Holy fudge, that is not a normal storm.
Parting the sky, there’s a red and black mass of wispy clouds. It’s a thick smoke, overwhelming the air to the point where it seems more like sludge dripping out of an open wound. Someone’s taken a knife and dragged it through the bright orange tapestry, ripping an asymmetrical mess of a whirlpool in the atmosphere and smearing black ink all over. Darkness pours out of the rift, carving shapes into the air.
The winds are downright violent. In the halls and tunnels, they were hoisting up small rocks and grains of dirt. Now, he can see the city ripped apart in front of his very eyes. Parts of buildings are being torn off, streetlamps stand no chance and there is a whole entire house hanging on to solid ground by a mere thread.
I am not meant to be here.
Aujean shouts up at a small boy, who is desperately clinging onto the aforementioned house. Oh my god, that boy is younger than my kids.
Kids?
Images flash in his mind. They can’t be called memories, not really. It’s more a series of flashes and incomplete threads of thought, but he can just about gather what his brain is trying to piece together. Classroom, beanbag, lava, whiteboard. Right, I’m a teacher.
I’m a *teacher*!? I am so underqualified for this!
What is a middle school science teacher meant to do about a storm strong enough to rip entire buildings off the ground? The architecture didn’t look exactly stable, but he doubts that’s why there’s buildings sailing about in thin air. He expects me to fix this?
“Well hurry the fuck up! You saw him up there, my boy’s trapped in that house! He’ll get taken by the storm!” Aujean cries.
He’s stunned. “I– I don’t know what you want me to…? I’m not–” This is insane. “I can’t do this.”
The man looks downright offended. “You’re like that– rock spider boy, right? Use that fox of yours to get up there and save him!”
He’s bordering on hysterical, now. “What spider are y– Nevermind, what the heck do you even want me to do with this thing!? Throw it at the kid???” He didn’t even know the animal was still following.
“Oh drop the act! I saw you plunge from the sky and land without a scratch! Use that superpower of yours to get up there and save my son, goddammit!!”
“Superpower!?”
His new companion uses that as its cue to jump up on the railing and indignantly bark at him. Its ethereal form is now somehow even blurrier, almost as if the stars in its pelt are glowing. He looks between it and Aujean. “Look, I’m sorry I really don’t–”
he’s falling.
Holy mother of pearl he’s falling and he’s going to die, and–
A wave of nausea has his eyes desperately searching for the ground.
…
It’s right there.
He’s disoriented, he’s dying, he’s panicking because he can’t feel the ground–
He’s floating. Like– a foot off the floor. Which in all honesty really, really doesn’t make it any better because how is he doing that?! And he still feels like he’s falling, thank you very much!
He’s busy trying not to puke in his shirt, when he hears another yip from somewhere vaguely below him. And now he is actually falling. Holy cow, he’s falling up.
He flails around and screams, screwing his eyes shut and pretending he’s… anywhere else, really! He’s rewarded with a bruising pain in his cheekbone and a cracking noise which he prays isn’t his bones or glasses as his face slams into the ground. Or what is now the ground for him, anyway.
He looks down, but down is not down. Down is a wall. What? He looks down; what’s actually down (to the right?).
Well this certainly isn’t right.
“Are you doing this!?” He screams in a panic at the little fox who he now really would rather not be involved with. Against all of his wishes, there’s a little squawk from beside him. “Don’t make me do it again, please–” His begging yields no results, as he’s once again hoisted into the air and onto another surface.
He probably looks downright pitiful, curled up and shaking in a panic. But really none of it matters. Up is down, left is right, and he’s on a wall for cripes’ sake!!!
He feels the fox nudge at his arm. He gathers the courage to peek out from where he’s buried his head in his hands, and sees the little guy nudging at him to get up.
“Please promise me you won’t make me do that again.” He knows it’s in vain, but he’d really like some words of encouragement right about now. He gets no response, only an expectant look.
He gets up onto shaking legs with a deep breath and groans, trying hard not to look wherever down is right now. He pockets his glasses. He can’t have them getting any more busted up. His coat still seems affected by gravity, even if he’s flying around all over the place, so he really doesn’t want to risk the possibility of the same applying to his glasses. Seeing less is probably better right now, anyways. If only for his sanity.
He feels like he’s going to faint. Darkness curls around the edges of his limited vision as he follows where the fox is leading him. Is there really no one else who could do this right now? What about rock spider boy, or whatever the heck he was called! Where’s he at!? There’s got to be people way more qualified, so why is it him that’s getting sent up here?
He follows the fox onto a flimsy looking pipe, which he really does not want to balance on. He runs a hand across his face– holy cow he’s sweaty– and feels tears starting to form. I really don’t want to die here.
He doesn’t remember much, but from the way he was running earlier he can guess he’s never been particularly acrobatic. He tries to reason with himself. It’s okay, it’s just for a bit. He takes a step, then another and– well, it really is for just a bit. The pipe just ends where it’s been broken off by the storm.
His companion waits beside him. “What, do you want me to–?” He looks at his companion incredulously. “I’m not going to jump.”
“…”
“I’m just not going to! I won’t do it! I don’t know what you want from me, but that can’t be it!”
“Squeak!”
“Aurgh!!” He groans in frustration, and goes to turn on his heel. No more of this.
Except, he feels the ground slip out from under him. It’s not even the gravity this time, just his own clumsiness bringing him to his doom.
Falling. Again. “Alright I’m sorry! I’m sorry, just– do your gravity thing!! Please!!” I don’t want to die.
He hits the ground.
Wait, Aujean might’ve been right. It didn’t hurt.
Except, screw that, because he’s still not on the ground. It’s another broken off piece of house. One, which is actively moving.
He’s getting really tired of screaming at this point.
He’s led from one broken off chunk of wall to another, reluctantly running and jumping like some off-brand action hero, dodging out of the way of bricks launched at him in the wind and– oh yeah, did he mention the giant monstrous hand reaching out from the rift? That thing is grabbing sheets of metal and brick with no problem, feeding broken pieces of city into the storm like christmas dinner. I really, really hate this. Against all odds, he makes his way up successfully, led by that fox until he finds himself shakily crawling to save Aujean’s son. The boy is just a few feet away now. He feels like a very pathetic saviour at the moment. Really, the boy would probably prefer no one at all to the beat up man who’s climbing up to get him. Still, the child is crying and reaching out to the man forced to be his unwilling saviour.
Then, his eyes widen as he sees something fly past him. He could cry out in relief. Thank God, they actually got someone qualified for the job. A police officer flies in on one of the air vehicles he’d seen before, floating right next to where the kid is desperately clinging onto a windowframe.
He finally lets himself relax, but only for a moment.
The mass of dark, wispy clouds shifts, hand shooting out. It grabs the vehicle,
and consumes it whole. Police officer included.
He can’t process what he’s seeing. He’s sick. He probably throws up, but he just can’t. He can’t do this. A man with years of more training is dead right in front of his eyes. And there’s still no time; he’s just supposed to go up there as the next sacrifice. He screws his eyes shut. He can’t watch this, even through his blurred vision. The boy is going to die. He’s probably going to die too.
He’s growing awfully familiar with the feeling of falling.
With the last of what he has left in him, he blindly reaches out. Chances are, he’s flying straight towards the boy. He presumes that’s what his companion has been trying to get him to do. He can at least pretend not to have been completely useless here, as he gets thrown straight into his death.
He feels his fingers close around the boy’s hand. Yeah, that’s probably good.
He doesn’t know what happens next. He can hear commotion. There’s movement. Falling, lots of it. A sickening squelch and explosion of light right behind his eyelids, but he can’t open them. He’s got the boy, that’s way more than he signed up for.
Eventually, the wind dies down.
When he opens his eyes, he’s on the ground. The actual ground, thank god. He feels tears fill his eyes, but this time out of sheer joy for the solid ground beneath him. He plants his hands firmly on the ground, just to feel it.
He looks up to see the boy standing next to his father. That’s good. He can go back to acting like a maniac in peace, except… Aujean is yelling. Aujean is yelling at him. Something about a house he should’ve saved. Yeah, no. nope. No more of this, he’s not built for this.
He gets up on shaky legs and bolts. This is too much.
He doesn’t get very far, before collapsing onto the ground. He leans against a wall and buries his face in his hands, praying no one followed him. A lone squeak breaks that wish into a million pieces. Yeah. Yeah, why not. Of course it’s like that. Gravity powers, storms strong enough to rip apart cities, and he still doesn’t know his name.
And that thing is still running after him.
He looks up, miserably. “Are you gonna keep, what– following me??”
“Squeak!”
Groan. “You have a name, or..?”
…
Why not. “Alright then, Mary.”
She offers only a judgemental look. Lovely. She turns her head away from him.
Then she bolts.