The new interloper was a tall man with short brown hair, expressive gray eyes, and a chiseled face. His build looked tough, but his attire reminded me a bit less of a field scientist like Amanda and more like army gear, with a grey camo jacket, heavy looking grey camo pants, and thick boots. He felt like he would blend into this environment of steel pretty well, though maybe less so other areas. Amanda furrowed her brow at the title he gave.

“I haven’t heard of that organization before, nor can I recognize your accent. Where are you from?” She asked.

His grey eyes flashed with realization, and his voice took on a more genuine, somewhat relaxed tone. “I don’t recognize you either. I’m from the Alarician Union.” Upon closer inspection, it sounded raspy and strange, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Eleuverica,” Amanda said confidently, having quickly put together what was happening.

“United States of America for me.” I added in, because why not.

Eustice rubbed his chin, “I see. I haven’t heard of either. That confirms it then, that this dimension really is a “transition space” between worlds.”

We all stood together awkwardly at that, unsure of where to go from there. Fed up, I blurted out, “So, you still haven’t answered my question.”

His hazy eyes snapped back into focus. “Hm? Ah, yes. I do have a method to access those “worm holes” as you might have noticed. But I’m not confident in telling you two, as you may yet prove to be anomalies.”

It felt like I was plunged into an ice bath, but I huffed instead, feigning frustration. “How are we supposed to prove that? Anomalies can be literally anything.”

He nodded his head. “You’re right. But there are baseline tests one can do to rule out obvious possibilities. For example, verifying your human biology to the best of my abilities. If you are indeed human then don’t worry, you will not be harmed. Now, turn around, Amanda you stay there, Obake you walk forward to that face wall and don’t move.”

The unspoken implication of what would happen if one of them was an anomaly went unsaid. But with the black iron pointed in my direction, I had little choice to comply. The blank metal wall filling my vision, all I could hear were heavy boots walking up to my friend, a few whispered instructions, and a muffled gasp. In the background of my adrenaline-sharpened focus, my mind raced with the possibilities, imagining what might be happening.

“What are you doing with her?” I called out, trying to sound like a scared civilian who wants to be tough. Easy enough, considering that’s exactly what I am.

“He’s not hurting me.” Amanda responded, though a trace of anxiety could still be heard.

He wouldn’t just grope her as an excuse of “checking for anomalies,” right? Memories of cops flashed through my mind. Horror stories of V-coding and just general shittiness to trans folks. I wasn’t out when I was in there, and thank god for that. Hopefully only the risk of normal sexism apply to Amanda, since she’s cis as far as I know, but with no access to HRT I’ve grown a small beard despite my Japanese half, and I have obvious tits.

I really wish I hadn’t stopped caring about shaving now, ugh.

Time passed by both too slow and too fast, and Amanda was sent to where I am now and I was called up to stand next to Eustice. My feet felt heavy with every step closer to the gun, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off that ominous black barrel staring me down. I don’t know when I’d realized it. But somewhere in my subconscious, I had already put together the pieces. Even in the unlikely scenario that I pass whatever this test is, if I let him follow us, Eustice will kill me eventually.

Countless courses of action ran through my mind as I walked down the narrow room, but all of them that involved getting the gun or overpowering the military guy were all but certain to result in death. Only one course of action stood out to me, for gaining time if nothing else, but it was all I could think of.

He told me to stop an arm’s length away, and sit on the counter to my left. “What did you do to her? How do we know you aren’t an anomaly?” I demanded with my fiercest entitled mom voice.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

He opened his mouth, but paused to consider it before answering “You’re right, I’ll do the tests on myself or walk you through how to do them on me afterwards.”

“If you’re an anomaly, and I fight, I’ll probably die. If you're an anomaly, and I give in here, I’ll certainly die or worse.”

You could cut through the air with a knife. Steely black stared at dangerous gray. My muscles tensed, every fight, every mma class, every dubiously effective gun and knife defense lesson flashing before my eyes. In a street fight, even a rando could take out a black belt with enough luck. I hoped it was the same for black belts and military folks. It all depended on the weapon in his hands. And, if I was betting right…

He held up the gun, eyes hardening. I saw this, and drew on all of my hopelessness, all of my despair and resignation from the years I’d spent crawling in this hellhole for a single defeated expression. His expression faltered, as he recognized the same tired eyes in me that he had on himself. The subtle shake to his hands, the bruised bags under his bloodshot eyes, small gray hairs. All of it reminded me of me before I met Amanda. In the end, empathy, impaired decision, and sheer loneliness combined to give me one, single, chance.

He nodded, and took one hand off the gun to brace himself and sit on the counter; to his left was the sink and stove, and to the right near me was a collection of tools straight out of a doctor’s office and a pantry above. He was tall enough that his head reached the top cabinets while sitting. “So am I using these?” I walked forward a step while he did that, and reached for the tools. Just a little closer.

“You have to-” Before he could do anything else, I slapped the gun to the side and grabbed it. I pulled it to the side and twisted, trying to tweak his trigger finger while moving forward with a shoulder tackle in one motion. Maybe it was because of his shot reaction time, but I actually managed to land it, wedging his back into the wall while his head tried to follow and smacked against the cabinet. Then he smashed my nose in with his left fist, and wrapped his legs around my midsection reminiscent of a closed guard in grappling. I pressed into his stomach to keep close before he could punch again, now fully sprawled on the table, and his elbow dug hot spears into my back over and over while I gradually used my two hands to ease his grip on the gun.

“Obake what the hell are you doing!?”

Fucking dying that’s what! I legitimately thought it was a nonzero possibility I’d be paralyzed if he kept going like this, but sheer adrenaline helped me keep control of the gun, part scratching the absolute shit out of his hand and part digging my long nails in and prying until his grip slipped little by little, and—

Changing strategies, Eustice shifted his hips, pressing one on my ribs and one hooked still around my waist. I realized he was going to flip me toward his gun hand so I lose my own grip, and to point my body toward the barrel end. Desperation-laden clarity made my body move before my mind, and I quickly grabbed a kitchen knife I’d overlooked as being too risky to go for at first. While everything turned upside down and all those tools I saw earlier dug painfully into my poor abused back, I brought my hand down to stab the fuck out of his arm. He cried out, and I finally grabbed the gun for myself. He wouldn’t let that go unpunished though, as while my hands were too occupied to push his chest back, he slammed fist into my head, cracking the back of my skull against the counter with all the force of an elephant stomp, a payback threefold for what I did to him.

Still seeing literal stars behind my eyelids, I felt my gun being pushed away and shot with all the desperation of a cornered rat until all I could hear was a soft click. For a moment I thought all was lost. But that resistance faded, and there was a loud thump as Eustice’s weight slid and tipped backward off my body.

For a moment, all I could do was pant for breath, feeling like I had just run a marathon despite only being thirty seconds or so. Sweat dripped down my forehead, and stray bangs obscured my vision. My shirt was drenched, and stuck to me uncomfortably, while my jacket made me feel like I was in a miniature sauna.

I was alive.

Relief flooded my body like a physical sensation, and I laughed, followed by a full body pain that made me instantly regret that choice. Everything burned and throbbed, my back especially radiating waves of pure suffering that had my every movement feel like spikes were driving into my nerves. I wouldn’t be walking any time soon, ow, fucking OW. And my head, I was pretty sure something cracked because my vision was not having fun at all. Did my concussion come back? Fuuuuuck. I wanted to puke again with every head movement, yep.

Even still, I looked back at Amanda with a dopey grin, holding the gun up with one hand and a thumbs up with another. That’s when I realized through my muddled vision that she had a familiar expression on her face. “Ammanda?” I tried to call out, but it just made me retch.