I was transferred from the FOB to a hospital in America. My eyes were patched up while I was under a sedative, and the painkillers they gave me were a lifesaver. I had almost forgotten the luxury of being clean, and I felt like a new man with a shower and fresh bandages over my eyes. In many ways, I was one.
Nurses came in and out intermittently, never staying long. It was still disconcerting to know someone was there but still be unable to see them.
Soon, someone with heavier steps came to visit me, and I couldn't recognize him until he spoke.
"Cain." The man cleared his throat. "How are you doing?"
"Sergeant. I'm as well as I can be. Why are you back in the states?" I heard Macbeth pull up a chair and sit next to the bed.
"I've applied for a promotion since I'm now eligible after this tour," he told me. "I'll be reviewed by the promotion board, but I'm unsure how things will go."
I nodded. "What happened to the others?"
"One was found dead." Macbeth let out a heavy sigh, and I could only imagine him dropping his head to his hand. "The other two were found injured as well."
"How badly?"
He released a sardonic laugh. "Not as severely as you were. We're positive that the insurgents left in a hurry after we determined which base you four were taken to. I don't know why the mission turned so bad so fast."
I'd have bet his eyes had started to get misty. Macbeth had always sort of looked like an overgrown hound dog when he got sad. It was odd for a man of his station to get emotional, but he was also the biggest hardass I knew. He had been a good leader, and I could only respect him.
"I know. I don't blame you."
A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. "Thank you, Cain. You're a good man, and it was an honor to serve with you."
"Likewise." He stood up, the chair creaking.
"I've also been told to tell you that you'll soon receive a Purple Heart," he said, voice still tinged with sorrow. "I wish it wasn't the case."
I shook my head at him. "What's done is done."
"You're right. I hope to see you again, soldier."
The corners of my lips tilted up, even though I knew that wouldn't happen. I only lifted a hand in farewell. As Macbeth exited, his steps were brisk, and I appreciated that. Once goodbyes were said, lingering had no purpose.
Resting back on my pillows, I turned my head in the direction I imagined a window would be. In my mind, I conjured up birds flying through the air; some even tapped on the glass. Clouds moved faster than I could track, changing every second. A plane crashed in the distance, sending plumes of smoke into the air and tainting the blue sky. It turned utterly gray as ash-like snow began to fall. I imagined opening my mouth to catch a flake, only to taste blood. All nightmares start as dreams, after all.
Yet when I let the fantasies fade, there was only darkness. There was nothing else to it, only emptiness. I could shine no light to illuminate what had been left of my world and my mind. Perhaps my impairment was only revealing what had been there the whole time. That emptiness was now my only friend and family, keeping me company even in my sleep.
"Light it up," I murmured.
"Burn it down," he answered.
The emptiness let its presence be known.
***
I had never owned a home. Throughout my life, I had deemed hotels sufficient when I was not overseas and had never stayed in them long. My most permanent place of residence had been my grandparent's home, but even then, that had not been mine.
So as I stood in my apartment, placed on the first floor for my convenience, I did not know what my next course of action should be. Usually, one would explore, yes?
I'd been told it would be completely furnished, and I was also given a phone tailored for the blind.
A soft weight pushed against my leg, briefly startling me. I had almost forgotten about her. Through the VA, I had been given a service dog named Myah, and a caretaker had told me she was a black lab, though that now meant little to me. I had also been told that Myah would help me find my way around, and she was also trained to handle any PTSD that I might deal with.
I had never owned a dog, either. I leaned down to brush a hand over her soft head, and she nudged me again, quietly whining. I realized her intent as she encouraged me inside, probably wondering what I was doing just standing around.
She led me through three rooms and the large living area. There was a bathroom and two bedrooms: one with a bed and dresser and the other holding a desk and a computer. Running my hands along the marble countertop in the main room, I moved to a fabric couch. Myah was a constant presence at my side.
I sat down, Myah jumping up next to me. I felt for the remote to the Television I had discovered, turning it on. Cable was already set up, and I blasély listened as a news channel droned on.
***
Life was a struggle. Learning braille has eased some of my troubles, but it was hard. It was learning a new language, and I was still slow to translate.
I had groceries delivered weekly, and a cleaning service would come every two weeks. The extra bedroom had been turned into a gym, and it barely helped with the restlessness that had returned.
My life was aimless.
Sometimes I would turn and not know where I was. Other times, I would wake up gasping for air, desperately searching for a light I could turn on. Myah had been my savior in that regard. The caring dog was always there, and I found that my favorite position to sleep was on the couch with her next to me, my arm thrown over her side. The bed was still too soft, and I could never find sleep on it.
Navigating environments has become easier. I was completely used to my home, and I found that it was less challenging to tell where people were when I left my apartment. I had likened it to missions that had been common when I had been in the military. Everybody made a sound when they moved, no matter how slight. If I listened hard enough, I could determine where they were and move around the targets accordingly.
Making my way down the street next to my apartment building, I headed to my usual stop. I had started to grow my hair out from its buzzcut, and it brushed against my neck and forehead. I wore my regular sunglasses and outfit of combat boots, army pants, and a t-shirt. The sunglasses were to keep people from staring too hard. It seemed people were curious to know what a blind man's eyes looked like, and they lessened the number of people who openly stared. I could feel the gazes vividly. They were crawling ants exploring my face, burning holes into my skin. They noticeably decreased when I wore glasses. Perhaps I was just imagining them.
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I stepped into the small convenience store on the corner, going straight to the counter. The place smelled distinctly of plastic, chemicals, and soda, and my feet were always slightly sticking to the floor.
"Can I get a pack of Marlboro's?" I asked, fishing out some cash from my pocket.
"So the regular, Cain?" I had learned the worker's name two months after moving in. Cathy was a middle-aged woman who had recently told me she had a daughter in junior high.
"Yeah. Can I get a coke too, please?"
"Sure thing. It's a little hot out today, huh?" Her voice became distant as she moved, and I heard the bell over the door ring as another customer entered.
I gave Cathy the money once she returned, pocketing the cigs and change as I grabbed the drink with the arm that held Myah's leash. I believed Cathy took the right amount of money every time, as she always said she needed her job too much to lose it over some blind vet.
"Thanks. See you around." I waved in her general direction, and her laugh followed me out the door.
Walking for two blocks, I reached a park I had discovered after playing with online maps. Sitting at my usual bench, I let Myah off her leash to run around the expansive field. I could trust her, as she always came back when I whistled.
I lit a cigarette, and the lighter flaring to life was accompanied by the usual whispering in my ear. I had started smoking out of curiosity, and surprisingly, it had quickly become a therapeutic hobby. Slowly killing myself with a pleasant buzz did odd things to my mind. I relaxed on the bench, throwing an arm along the back.
Distantly, I listened to Myah coming in and out of earshot, panting and barking at who knows what. Our park time was the only time she let herself slightly ignore her responsibilities, though I know she always kept a close eye on me, never going far.
Popping open my can of coke, I let the overbearing sweetness burn my mouth and throat. To me, it was almost like drinking chemicals. But I guess it wasn't any worse than inhaling them.
A wave of vertigo suddenly hit me, and I groaned as the soda can fell from my hands. My ears rang, making me nauseous. Myah's barking became fainter, and then I heard nothing. I was in nothing. I was neither standing nor sitting, and the air around me was empty. I could not move freely, and I idly thought this was what it must be like to be in space.
As soon as it happened, it ended. My feet touched the ground, and gravity pulled my stomach down, twisting it painfully.
Dropping to a crouch, I placed a hand on the ground, gathering my bearings. I could not hear Myah. The land was no longer covered with grass; it had been replaced by dirt and plants. The only thing I could hear was the wind whistling through trees and the occasional call of a bird.
Then suddenly, a voice spoke.
[Per section 3H-52 of the Planetary Amalgamation Compendium, Planet !@#$%^&* has been designated Research Facility 375,932 for project END. All inhabitants will therefore be relocated to begin Trial One. Thank you for your cooperation.]
Who had spoken? It was as if the message had been inputted directly into my brain. Letting the words process, I wondered at its honesty. Was this situation real? Or was this just another fantasy of my own creation? The ground certainly felt real, and the heavier air that filled my lungs did not feel like Earth's air. My brain had never created something this expansive, so I couldn't help but believe it.
If it was real, this situation was not something I liked. If the voice was right, I was no longer on Earth. I'd been taken away for some undefinable project—assumingly with the rest of Earth's population. Did this mean I was on an alien planet?
To think that I had been taken so easily from my world. Knowing that something might have that much control over my life felt sickening. Didn't it mean they could easily remove me from existence as if stepping on an ant? If the message was correct, the rest of the population had also been taken, and that magnitude only further weighed on my mind. The statement further implied that they had done this to several planets.
My ruminations were abruptly interrupted as I heard the faint rustling of plants and footsteps. I moved slowly away from the noise, feeling for something I could use as cover. I ran into a large tree surrounded by bushes and quickly took refuge behind it from the approaching unknowns. Their steps sounded humanoid, and that assumption was confirmed when conversation floated through the air to my ears. Unfortunately, the voices came in and out of my hearing range, so my understanding was spotty.
"...really think…drop around here?"
"Probably. I mean…set spot for them to land. It's all random."
The voices got even closer, gaining clarity.
"When the drop happened a hundred years ago, books say one had come out of this forest," a third voice chipped in.
"Doesn't mean it's gonna happen again."
"If we find one, I hope it's docile. I’m just not in the mood."
"You think someone would willingly join the Federation to work, fight, and die for nothing?"
"You're walking a thin line. Don't let anyone back at camp hear you say shit like that."
The other man clicked his tongue but stayed silent.
The conversation gave me much to think about, but I didn't have much time. Was my appearance here part of this supposed "drop"? Did that mean my situation had happened before on this planet? These people sounded real, acting like humans, and were not like the priest or the pyromaniac at all.
It also sounded like they would take me, willingly or not, to someplace I did not want to be. I quietly pulled the switchblade I always kept out of my pocket. The best outcome was them passing right by me and continuing on their way. But I had no idea when they would turn back, and I also had no idea where I was.
Whether this world was real or not, I would take action. I'd been trained for situations like this, and even if this was just another delusion of mine, I wouldn't allow myself to be taken. Not again.
I steadied my breathing, patiently waiting for them to get closer. As they passed the tree I was hiding behind, I slowly moved behind the last in the group. Rising from my crouch, I reached towards the man and gripped his face in my hand, driving my blade into his neck and piercing his artery and vein.
Killing a man blind was no different than killing one with sight, I found. Iron blood still flowed over my hand, and the man's life slowly faded as he scratched feebly at my grip.
The same voice spoke again.
[Title Grant-
I quickly tuned it out, as there was no time for distractions. By then, the other two had already turned around, yelling in anger. I dodged as much as I could as I heard an object move quickly towards me, using the dying man's body as a shield. Unfortunately, it still hit me in the arm, leaving stinging pain as I was sliced.
That man was using a sword. Why? Were weapons less developed in this world? However, I had to push these questions aside.
Bracing against the ground, I pushed the body towards my enemies, following up behind it. I tried to stab wherever I could, but my wrist was caught in an overly firm grip. Dread filled me as I found myself completely immobile.
How had one of them moved so fast? And how was he so strong?
"Fuck. A newly dropped was able to get the jump on us. How the hell did this happen?"
My hands were yanked behind my back, a painful grip forcing me to drop my weapon.
"Is Elver dead?" I heard rustling, then a sigh.
"Yeah. Unbelievable."
The one not holding me walked forward before stopping at my feet and delivering a violent punch to my stomach. The smack of flesh was like a gunshot, and the pain made me convulse as I doubled over. I could not speak as my breath was stolen from my lungs.
"Fucking bastard," he spat as he hit me again. My focus had centered on the pain radiating from my stomach, and I felt nauseous.
"Owen, you'll kill him. Seems he's from a place that doesn't let him improve."
"Yeah? Then how the hell did a weak guy manage to kill Elver?"
"Everyone gets lucky from time to time," he wearily said. I found that statement entirely true. My kill had only been luck and some okay planning on my part. There was no way I could fight these guys on even ground. I had completely underestimated my situation and what this new world entailed.
The pain I felt was real, and I could not imagine this situation as some hallucination. I didn't believe my body could ever fabricate the hurt I felt, as its concept was too familiar for me to not recognize when it was fake.
"Well, at least we found one. That means we can head back now."
Owen clicked his tongue. "We lost one to gain one. I don't think it was worth it."
He gripped my hair, pulling my head up from where I had dropped to my knees. My sunglasses had fallen off somewhere—maybe even back on Earth.
"Why are your eyes closed?" I didn't respond. There was no reason to talk to these men at all. I could only be relieved that they hadn't decided to kill me yet. "Don't want to look at me, huh?"
He forced one of my eyelids open with his thumb before hastily stepping back. "Fuck! Keith, he has no eyes!"
"What? Are you kidding?"
"No! Scared the shit outta me," he mumbled.
Keith sighed. "Well, whatever," he dragged me up. "Let's head back. Grab Elver's body."
"Blind, lucky bastard," Owen grumbled as he lifted the body of the man I had killed onto his shoulder, and we turned to head back to god knows where. He continued to mutter expletives at my back.
Wild animal panic began to well up in me. I was being taken again, and who knows what these people would do to me? I only found solace in the fact that I was still conscious, instead of dead to the world like last time.
This was reality—the pain in my arm and stomach told me so. There was some lingering hope that I would wake up from this dream, but it was quickly fading. The idea that I was in another world felt impossible, but my situation demanded that I accept it.
As I was led to enemy soil, the singing birds mocked my involuntary march.