Chapter 1

Iskander blew on his hands to keep them warm as he looked around at where he’d been deposited by the strange light that had engulfed him.

“All that prep work and I forgot gloves,” he said to himself as he took in his surroundings trying to figure out where he’d been teleported.

In front of him, a dilapidated house stood covered in the light snowfall of early winter. It stood alone in a field of white, the property line marked off by dead trees and a wire fence. Adjusting his backpack to sit more comfortably on his shoulders Iskander walked toward the house, the fresh snow softly crunched under his feet as he walked. Getting to the porch Iskander experimentally pushed down with his foot to see if the porch could even handle his weight. Despite the ominous groan, it gave at his pressure the step held. He walked up the porch slowly still warry of the old stairs collapsing under his weight. Putting his hands into his pockets he looked around again taking in his surroundings.

Everything seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite tell what was provoking the feeling of nostalgia. He turned back towards the house and tried the doorknob. It was locked. Iskander sighed and turned his back to the door and gripped both sides of the door frame, then gave it a backward mule kick. The first kick sagged the door, the next two forced it open. Putting his hands back into his pockets he shouldered past the door and entered the house. Walking into the entranceway he looked around.

The house was old, probably made in the ’50s he guessed based on the wallpaper alone. Slowly he walked through the entryway, his pace slow and cautious. He took everything in as he walked. The peeled wallpaper, the water damage from a leaky roof.

“This place must have been abandoned some time ago,” he said to himself.

Iskander stopped as he came to a framed photo. He couldn’t see through the gathered dust and grime on the photo. Wiping off the glass with his forearm he smirked in amusement as the photo underneath was revealed.

“This is old doctor Manahan’s house,” he said as he took the photo off the wall and continued to clean it.

The photo showed the doctor surrounded by six kids in the springtime.

“The inseparable six,” he said chuckling to himself.

“So they sent me to my place of birth,” he said to himself as he put the photo back on the wall.

“If they’re sending people to the place where they were born then I’d hate to have been born in a city hospital,” he said as he walked more assuredly down the hall.

He’d practically grown up here for the first few years of his life. The foreboding, creepy atmosphere he’d felt since entering the house now dissipated. He’d heard the old doctor had died a decade ago, but he’d assume his son would have taken care of the property. Looking around he saw the dining room on his right and the study on his left. He headed into the dining room and walked past the dusty wooden table. He ran a finger along it enjoying the texture of the dust and wood as he walked.

He smiled as he remembered how he and the others had used to gather around the table excitedly waiting for the doc's famous mash potatoes and roast beef.

“Will they be transported here too,” he wondered aloud.

He moved past the table and headed to the back corner where an empty shelf sat. He grabbed the shelf and moved it to the side with a heave. The shelf scrapped the floor and kicked up dust. He coughed violently as all the dust seemingly went right into his face.

“Fucking Murphy,” he coughed out.

Doubling over as he violently coughed, his lungs trying to expel the foreign entities in them. Finally catching his breath he righted himself and looked at the door that had been revealed when he moved to shelves to the side. Where the shelves once stood a door with no handle was revealed. Iskander crouched down and inspected it.

“He never undid his version of childproofing, huh,” he said to himself before he reached in the hole and pulled.

The door resisted for a moment with a loud creak, even with its age the old door resisted. Then after several long moment the door opened with a loud crack, the door opened kicking up more dust. Ready for it this time Iskander didn’t breathe in and waved his hand in front of his face and cleared the air. Pulling the door open Iskander tried to look into the dark abyss that was the basement.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Where is it?” Iskander mumbled to himself as he fumbled around in his pocket.

Finding what he was looking for he pulled out a small flashlight and turned it on. Shining it down the stair he slowly walked down the steps. Every step was accompanied by a spine chilling creak as the old wooden steps sagged. Iskander ignored the creaking as he walked, no longer worried about where the structure of the home. Many times Doctor Manahan had told them the story of how he’d built the house himself, how he’d hand-picked every piece of wood in this home. This house was somewhere that he’d always had and would feel safe.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs he ran his flashlight along the walls and took it all in. He remembered that when he was young he and the others had once snuck down here. They’d been terrified in the dark, only able to make out vague monstrous shapes. They’d cried and run upstairs. Alice had scraped herself on the stairs, it wasn’t long until the doctor had closed off the basement. But it wasn’t the last time Iskander had been down there. Once the doctor had taken him down here.

“A soldier fights for peace,” he said to himself as his light fell on the display.

Approaching it slowly he reverently wiped off the dust. Stepping back he took it all in. Framed was a picture of a young doctor Manahan dressed in his military dress uniform. Noticing the new photo next to it made Iskander’s breath catch.

“No,” was all he could say.

Next to the doctor's photo was a photo of Ryan, his son, in a naval dress uniform. The photo was wrapped in a black ribbon. That explained why the house was abandoned, the doctor's wife had died long before him and besides his one son, he didn’t have any other family. After his mother had moved them down to Ohio he’d lost all contact with the doctor besides the yearly birthday cards he’d send and the occasional letter. Hey hadn’t he told him? Ryan had been like a big brother to them all when he was around.

Of course, he wasn’t around much because he was a S.E.A.L. He was called all around the world at a moment's notice and his deployments didn’t leave him much time home. When he was around though it was clear he respected and even worshipped his father. Ryan had been a good man, even if Iskander hadn’t spoken to him in some time the loss hit him hard.

Closing his eyes and collecting himself he took a deep breath then opened his eyes. Gathering himself he open the case and opened the drawer underneath. Inside rested two guns both well maintained and clean even after sitting in the drawer for so long. Slowly, almost reverently he picked up the bigger of the two. The M1 Garand felt big and heavy in his hands. Smaller than when he’d held it as a child, but still the weight and size shocked him.

Iskander moved the flashlight to his mouth so his hands were free. Checking the barrel and internal magazine he found that they were empty. Satisfied he wouldn’t potentially shoot himself he put on the safety and slung it over his shoulder. Picking up the other weapon he inspected the desert camo M4. It had a stubby grip towards the front, with a laser flashlight combo on top. It lacked an optic of any kind despite its relatively advanced setup for the early 2000s when he knew Ryan served. It pained him that he didn’t know when or how Ryan had died.

He inhaled and pushed it down and focused on what he was doing. Once again it’d been properly stored and maintained. Iskander set up the single-point sling attached to the M-4 to his liking. Once it rested comfortably on his front he closed the open drawer that used to hold the guns. Immediately Iskander opened the drawer underneath, as he’d hoped the drawer was filled with ammo. Doctor Manahans WW2 webbing sat in it, still loaded with stripper clips for his Garand. Unfortunately for Iskander, there wasn’t Ryan’s webbing in it besides it. However, there were 8 magazines of 5.56 next to it, which he gladly took.

Closing the case properly he double-checked and made sure that the shrine was properly sealed, it was the least he could do. Pausing he rested his hand on the case.

“Thank you, for everything,” he said.

Then he turned his back on the case and made his way up the stairs. Walking through the house one more time he took it all in. It brought a sad smile to his face.

“God things were so much easier back then,” he said to himself.

Moving out to the porch he tried to fix the door as best he could. After a few minutes of clumsy attempts, Iskander had to give up and left the door crooked in the door frame.

“It’ll have to do,” he said stepping back his hands on his hips.

He moved to the front step and sat down. He unslung both guns carefully and placed them on the porch. Then he took off his backpack and unzipped it. Pulling out a blanket he placed it over his legs. Blowing on his hands he called up his new status window.

Iskander Stuart

Body 4

Strength 10/ Agility 10/ Endurance 20

Mind 7

Intelligence 30 / Wisdom 20 /Skill 20

Soul 4

Mana 20/ Divinity 10

HEALTH: 80

RESERVE: 30

MANA: 40

Each of the 3 main stats were made up of multiple sub-stats that would let someone fully customize themselves he assumed if they got the points. He’d figured out that the main stat went up for every 10 points total in the sub stats. Looking down at his belly he was surprised that his body state wasn’t lower. He’d really let himself go since he stopped playing football in high school.

Looking back at his stats he was pretty sure of what it meant. All of them were pretty self-explanatory, well all except for the sub-stat divinity and the independent reserve stat. He’d have to experiment to find out what they did at some point.

Closing his status screen he blew on his hands one more time and looked around.

“How much longer should I wait,” he wondered aloud.

If his guess was right he'd have company soon. After all, if he’d been teleported to where he was born then he’d have to assume that everyone else was. The best way to find out right now was to just wait and see if the others showed up.

God if my theory is right then thank god that I wasn’t born in a city. But I have to wonder why and where they didn’t teleport nearer to the house also.

“I hope they didn’t get teleported into a tree or something.”