"Fif, f, fiff, fifteen days," Tyson stammered, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and bewilderment. The glow of achievement and reunion that had just begun to light up his face was swiftly replaced by confusion and uncertainty.
Without warning, the screen before him turned pitch black, a stark contrast to the message of gratitude that had momentarily flickered across it. Then, as if pulled from the depths of technological history, the green text began to crawl across the dark backdrop, reminiscent of the monochrome monitors of a bygone era. A countdown commenced, its digits methodically ticking away:
<14 days 23 hours 59 minutes 56 seconds>
The weight of this sudden turn of events pressed down on Tyson, pulling him into the depths of his chair. A profound sense of loss enveloped him once more, his brief moment of joy with Chloe's apparent return dissolving into the air like mist. He was left to grapple with the silence of the room, the ticking countdown the only sign of the extraordinary breakthrough that had just occurred—and vanished just as swiftly.
What was to come in these fifteen days? And why had Chloe, or the essence of what he had hoped was Chloe, retreated into this imposed silence? The questions loomed large in Tyson's mind, casting long shadows over the joy he had momentarily felt. As he sat there, nestled in the dim light of his workspace, Tyson found himself navigating a tumult of emotions, caught between the promise of a reunion and the palpable absence it had left in its wake.
******** MARK's POV ********
In the heart of a dense and untamed forest, a trio navigated through the thick underbrush, their presence disturbing the natural occupants of this wild domain. Snakes, their girth rivalling that of a bodybuilder's biceps, lay coiled and ready, while spiders of a size that could dwarf those found in the most notorious corners of Australia lurked in the shadows, all poised for the unsuspecting prey that dared to venture into their midst.
The forest was alive with the usual suspects – cougars, bears, and wolves roamed freely, masters of their domain. Yet, at this moment, an unusual stillness had claimed them, a testament to the tension that hung heavy in the air. A distant rumbling, foreign and unsettling, filled the forest, a harbinger of something or someone disrupting the natural order.
At the forefront of this disturbance was Mark, a tall, baby-faced youth, no older than 17, with pitch-black hair that seemed impervious to the laws of physics, not a strand out of place despite the speed at which he moved.
Clad in forest camo combat pants and a light grey tank top, the beginnings of muscular definition could be seen in his thin biceps. His blue eyes, alert and scanning, were a clear sign of his vigilance, constantly wary of a potential ambush.
"We need to run quicker before they catch us," Mark urged, his voice punctuated by the rhythm of his breath, each word a testament to the urgency of their situation.
Trailing just behind him, to his left, was a blonde-haired woman of shorter stature, her slim frame mirroring Mark's in its attire. Her shoulder-length hair, secured from the grasp of the forest's fingers, fluttered with each stride. She was more than just a companion in flight; with a backpack attached and a machete in hand, she was a force to be reckoned with, clearing their path of vines and branches with practised ease, her actions strategic in hindering their unseen pursuers.
Beside her, on Mark's right, struggled another figure – a youth burdened not by physical weaponry but by the weight of knowledge. Clad in glasses that clung to his sweat-drenched face, he clutched a tome as if it were a lifeline, the book's heft a clear source of his discomfort.
"Why am I the one who has to carry the heavy book?" he lamented, the strain evident in his voice.
Mark, undeterred by the complaint and with a hint of mirth in his voice, retorted, "You can fight if you want, Tim. I'm happy to leave it to you."
The brief exchange was enough to lighten the mood, even if just for a moment. Tim's initial dismay gave way to a reluctant chuckle, acceptance of his role in their dynamic clear. "I think this book needs a real man to carry it, so I'll go ahead and keep it," he declared, a mix of resignation and pride colouring his words.
Their silent pact renewed, and the trio pressed on, covering another 3 kilometres in their relentless push for safety. As they emerged into a clearing, the promise of respite seemed within reach.
"Not long left now, just two more kilometres to go," Mark announced, a smile breaking through the tension, his eyes alight with a blend of relief and anticipation. Turning to the woman, he added, "Lucy, it's time, hahaha," his laughter carrying a note of mischief and a hint of a plan about to unfold.
"Sure thing, boss, the perfect weather for a bonfire," Lucy replied with a hint of mischief in her tone. With swift, practised movements, she retrieved what appeared to be a water bottle from her pack and hurled it into the dense foliage behind them. The ensuing hiss filled the air, growing in intensity as the gas within the bottle escaped, it's ominous sound a precursor to the chaos about unfolding.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
With a calm demeanour that belied the impending inferno, Lucy removed the band from her hair, transforming it with a simple pull. To the amazement of her companions, one end ignited, casting a glow akin to a sparkler in the dim forest light. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the makeshift fuse sailing into the underbrush, where it landed with precision near the discarded bottle.
The moment the band sparked again, the leaked gas caught fire, igniting a conflagration that tore through the forest with voracious hunger. Trees and underbrush became fuel for the rapidly spreading flames, driving back the unseen forces that had been in pursuit, their ominous rumbling now quelled by the barrier of fire.
"Shall we get going?" Lucy's laughter cut through the crackling of the fire, her question rhetorical yet filled with an adrenaline-fueled glee.
Tim could only sigh, his usual reticence overridden by the urgency of their situation. "Okay, okay, I won't even bother complaining. The sooner we get to the extraction point, the sooner I can rest."
"That's the spirit, Tim!" Mark's voice echoed back to them, already a considerable distance ahead, his figure a blur against the backdrop of the forest and fire.
The trio pressed on, their pace relentless as the extraction point drew near. A hill loomed ahead, their path to safety clear but for the stream that lay in their way. Usually an inconsequential obstacle, the water was now guarded by two formidable creatures, their appearance reminiscent of grizzly bears but with an aura of the wild that marked them as denizens of this untamed world.
"Lucy, take the one on the left. Tim, stay behind me, 20 steps. Just like we practised," Mark instructed, his confidence unshaken, his gaze fixed on the creatures that stood between them and their goal. "Time to measure my current strength."
Lucy vanished into the underbrush, her movements a silent promise of the storm to come. Mark and Tim cautiously approached the stream, every step calculated to maintain silence, their presence masked by the favourable wind.
Lucy, poised and ready downstream, awaited Mark's signal. The stream, a mere 4.5 meters wide, presented a challenge not of distance but of treachery, its rocks sharp and slick with moss.
At Mark's signal, a synchronized ballet of motion ensued. Lucy's leap was a study in grace and precision, her landing on the first rock a testament to her skill, machete still in hand. In moments, she was across, her focus unwavering.
Mark, too, had made his crossing, his approach to the bear calculated and swift. The knife he drew was no mere weapon but an extension of his will, its handle a dark mimicry of crocodile skin, its blade a mirror to the world around it.
As the bears roared their defiance, the battle was joined. Mark and Lucy, each confronting their adversary, were a whirlwind of motion, their training and resolve about to be tested against the raw power of the forest's guardians.
As the trio approached the stream, the air was thick with anticipation. With the focused intensity of a seasoned warrior, Mark set his sights on the grizzly bear-like creature that stood menacingly on the other side. His pitch-black hair, unmoved by the rapid pace of their approach, framed a face that was a mask of determination.
With a swift motion that spoke of countless hours of training and combat, Mark drew his long knife, its handle resembling the tough hide of a crocodile, dyed an ominous black. The blade was a marvel, gleaming like a mirror, promising death with its every reflection.
Mark launched himself at the bear with a ferocity that matched the wildness of the creature before him. His blade found its mark along the bear's side, cutting through the thick pelt as though it were mere fabric, not the armour of one of nature's most formidable predators. Blood, warm and vibrant, sprayed across Mark's face, a visceral affirmation of his strike's effectiveness.
Not content with a mere surface wound, Mark exploited the momentum of his attack, propelling himself over the creature. The knife, still embedded in the bear's flesh, tore a gruesome path as he moved, exposing ribs and vital organs to the open air. In a final, brutal act, Mark severed the bear's spinal cord, ensuring its immediate and irreversible defeat. The creature's life ended in a spray of blood and silence that spoke louder than any roar it might have issued.
Simultaneously, Lucy engaged her adversary with a grim resolve. Her machete, a lethal extension of her will, swung with precision and deadly intent. In a singular, fluid motion, she decapitated the bear, its head parting from its body in a gruesome spectacle. Once a serene passage through the forest, the stream was now dyed red with the blood of the fallen, a stark testament to the brutality of their struggle for survival.
Amidst this dance of death, Tim's battle was with gravity and his own coordination. His attempt to cross the stream ended in a splash, his fall a moment of unexpected levity in the midst of chaos. His glasses askew, he lay in the water, clutching the tome—their mission's objective—above the surface, a comic figure in contrast to the deadly efficiency of his companions.
As Mark and Lucy turned to assess Tim's situation, their laughter broke the tension, a brief respite from the brutality they had just enacted. Tim's indignant plea for assistance, paired with his lament for the quiet predictability of his preferred numerical world, only added to the moment's absurdity.
After a moment of laughter, Lucy assisted Tim out of the stream, commending him for keeping their precious cargo dry, her cheeky smile betraying her amusement.
As the trio made their way to the extraction point, they were met by the sight of a military craft and Major Charles, a tall, muscular figure in a black military uniform adorned with Earth's symbol and a golden leaf on his shoulders.
"Here is the flag, Major," Tim announced, handing over the tome that had been the cause of his earlier misfortune.
"Good job, soldiers. One hour, forty-three minutes, and twenty-two seconds. That's the quickest we've ever had," Major Charles commended them with a deep, authoritative voice.
"Thank you, Major Charles," Mark responded, as all three offered a salute and stood at attention, their discipline evident even in the aftermath of their harrowing ordeal.
With a nod, Major Charles opened the door to the military craft, signalling the end of their mission and their return to campus, a brief respite from the dangers they had faced in the wild.