Ryan walked out of the classroom looking calm, cool, and collected.

Pointing one way, he abruptly turned and began walking in the opposite direction. As soon as he was out of the line of sight, his previously confident and arrogant attitude disappeared, to be replaced by an emotionless, stoic expression. The alertness in his eyes conveyed a sense of paranoia that could only come from someone who has been in perilous situations for prolonged periods of time.

As Ryan kept his head facing forward, his mind raced with confusion and disbelief, ~What The Actual Hell Is Going On?~ He thought as he scanned his surroundings, constantly on high alert. Only his eyes darted about while he kept his head still to throw off anyone who might be watching him. Consciously avoiding any movement that might attract unwanted attention, he tried to process what was happening, ~What is happening? THINK. This isn't a dream. It's too real.~

The moisture on his palms was evidence of the anxiety that was building up within Ryan as he clenched and released his fists in an attempt to calm himself down. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he picked up the lingering aroma of aged wood and the faint scent of a recent crowd. He continued to walk down the broad corridor, taking in the antique style that gave the impression of strolling through the halls of an elite European school.

The blend of various styles perplexed Ryan. It was an odd amalgamation, with hints of French aesthetics, but predominantly inspired by 18th-century English culture. However, what confused him most was the text that he saw. Everything was written in Japanese characters, ~Wait. Wasn't everyone speaking English?~ He stopped walking for a moment to take it all in, then continued to move forward, thoughts racing through his mind. He paused again, ~No. I'm not. I'm thinking in English, but speaking something entirely different.~ The realization baffled him.

Ryan uttered a few words aloud at random, and to his surprise, the language that came out of his mouth was different from what he had intended to say. He shook his head, ~So I know French, English, and Japanese, but somehow I magically have had a fourth language pop into my head?~ He rubbed his forehead, his thoughts racing as he muttered to himself, "This makes no sense."

After making sure that the hallway was empty, Ryan halted and whispered to himself, "Quantum Mechanics. Quarks. Harmonics." He observed that the first and third words came out in English, while the second and fourth words came out in this new language that he seemed to be speaking, whatever it might be called. He carried on and headed towards a glass display cabinet where the hallway intersected with another. Two individuals were chatting to his left, but they either disregarded him or didn't notice his presence as they were absorbed in their own discussion. Ryan noted that although they were wearing similar uniforms to his, one of them was dressed in an all-black version. He appeared to be leading the conversation, not that Ryan cared.

Ryan leaned forward to scrutinize the contents of the display case, which was packed with animal trophies and medieval-style weaponry. There were plaques helpfully displayed underneath each exhibit, detailing their relevance, but Ryan never got around to reading them for he noticed something that was far more pressing. The unfamiliar ghostly reflection visible in the glass demanded his attention. He whirled around to check what was behind him, on the assumption that there had to be someone else nearby.

Ryan was alone.

Ryan gradually turned back to face the glass, his gaze transfixed on the reflection that was supposed to be his own, but something was very wrong. The face that he saw wasn't the one he was accustomed to. He leaned forward, peering intently at the reflection and running his fingers over his features to make sure that it was truly his. He felt up his hand and wiggled his fingers to confirm that it was his reflection. He leaned in close, trying to make out as many details as possible. He was perplexed for the reflection looking back at him looked nothing like the face he had worn for the past thirty-eight years.

It wasn't even close.

Ryan was astonished to see that the reflection in the glass belonged to a significantly shorter and younger version of himself, appearing to be around the age of 12, although it was difficult to determine. He had a cherubic, youthful face, unlike his previous rough and weathered appearance, with a cute little nose unlike the gnarled and busted one he had given to him from the business end of a baseball bat. Eyes that should have been brown were now pale blue sapphires. Hair that should have been salt and pepper black was now silver.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Not silver grey like he was aged, not the white-silver of an albino, but actually shiny and metallic SILVER.

His silvery hair had a metallic shine to it that made Ryan think it was a rejected wig from a glam rock band. His attempts to remove said wig only proved that the impossible coiffure was indeed growing out of his head. In a tongue-in-cheek manner, he muttered to himself, "Ziggy Stardust, eat your heart out." His entire appearance had a vibrancy and vitality that he had not experienced in many decades. He touched his left cheek, which was unblemished and smooth, something he wasn't used to seeing after a lifetime of hard living, ~Nothing?~ He undid his silver cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. His growing discomfort intensified when he discovered no scars, despite having been stabbed numerous times over the years.

Ryan was caught between disbelief and fear. The loss of his scars felt like the loss of his identity. He knew every scar on his body. He knew the scars that filled him with pride as they were reminders of his past glory and the scars that were grim reminders of past shame. A sudden moment of panic gripped his heart as he pulled up his left sleeve to the shoulder. It was gone.

His wife had stabbed him with a broken candle stick in an argument when they first moved in together. The fight was pointless because both of them thought they were right when both of them were wrong, but neither would back down. She broke off the top of a glass candlestick and threatened to stab him. He presented his shoulder and dared her. She cut him deep and immediately regretted it. He refused to go to the hospital so it became infected and healed poorly. The scar was quite ghastly and jagged and it ached when the rain came cold and heavy.

And it was gone.

He looked down at hands that had seen little use. These hands were smooth and inexperienced. These hands had done little more than climb things they weren't supposed to, using the muscles of a child who had never pushed himself and thus had no need to grow. However, his face told a different story. Despite his small size, his face was worn with worry lines and wrinkles that should not have been present on someone so young. It was an old face on a young body, hinting at a life full of hardships and struggles.

Ryan stared in disbelief at the ghostly reflection of himself in the glass. "How?" he murmured, his voice hollow and barely audible. He reached out to touch the glass just to make sure it was real, ~Stop. Assume you are in danger. This has to be a trick. Maybe... VR? Maybe... Drugs? Am I captured? If so, by whom?~ He impulsively dug his fingernail into the wooden frame of the cabinet and made a scratch. He examined it closely as if testing the limits of the theoretical simulation he might be trapped in, ~I need to stay focused and figure out what was really happening.~

As Ryan was about to delve deeper into his thoughts, he was interrupted by a voice from behind. It was a student, whose voice was transitioning between that of boyhood and becoming a man, "Hey, Roomie." Ryan spun around to face him. The young man flinched at the expression on Ryan's face. Ryan squinted suspiciously but quickly shifted to the same pleasant smile that one uses if you ever worked in retail. The kid lowered his guard but was still wary, “H-Hey, Reed. Y-you feeling okay?"

Ryan narrowed his eyes at the name, ~Reed? Wait. That teacher said that as well. Is that my name?~ He tried to recall anything about this 'Reed' but it was like trying to grasp at thin air. He forced himself to keep smiling, "Yes, I am the Reed Redcliff."

The boy looked askance at Ryan. When he spoke, he spoke slowly with concern, "No, you are Reed Ratliff. Your parents are the lord and lady of Redcliff." He pointed over his shoulder, "You LIVE in Redcliff, Reed."

Ryan remained perfectly still, smiling at the kid, "Reed Ratliff. That's what I said." They both stood there for several tense seconds before Ryan stated, "No."

The kid blinked, "No... what?"

Ryan's shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead, "No. As in, 'I am NOT feeling okay. I am not well at all. I suspect it is because-" He paused to think, ~Wait. He said. Roomie, right? We're roommates. Therefore I have a room. With stuff. Money. Supplies. Clues.~ He looked at his bunkmate with a most intense expression, "Because I forgot to take my medication this morning. That's why I'm so strange!" He snapped his fingers, "Clearly I need my medication." He abruptly grabbed the kid in front of him by the arm to hold him in place, "It is in my room." He leaned in close, nose to nose while he spoke in a commanding tone, "Take me to my room."

The kid recoiled from the invasion of his personal space. His face became even paler. He spoke with a squeak, "You don't know where our room is?"

Ryan shook his head, eyes wide, and locked on the lad before him, "No. I'm all turned around, you see. I told you, I don't FEEL WELL." He squeezed tighter, "I need your help." His polite smile took on a more sinister aspect as he shook the kid's arm, "Take me back to our room, Roomie." Ryan let his eyes turn into slits as he tilted his head to the side, "Would you be so kind as you help me out, old pal, old buddy, old...”

“What was your name again?"

The kid tensed up all over. It was obvious that something was wrong, "Aldelmo."

Ryan fondled Aldelmo arm, "Ah. Yes. Now I remember... Aldelmo." He jogged his head to the side, "Lead on, Aldelmo."

Aldelmo was bewildered by the situation, but he managed to point down a nearby hallway and stammer out, "Th-that way." Ryan held onto Aldelmo's arm as they walked, with Aldelmo looking nervous and sweaty under the pressure. To an outsider, it would have appeared as though Ryan was escorting Aldelmo through a public area while concealing a weapon aimed at his hostage.

As Ryan and Aldelmo left, the three students who were having a conversation stopped talking as the one dressed in black held up a hand flat in their faces. As he conversed with them, he had also eavesdropped on the commotion by the trophy case. Despite only catching fragments of the conversation, he could sense that something was amiss. He waved off the two students he had been interrogating with a warning and began to follow Reed and Aldelmo. He had a bad feeling and had learned to trust his instincts.

Kyle wasn't a member of the school disciplinary committee for nothing.