“Left.”

“That’s right, you idiot.”

My body started moving in the other direction.

“Back.”

I kicked off the ground and propelled my body backward as if it were a built-in reflex.

“To the left.”

I went to the left.

“I said left, you dumbass.”

My body moved on its own and went in the other direction. Wasn’t that right? Who was this guy and how was he controlling my body?

“...”

The stream of orders stopped for a small instant before the mysterious voice said, "Is he conscious?"

“Yeah, the moron is awake.” Said another voice. It was a bit further away so I couldn't tell if it was a guy or a girl. Since he called me a moron, I'd assume only a guy would be that derogatory.

“Then shouldn’t we stop the training now? I’m certain he’s confused.”

“Nah, he’s still not capable of interacting with us yet.” And another voice chimed in.

“Pfft, what a late-bloomer. He can’t even open his eyes? He really is an idiot, ain't he?” Said another one. It was a feminine voice.

“He hears us, you know.”

“And what difference does it make if this bitch can hear us?” The voice blatantly said. It was my first time hearing such vulgar words from a female.

Interesting.

I really couldn’t open my eyes, rather I was not in control of my body at all.

Three distinct voices. Three characters. The angel’s number or trinity. A peculiar symbol that is three.

“Coeus, you have matured enough to remain conscious in this plane of existence.”

“Back, right, kneel, jump, punch.” This other guy kept on issuing orders to me as if I were a dog… And my body followed all the commands.

“Your eyes are yet to be opened, but when they are, you will know who we are.”

Or so he says. Was it some sort of riddle or was I reading too deep into it?

“One-arm handstand.”

Sure enough, my body did that circus trick as if it were nothing. I can feel my right hand touching the ground and the blood rushing down my body as it went to my head. The funny thing is, I still can’t see or move my body on my own account. My body was instinctively balancing itself whenever it felt like it was going to fall. I could imagine myself like a pine tree, with my left arm sticking out and the other two legs counterbalancing the weight of my left arm by staying on the side opposite of my left arm. I never knew I could do this—rather, I never practiced handstanding. I probably could do it if I put some practice into it. I should probably memorize this feeling of keeping balance so I can try it later.

Naturally, I should feel scared when I am provided a situation with my limbs shackled. But when one cannot see a way out, it is best to stay calm than to flail about. I am not even in control of my body so really, what use is there in being anxious?

“Since you’re conscious, try to remember and learn these movements that your body is performing.” Said the guy. He seemed to be the most talkative out of the three.

“Yeah, betcha ass you’re gonna need it.” Said the girl. Perhaps my initial assessment was incorrect. I have heard of some studies about females talking more than men, but there wasn’t any definite conclusion. For the most part, it depended on the culture, language, history, and norms of the society that people live in. Some societies value peace, like monks. While others have a culture surrounding bullshit and small talk.

“Get in an orthodox stance.”

I cartwheeled and landed on my feet as if nothing ever happened. I wasn’t sweating in the slightest nor was I huffing and puffing. My body wasn’t heated up like normal—by normal, I mean the feeling of exercise. It was not the same at all.

“Only punches.” Said the guy. This one was pretty quiet in terms of conversing. He was only issuing orders. They were vague, and yet, my body responded in precise movements as if the action had been beaten into it long ago.

“Focus.” He said once more. Was he talking to me?

“He means to try your best to keep up with your body. Try to consciously learn it. Your body may instinctively remember it due to muscle memory, but it is also important to know the mechanics of fighting.” Said the other guy—the talkative one.

Apparently, I should focus? These guys seem to be ‘teaching’ me, or rather my body. They are clearly not hostile. Even if they were, I’d have long been dead… They’re supposedly allies until proven otherwise. What’s their motive?

“Your connection seems to be dimming. You probably knocked yourself out to regain consciousness here, didn’t you?”

Regain consciousness ‘here.’ He’s implying this is another ‘here.’ And knocking myself out… What was I—wait, wasn’t I showering? It makes sense why I was feeling light-headed and dizzy. It shouldn’t be because of the steam either, since I usually take cold showers. Did I really knock myself out from running? Strange, this is the first time I have ever lost myself from exercise. Maybe it’s because I’m always sleep deprived…

“You ought to get back if you blanked out by accident. Who knows when that guy will find you. You should stay on guard.”

That ‘guy?’

“Remember to train your body in preparation. I’ma send you back now.” The talkative one—.

*Snap

“Argh.” I got up off the tiles of the shower pan immediately.

The water was still running and nothing seemed to be out of the usual…

Did that just happen?—how stupid, of course, it did. The question is, Why did it happen? Was it because I lost consciousness in the shower?—oh that’s right, I did.

I groped the back of my head to confirm that it wasn’t bleeding or anything. The floor of the showers is pretty sturdy after all and it would be pretty fatal to drop straight down on it. To my understanding of human anatomy, I wouldn’t be standing if I were dead, but I could still be heavily injured.

A squishy and spikey feeling passed through my hand as if I were grooming a wet hedgehog. I felt some thick yet watery sensation on my palms. Was it red by any chance?

I looked at my hand, and sure enough—it was just shampoo bubbles.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed the water running through my feet. It was transparent with strings of orange carried by the current. The blood did not disperse and dilute the water for some reason. Had it been much darker, it wouldn’t be a misnomer to call it a ‘strand of blood.’ I was indeed bleeding.

The big toe on my right is bleeding. It didn’t exactly sting since it had been submerged in the water but when the open flesh contacted the air—it was unpleasant, to say the least.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

As for why the water was not discolored, I was no scientist so I wouldn’t know.

I washed the shampoo bubbles off my hand and crouched so I could—strange. My legs weren’t sore at all despite all that running. It was as if I was in peak condition.

Using my hands, I crossed my fingers together and made a cradle shape with the palms.

I scooped a couple strands of blood out of the water and tried mixing it with my thumb which was the only finger available. Every time, I was about to touch it, the blood would wiggle away like a strand of hair floating in the water. Even if I did catch it, it would probably just slide off, akin to the slippery skin of an eel.

What’s up with my blood? This definitely wasn’t normal. Was it related to my superpower? What the fuck does this mean? What superpower makes your blood turn into a worm?

I moved my hands in a way such that I could carry all the water in my left hand as I freed my right.

Without hesitation, I bit off the skin on the corner of my lips and licked it a bit until I could feel the distinct taste of blood. If I were to describe it, it would be like a spoon. The sensation of licking blood off my lips and licking a spoon was virtually indistinguishable even though a spoon covered more surface area of my tongue.

I let the water from the showerhead spray down and fill up my empty right hand. I then carried it close to my mouth and submerged it into the mini pool of water.

After a couple seconds, I released and compared the pools of water in both hands. While there were significantly more strands of blood in my left hand, the substance known as ‘blood’ was in both of them. While the ones on the left hand were blood from my toes, the strands on the right were from the blood on my lips. The strands on my left were significantly longer and plenty while the ones on the right were small and could be misinterpreted as small dots instead of stringy lines. The biggest difference that I found astonishing was the fact that the long strands of blood were lighter in color—orange with a slight hue of red. Whereas the dots of blood were the darkest shade of red I had ever seen.

It sort of reminded me of oil used in cooking. When you make pasta, you add salt and some oil to the water while it boils. The dots of blood in my right hand were kind of like oil in a sense. They were ‘floating,’ but not really. Was there something up with the density of my blood? Perhaps there’s a foreign substance in my blood.

I continued staring at the two as I contemplated the many possible theories as to what was going on with my body. Perhaps I was some superhuman and I have surpassed the pinnacle of the genus known as homo sapiens. Maybe I was a new form of ‘human.’ Maybe I have a new disease. Or I ate something I shouldn’t have. What the heck happened?

As time passed, I realized a sort of change in the blood—particularly the dots in my right hand. The strings of blood in my left palm stayed the same whereas the dots of red on the right started to shed some darkness. The ‘redness’ was about the same color as the orangish-red of the strands on my left.

Now that I think of it, I’ve stayed in the shower for an outrageous length of time. The skin on my feet was probably wrinkled and the wound on the big toe has probably subsided by now. Sliding the shower door open, I got a hold of the cup I used to brush my teeth and dumped the water into it.

After drying myself with a towel, I got out of the shower looking good as new. My hair was pretty long now that I looked at it. I should probably cut it short for the sake of convenience since running is not a good combo for bangs that covered the forehead. The sweat would accumulate on my forehead and my hair would stick to it. I’d be thankful if I did not get acne as a result. I should just snip it all off…

I wonder what that ‘dream’ was about. Sure as hell didn’t feel like a dream since most dreams happen during the Rapid Eye Movement phase of sleep. Time could not have passed too fast either, since I was in the shower the whole time. I’d have drowned had the water been running for too long.

As I opened the bathroom door and proceeded to walk to my room butt naked, I noticed that my legs weren’t shivering like before. Rather, my feet and hips were sturdier than normal. That lurking feeling of instability was no longer there. It was as if I had just woken up and I had not exercised the entire week.

Looking down at my toes, I noticed that a scab was already forming on that big toe. It looked to be the size of a papercut. I probably got it from stubbing my toe during the run. Why hadn’t I noticed it until after entering the shower? If it were me, I feel like I would have spotted it immediately when taking my socks off.

I walked back into the bathroom and looked myself in the mirror as I flexed my muscles pretending to be a bodybuilder.

Was it just me or did I look a lot more toned and bulkier?

I could see the distinct lines of muscle on my neck as I flexed it as well as the small muscle tissues in my shoulders. My biceps also appeared larger while my triceps looked normal. My triceps had always been pretty muscular so it makes sense that nothing changed with that.

As I moved my wrists around in a circle, I could see the bony parts of my forearm exposed.

Looking down, the visible fat on my chest and stomach had disappeared by a small amount. My abs were smaller but tighter, giving off an athletic physique. The oblique muscles right next to my abdominals also started making an appearance. I flexed my calves and sure enough, they felt much stronger. I got on my tiptoes and could immediately feel the peroneal muscles surrounding my shin harden. On the underside, I could see the gastrocnemius¹ muscles bulk into a sort of upside-down butt-chin. Those specific muscles were contracted a lot back when I jumped rope every day, and yet, they could still bulk up even further as proved by the current transgression. That only goes to show that the human body's potential for muscle growth is limitless. Even then, a question that's been on my mind would still be left unanswered: does running a couple miles really benefit my body this much? Heck, I could even say with confidence that my penis was significantly larger…

Okay...

Maybe not the last one—you get the point, right? I was a new man.

Normally, such a dramatic change would require a couple days since most of the ‘change’ would happen during sleep when our bodies are resting.

Did this have something to do with ‘that?’ The strange properties of my blood was probably also because of ‘that.’

I don’t like it.

I have questions with no answers and that’s a problem.

I fucking hate cliffhangers like this.

I guess that’s why I preferred watching those Sherlock Holmes television shows over others because unlike other shows, there were little cliffhangers since every episode resolved itself. Sherlock would catch wind of a crime and the plot would be to find the criminal. After a couple plot twists, the murderer would almost always end up being the one least expected—also known as the janitor or some other side character. Of course, like most entertainment, after a couple episodes, I also got bored of it because of how predictable it was. I must still admit, out of all the shows I’ve seen, Sherlock Holmes has captured my attention for the longest. It wasn’t that I genuinely enjoyed it, but that I was frustrated with the main character. How is it possible that someone with the level of deductive prowess such as Sherlock would be on the side of ‘justice?’ In a way, I would relate more with his archnemesis, Moriarty. While in Arthur Conan Doyle’s original franchise, Moriarty existed as Sherlock’s literal enemy, in the television shows, he was portrayed as an intelligent guy who was just bored of living. A hedonistic attitude, I would describe. With Moriarty out of the picture, I kind of just dropped the show entirely.

In a sense, Sherlock may have been a genius, but he was much too naive for my tastes. In the end, I’m just rambling on about a fictitious character, aren’t I? It’s not like the man known as Sherlock Holmes ever existed. But then again, who knows? Perhaps this life I’m living in right now is also a television show. Am I the main character of a television show? No, my life is too stupidly chaotic for the plot of a television show. If it were maybe a book instead—a book written by a bad author, then maybe it would make sense…

Anyway, that person said something about being knocked out so I should probably figure out a way to knock myself out again.

“Lunch is ready!” Came a shout from downstairs.

Had it not been for that masculine and grainy voice, I’d have thought Trevor was some sort of mother. It’s like he rehearsed that line every single day to hone the ‘Lunch is ready!’ voice to perfection.

What time was it? I was genuinely curious as to how long I had spent in the shower. If I’m correct, I entered the shower sometime around twelve-thirty.

As I walked down the stairs, I realized I was still naked, so I hurried back to my room and got dressed. Obviously, I’m going commando since there’s no way I would wear thongs even if it meant I wouldn’t wear any undergarments. It was just a layer of cloth after all.

As I headed downstairs, I could smell the aroma of—

I actually don’t know that scent. Interesting.

As I took a seat, I noticed the strange glare Trevor was giving me.

As if catching on, he gave a small cough and said, “Nothing, I just expected you would look a bit different. Since you look fine, you should repeat the same amount of running you just did this morning in the afternoon.”

“Alright,” I replied. I could obviously be a stingy ass teenager and whine, but there was no point in doing so.

So… Where was the food again?

The table was empty and not even the kitchen utensils were set up.

“I should probably show you my power now that you’ve gotten used to living here.” He said.—wait, did he say I got used to living here? I haven’t gotten used to shit! I almost killed myself in the shower through the most stupid method possible and I’d probably kill myself once more upon running up the fucking mountain.

He continued, ignoring me—well, my facial expression hardly moved and I don’t think he can read my thoughts either. I guess having an apathetic poker face like mine is good for masking rude thoughts.

“Watch.”

He snapped his hand and for an instant, I could see nothing but white light. The next moment, there was a plate in front of me. Sitting on top was a plain old-fashioned sandwich cut into two triangles. The only striking thing about it was that it was rather thick in terms of the filling. I could see two big pieces of grilled chicken stacked on top of some lettuce, and topped with a big slab of tomato. I could also see that there was some type of orange sauce slathered on the bread so that the sandwich wouldn’t taste dry.

All in all, it looked like a meal that would actually fill my stomach rather than those puny ham and cheese sandwiches served in school that was thinner than a sheet of paper.