Massive Disaster I

The sharp crack of bone sounded off again as he swung again.

And again.

And again.

Wet, sticky warmth splattered his knuckles, as his breath heaved, raw and ragged in his throat. The air was thick—too thick—with the tang of blood and the chemical burn of fried circuits. Sparks from a broken omnitool spat and hissed somewhere to his right, its screen shattered, and the data spike broken inside it, dangling from the connector port.

His hand hurt.

His hand—

No, his fist.

Raw, red, split open at the knuckles, skin peeled back to show the white beneath, every nerve screaming from repeated impact. Even still, it clenched, tight and trembling, blood pooling in his palm and slipping through his fingers.

Something—someone—was on the ground.

The shape on the floor twitched. a body.

And it wasn't dead. 

Yet.

The boy’s chest heaved, pulse pounding so loud it drowned everything else—the world, the room, all of it. His fingers twitched once, and his arm drew back.

“W-wait—”

The voice cracked through the haze, wet, broken, barely a voice at all. “I-I d-did-dn’t mean it, m-man! I d-didn’t know!”

The one on top froze, his heart hammering, body buzzing from the heat of rage and something colder beneath it. His gaze snapped down, his eyes—his own eyes—finally catching up with what his hands had done.

The person under him was barely a person anymore. His face—no, what was left of it—was all swollen flesh and shattered bone, blood bubbling from his lips with every gasping, wheezing breath. One eye was already sealed shut from a swollen cheekbone. the other—wide, unfocused—rolled blindly in its socket.

Still, somehow, he spoke again, shuddering from a mouth that barely worked.

“W-we’re— Zee, Z-man, please, w-we’re” — a gurgle, a cough — “l-l-like b-brothers, man…”

The words hit with as much force as his broken hands.

He felt something shift inside him, something sharp and cold, and for a second, his chest clenched so tight he thought it might break too.

Brothers.

A flash of something—something old, something real—seared through his mind. 

Another face. 

His voice, when it came, was low, steady and cold as he let out a sigh, mind already made up.

“My brother's dead, man.”

The words fell like a hammer, cold and final, and so did his fist.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

His eyes snapped  open to pale light strips overhead, their faint buzzing like gnats at the edge of his hearing. Smooth gray metal walls stretched out around him, scuffed but solid. functional. efficient.  

The blanket clung to him like a second skin, damp and heavy, and even half-asleep with his eyes closed, he wanted it gone. Peeling it off took more effort than it should’ve, but the second he was free, muscles stretched, awake and alert, like they’d been waiting for this moment. 

Not groggy, not stiff. 

Just... ready.

The cool air against his skin felt... wrong. Not bad, just sterile, the kind of air that belonged in hospital waiting rooms and industrial freezers.

A bed, bolted into the floor. Twin, he frowned instinctively. What am I, ten?

A desk he hadn’t touched.

Not home. Not unfamiliar. Somewhere in between.

He sat up, slow and deliberate, the mattress creaking under him as he glanced around..

Ceiling, low enough to feel cramped but high enough to stay functional. A room—his room. It didn’t feel like home, but it wasn’t unfamiliar either. The teenager glanced down at his knuckles, flexing them… for some odd reason. At least they’re healed up already, was the thought that came to mind.

He blinked the moment after that, a look of confusion unmistakeable on his slightly round features. Healed up? Was the second thought that came to mind. 

Why would I… A frown crossed his face. Wait… who am I?

The name Zedd Isaac Victors floated into his mind and he found himself tilting his head as he bounced the five syllables around his head. Familiar but faintly wrong, like lyrics just off-key.

Is that me?

Yeah. He nodded slowly, the head movement unbidden. It was. Wasn’t it? 

His mouth worked around the name silently, testing the fit. 

It did fit, mostly. 

Like an old jacket that had been left in the back of a closet for years. familiar, but stiff in the wrong places. something scratched at the back of his mind.

He frowned, rubbing his temple, the edges of his thoughts fuzzy. Zedd. 

Sure, that was right. 

But there was supposed to be more, wasn’t there? Faces, places, a before. 

He tried to catch the threads, but they slipped through his fingers, leaving only the faintest impressions—wide streets, faceless people, a sharp, hollow ache he wasn’t ready to look at.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Earth. A ship. Colonist.

The word landed right. It fit in a way the name didn’t, like a key sliding into a lock.

He was on a ship, wasn’t he? Had been for... a while.

A couple weeks, at least.

The details were hazy, though. his past—whatever life he’d lived before boarding this hunk of metal—was a blank slate smeared with faint impressions: broad streets, faces too blurred to pin down, and grief sharp enough to cut.

He shoved that thought aside, the motion almost reflexive. 

No sense in dwelling on a black hole.

The teenager sat up slowly, muscles cooperating without complaint. His feet found the floor, smooth polymer, cold enough to make him wince. A hum vibrated faintly through his bones, a constant background noise that he somehow already knew would never go away. 

The never-ending sound pulled him fully awake, his senses sharpening as his eyes adjusted to the dim room. He focused again on the hum pressing a bit too tight against his ears—the ship’s engines, maybe? Erebus Dawn.

The name hit before he could think too hard about it. 

Right. 

That was where he was. A colonial transport cruiser headed somewhere far enough from Earth that the memories couldn’t catch up. What memories? 

His legs moved before the thought fully finished, carrying him toward the door. Each step was smooth, deliberate, confident, as he did his best to push everything that didn't matter to the back of his head and quickly forgetting about it.

He was good at that.

Dr. Scott had called it compartmentalizing.

Dr. Steve had called it disassociating.

He called it strategic apathy.

Zedd paused mid-step, something catching his eye—his reflection.

The mirror was fully embedded in the far wall, unremovable with serious tools as well as narrow and smudged in places, but it showed enough. He stopped and stared, head tilting slightly as his gaze dragged up and down the figure in front of him.

This wasn’t how he remembered himself.

The sleeveless midnight blue vest fit snug, high-collared and reinforced at the chest and shoulders, with subtle light blue piping tracing the seams. It looked sturdy without being bulky, futuristic but functional. Beneath it, a steel-gray compression shirt hugged his torso, its faint geometric patterns shifting with the light as he moved. I slept in this?

His utility pants were charcoal gray, slim and reinforced at the knees, the kind of thing that could take a hit without ripping. Not jeans? His hand brushed the belt at his waist, fingertips grazing a small pouch. Why did I pass out? He remembered entering his room, at least and then…

Then what?

Shaking his head to push away the confusion, he gave his clothes a once-over again, feeling familiar in them and also not. Still though, every piece of the fit screamed practicality, like someone had designed him to be ready for anything without sacrificing style.

And then there was... him.

He leaned in slightly, studying the face that stared back. Taller than he remembered, shoulders broader, arms more defined. Muscle where there used to be a distinct pudginess only slightly hardened by the football field.

His face was sharper too, the angles more pronounced. I look like my b- 

Zedd turned his head to the side as the thought was almost immediately pushed away, instead focusing on how his jawline caught the light in a way it never had before. Something tugged at his chest—an offbeat, faint recognition.

He leaned closer, squinting slightly, his gaze darting over the details. This is me…. 

That was true, yes, but it also wasn’t quite his face. For one, there was no dimple on the left cheek when he smiled faintly. That's wrong, he thought. He used to have one, didn’t he? 

But this face, this body—it didn’t.

“Huh.” The sound was soft, more breath than word. His hand rose, brushing the faint line of his jaw.

It felt real. It felt like him. 

And yet... not.

The hum pressed against his ears again, as if the ship were reminding him to move.

He stepped back, shaking his head slightly as if that would clear it. The blank spaces in his mind—the before, the why, the who—buzzed faintly but didn’t fill in.

No point dwelling. Right?

His legs carried him toward the door again, smooth and unthinking. His hand reached for the handle, then froze as something sharp pricked at the edge of his mind.

An inaudible ding.

It wasn't a sound, not really, but the sensation clanged through his skull, a faint resonance humming behind his eyes. He froze, breath catching, and for half a second he wondered if he was about to pass out again.

The world shifted, subtly, like someone had pulled the focus knob on a camera. The scratches on the wall, the uneven hum of the actuator, the way the vent near the ceiling clicked faintly every seven seconds—it all slotted into place, perfectly clear.

A pattern he couldn’t explain but understood. Somehow, it almost felt like… finally solving a puzzle he hadn’t realized he was working on.

His fingers hovered above the door handle, heart pounding. “What the hell...” The sharpness wasn’t fading.

He raised his other hand to rub his temple, the motion instinctive. The hum in his head was faint but insistent, a thread weaving through his thoughts that hadn’t been there before.

Maybe he was still groggy.

Or losing it.

Or maybe... something else.

“Weird,” he muttered, under his breath but loud enough to ground himself. The ship’s recycled air scraped his lungs like sandpaper. He shook it off, flexing his fingers. probably nothing. Sleep fog or a stress hangover or whatever happened to people who had apparently been on spaceships for weeks.

His eyes drifted to his hand, and that’s when he saw it.

A bracelet. 

Sleek, metallic, the kind of blue that shimmered like sunlight on glass. It hadn’t been there before, had it? 

No, wait... 

It had been there. 

He just hadn’t paid attention until now, like finally noticing the coffee stain on your shirt after wearing it all day.

His memory came up with another wall of dense fog, but instinct buzzed faintly at the base of his skull, the same way it had when the world went into focu. This is important.

He stared, brows pulling together. The bracelet was light but substantial, the kind of thing you’d expect to see on someone important. Someone else.

His fingers hovered over it, curiosity buzzing in his brain like static electricity. “Okay,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone. “Let's see what you are.”

Acting on impulse, he waved his free hand over the bracelet.

Light flared to life in an instant.

A translucent blue holographic panel unfurled like a ribbon, the entire thing curving softly above his arm. Clean lines of symbols and icons danced along the surface, each one of them glowing faint but steady in different hues of nearly translucent blue. His breath caught, his pulse skipping as his brain scrambled to process what it was seeing.

“Whoa.” The word escaped him, low and unsteady, like he’d been punched in the gut.

The interface shifted with the motion of his wrist, tracking him like it had always been waiting for his input.

It felt normal. 

The way muscle memory felt normal, like riding a bike or tying a shoelace. His hand moved, and the hologram followed, each gesture coaxing the light to shift and ripple like it was alive.

His lips twitched upward, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Well, that’s... something,” he murmured, flexing his wrist.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

ROLL: Benadryl Cabbagepatch  (100 FP Free) [Invincible] {Knowledge: Intelligence) You have an incredible ability to make inferences and be correct. You truly are a natural at inductive and deductive reasoning, able to use logic to fill in the gaps in your knowledge, you can guess with reasonable accuracy when others would be left scratching their heads in consternation. This sort of deduction is quite useful when trying to reverse engineer advanced technology.