[World Designation 442, local name: “Oran”]
[Dominant Species: Homo Sapiens, local name: “Humans”]
[Technological Progress Stage: 10/10]
[Technological Limit reached, proceeding to integrate Aether Energy into Designation 442]
[Evolutionary processing: Homo Sapiens → Homo Magi and/or Homo Muti]
[Factoring in individual Homo Sapiens genetic capacity to utilise Aether Energy]
[Process execution effective in 3...2...1]
[Process Successful]
[Initiating counterbalance to excess Aether Energy]
[Collecting Aether imbued lifeforms from Aether creature database 666]
[Incorporating Lifeforms into Designation 442]
[Integrating Aether energy with new and existing lifeforms]
[Process execution effective in 3...2...1]
[Process Successful]
[Incorporating Aether Guide System to all compatible Homo Sapiens in designation 442]
[Process execution effective in 3...2...1]
[Process Successful]
[Sending Welcome message to all compatible Homo Sapiens in designation 442]
*****************
[Designation 186, local name: “Earth”]
The process did not foresee it. There were no omens of death, no black cats, crows, or owls. There were no signs. He expected that he’d be spending time with his dog, visiting the park, playing fetch and the like. Instead, he got run over by a truck.
“Highway to Hell” by ACDC was blasting on the radio, an old-world classic. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him. In hindsight, perhaps that was his omen, his only warning sign, but he had paid it no heed until the truck in the opposite lane swerved into his. Joel could only register an ear-ringing honk before he experienced the oncoming collision.
It was his off-day that day. A day away from his deadly work, away from the slicing of throats and the splitting of skulls. He’d allowed himself to relax for but a moment…in that car…to turn off the process, to keep his mind clear, to let all that he did and saw be experienced naturally, rather than calculated to its microscopic factors. It was a mistake.
Everything came in a flash of motion. One second, it was the blurred lines of road markings, the passing of speed signs and landmarks. And the next, fractured pieces of his windscreen were dancing in the air.
*****************
“Sir...Sir!”
A voice was calling out to him, echoing, distorting and distant. He could not make out the words.
Joel could feel a cool liquid surrounding him, the swaying of its waves, the ripples of disturbances. He was drifting under its surface, flowing along its currents.
“Sir, Sir! Stay awake!”
The sounds were disorienting–he couldn’t tell which direction they came from.
He could only experience the drifting, the swaying. He felt restful, droopy, wanting to be lost within the waters. Yet something was anchoring him, preventing him from leaving.
Joel wondered where this led. Was he to spend eternity in this semi-blissful state? It soothed him, relieved him; he felt less pain here than what he suffered from the life he’d lived. It was a tempting lull of promised peace, of quiet ecstasy.
Then, another voice rang in his head, this time clear and unmistakable. It sounded robotic and feminine, artificial but done deliberately so–as if trying to purposefully convey that there existed no organic presence behind it.
“Welcome, strangers, to the Aether Guide System. Your world “Oran” has reached its 10th technological milestone and has begun integrating into the Cosmos. From this point onwards, all “Humans”, once matured, will be imbued with Aether Energy as per genetic capacity and will evolve into one or both new species as designated into your system profile. Excess Aether energy will be processed into new lifeforms. Do be careful when engaging as aggression levels will vary. May the Aether guide your souls for eternity.”
A strange confusion pinballed within his thoughts and he found that he could not access the…the…what was it? That was a fearful sign. There was a gap within his memory. Something that was supposed to be there was gone…
For now, he would make do with what mental capacity he had. The Aether Guide System? New Species? Oran? He didn’t know what any of it meant. There was insufficient data present for an accurate depiction of the situation. Though, he explored possible theories from the foundations of his knowledge. The Aether Guide System… implying a system of guidance. Guidance to what, exactly? Aether energy…a form of energy he’d never heard of, implications of it being able to be ‘imbued’ into humans…biological electricity?...a power source?...magic?
Then, a random stray thought emerged, a thought too wild for him to logically consider but had somehow found its way into the forefront of his mind. From old-world video games there existed a genre called RPGs. He’d only read of them from Data Recollections of the Early 21st century. Even if they’d still existed at his time, his job allowed too little free time for him to experience them. He remembered that characters in those video games had a ‘player system’ showing physical, mental and magical stats. The idea…suited the words of the voice…but Joel felt like he was exploring too many branches of possibility, trying too hard to overthink the situation.
He still hadn’t even confirmed whether he was even dead yet at this point. Though, he was positively sure that his ‘world’ was referred to as Earth. Was that, perhaps, a mistake? or was “Oran” just what Earth is referred to by beings that can magically speak into people’s heads?
Maybe…maybe this was some phenomenon his wondrous mind had conjured; something to cope with the reality outside his current perception.
Come to think of it, he did recognise the faint sounds of ambulance sirens, distorted as it was beneath the depths.
Where was he? Was he being transported to the hospital? He didn’t even know whether he wanted to be saved. He had nothing left in his life. No family. No friends. Just he, himself, and his dog against the world. His life wasn’t kind to him but he was satisfied with what he accomplished. He wouldn’t mind passing on now. He only wished someone would look after his dog.
Joel tried moving his body and found that it didn’t respond to his commands, the cool liquid had done something to it–disconnected it from its functions.
“Ke-Perform-CPR”
More sounds came from above the surface. Joel tried to make out the words but it was jumbled and broken up.
“Pads-in pla?”
“Pause, everyone- clear?”
“Shocking”
All of a sudden, Joel felt as if his entire body was hit by lightning. His muscles–that he had no control over–had cramped up and became as rigid as a block of wood.
“Continue CPR”
Joel, ever clever, guessed what was happening to him.
The crash, he thought. He must’ve died. His heart had likely long stopped beating. The doctors were trying to revive him. Yet, he was conscious, he was thinking. Dead people do not think.
“Clear”
Another dose of prickling electricity flowed through him, and Joel screamed a silent scream, or at least he tried to, but his body was not responding to him. For that matter, dead people do not feel pain. And here I am, he thought, was this my punishment? To be stuck in a cadaver, to be both alive and not alive?
“Clear”
Another shock, another river of pain. At this point, he just wanted to die in peace, for them to leave him be. Am I to be stuck like this forever?
He did not want this, he wanted to go back to what he’d felt before, he wanted to go back to just drifting…but he did not know if he deserved it, for his hands were the furthest away from being clean.
Yet, he’d rather let go of his consciousness, to forever lose the…lose the…what was it again? he would lose..whatever it was, than be a helpless spectator to his own body. The feeling of being trapped in a coffin for eternity… unnerved him. He’d rather they cremated him–at least the pain would be terrible but swift, then he would be nothing but ashes.
“Clear”
Joel braced himself for another shock, anticipating the prickling pain…
It never came.
*****************
Patient Joel Marion. Time of death: 5:58 pm 14th of December, 2845.
*****************
Peace, elation, and flow. He was finally at peace, finally back to drifting. There was no time here; one second, one hour, one eternity were but the same. There was no heaven, nor any hell. It was simply the afterlife, an existence not unlike a deep sleep–a castle of wondrous dreams and occasional nightmares, but you never wake up.
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*****************
[Designation 442, local name: “Oran”]
“Joel.”
“Joel, wake up sweetie.”
Joel was still adrift somewhere. He could feel his limbs floating and staying under the water’s surface, the cool liquid running through his digits.
“Joel.”
As time went on, Joel snapped in and out of consciousness, travelling the wide array between restful sleep, blissful lucidity and forgotten wakefulness. Throughout it all, he slowly but steadily became more and more aware of the ‘above’ world. The liquid that encased his body, bit by bit, depleted, and eventually, he could feel that what was running through his fingers wasn’t water but the loving grasp of another person’s hand.
It was…unfamiliar to him for he did not experience such a gesture so often if any at all. Every time he was awake enough to feel, be it for barely minutes at a time, he could feel the gentleness of this person’s touch and the softness of their caress.
One day he awoke lucid enough to move and ever so slightly, he reciprocated the person’s gesture. With his meagre strength, he curled his digits around the person’s own. He heard a gasp before he fell back into blissful sleep.
*****************
“I felt him move, I swear it!”
“Honey, are you sure? He’s been asleep for years.”
“I felt it, I know I did.”
Brian was resigned, and he did not dare hope against hope. It was futile. His son, Joel, had been involved in a tragic accident in a villain attack years ago, where a piece of rubble had fallen on his head, nearly crushing it. If not for the generosity of Miracle, the blessed mother, he’d suspected that his son would not have survived. Yet, even Miracle herself could not awake Joel from his slumber, and he’d been stuck in a coma ever since.
It had been three years since that incident, and Joel had missed three of his twelve birthdays. Each year, they’d stockpiled the gifts hoping that one day he’d awaken to receive them but as the years passed, they remained but heavy reminders of the son they’d lost.
In a few days, the Nun’s funding for Joel’s life support would be terminated and with their scant savings, they would not be able to pay for it. They’d pleaded with everyone they knew, their relatives, their friends, their co-workers but as both unblessed individuals, their words only held as much weight as the papers it was written on.
As such, they’d counted the days and gathered up what insubstantial money they had to give Joel a proper funeral. Yet Elena did not give up hope, and her faith held strong against the tides of uncertainty.
“I know, Brian. I know that you think I’m making it up.”
Brian opened his mouth to respond but was cut off again.
“I know. I’m not stupid. I’m not lying. I felt it. I felt him.”
He couldn’t respond. The words he’d meant to say wouldn’t come out. His heart was a block of lead, and he could not pray any more unanswered prayers for his son. It was futile. The Nuns had said that if Joel did not wake up for the few weeks after the incident, then the chances of him doing so now were negligible. It was through their generosity that he’d even been kept alive for this long.
“He’s in there, Brian. We just need a few more weeks and maybe-”
“Elena…” Brian said, tears starting to fall against his wishes, “...no one else will believe us. If Joel doesn’t wake up in the next few days then there’s nothing, and I mean nothing, we can do. We’ve tried, Elena, but maybe it’s time to move on.” His voice echoed back to his ears in the sad twang of a broken soul.
The heartbroken look on Elena’s face became too much to bear and Brian left before he could hear his Wife’s sobbing. As much as he despised the thought of giving up on his son, he needed to be strong for his family and that included making hard decisions to get them back on their feet.
*****************
Jill didn’t visit her brother often. She could not bear the visage of her brother’s gaunt form and the guilt that consumed her every time she laid eyes on him.
“Sweetie, come look at him,” Elena said.
Jill shuddered and approached her brother’s bedside. Once again, she was greeted by his silent presence, his malnourished frame. The stinging smell of hospital antiseptic perfumed every corner of the room. To her, it always accompanied the feeling of depression. Her fingers found their way to his sunken cheek, and she caressed it perhaps for the final time.
“Joel,” she choked, the words could barely leave her lips, “Joel, I’m so sorry.”
This was the last day of his life support, and the next time she’d see him, he would be in a coffin.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice trembling, her tears falling.
She felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder, but its presence only made the tears flow freer. Jill could see her brother’s turquoise eyes, so pure and innocent, staring back at her. His nine-year-old form, broken and battered by the rubble. His skin, blemished by hideous scars.
She…she did this.
His bloodied, cracked lips, mouthing Why, Why, Why?
She did this.
The feeling of his hand going slack, like a puppet without strings.
She did this.
No words could bring her out of her immense guilt. No action could bring her out of her wretched pain. Her breathing laboured, and the air felt heavy. No, not today. She would reign in her panic attack. Not today.
Today…today they were all here to say their goodbyes. But she didn't want to. She could not say the words. She wouldn’t.
“Joel, please,” she begged, “wake up.”
Joel remained unresponsive. His unconscious form lay there, not moving, not reacting.
“Joel, I don’t want to say goodbye-”
As the words left her mouth, she felt something shift. A movement so small that had she not been touching him, she’d have completely missed it. Her words caught in her throat and the spine-tingling chill of realisation dashed her anguish and cleared her thoughts.
“J-Joel?” She pleaded, gently shaking his shoulder, “Joel, are you there?”
And then there he was, his eyes fluttering open, and she was met with shining turquoise.
*****************
The first thing Joel saw was the widened eyes of multiple strangers and their expressions of disbelief. An immediate scan of the room counted four people. Two of them were an older couple, and two were younger girls. They all oddly looked kind of like…him…but that was impossible, he had no family. They were dead.
“J-Joel?” the one closest to him asked. She had warm brown eyes, tanned skin, and curly brunette hair. She looked…familiar, yet he couldn’t recall ever meeting her before in his entire life.
“JOEL?!” the eldest woman exclaimed as she rushed forwards toward him. She looked exactly like the younger girl but more…graced with age. Her lips were quivering, and her eyes were watery. Her expression of disbelief had morphed into one of overwhelming joy.
“Bless the sleeper! Joel!” the man of the group said as he approached the other side, leaving the youngest girl behind, standing there wide-eyed like the rest of them, “C-can you hear me? Can you understand me, my boy?”
Joel couldn’t do anything but give the slightest nod but they’d caught his movement and gasped once again.
“Y-you’re awake,” said the man, then almost as if he was trying to confirm what he was seeing, he looked at his partner, “He’s awake!”
Joel was starting to feel uncomfortable having this many people so close to him. Especially when they all looked so much like him that he could see parts of himself in each of them. The man had his green eyes, the woman his brown hair, the girl his freckles. Yet he knew he had no kin; he was a syndicate-made orphan, after all.
“W-who” Joel coughed. His throat felt like sandpaper.
“Water!” the man exclaimed before he scrambled towards his bag. Moments later, the man carefully lifted Joel’s head so he could get a few gulps of water from a bottle.
Joel was instantly gratified by the cool liquid as it seemed to chip away at the bile in his throat. The man was so gentle, treating Joel as if he were made of glass, letting him take one sip at a time. Again, it was so very strange for someone to treat Joel with such…care.
After a while, Joel cleared his throat to try again.
“W-Who are you people?”
The words almost seemed to have slapped them…and then the eldest woman fainted in shock.
“ELENA!” the man exclaimed.
*****************
A few weeks later, Joel was in the middle of his physiotherapy session. After being told that he was in a coma for the last three years, he didn’t expect himself to have much functioning muscle.
To his initial surprise, he found that he was stuck in a body much, much younger than he actually was. He was twelve, precisely half his actual age of twenty-four, born in the year 1286 A.E–whatever that meant–and from his files, he had actual living relatives.
Moments after Joel had awoken, he knew something was simply…off–if it wasn’t made obvious by the strangers at his bedside. Something was…wildly different.
…Am I in a hostage situation? He’d thought.
That feeling of wrongness was only reinforced when a person dressed like an old-world Christian nun of all things came to examine him. Not a doctor, a nun…A hostage of a friggin’ cult, he’d thought.
But everything after was the standard diagnostic procedure. They’d asked his name, which he refused to give, his age, which he did not know, and where he was, which he also did not know. He saw the obvious line of questioning given to him, and he exploited it without hesitation. He’d feigned memory loss, but he knew that wasn’t completely true. He could remember perfectly well who he was. He was Joel Marion, Assassin Executive of the Syndicate, Code: 001. He remembered it all…except for…except for…something important was escaping him. It did not matter because he knew enough to conclude that he may be in a hostile situation, and that fact alone was enough for him to clam up from giving any information. They’d have to torture him, which from what he deduced of the situation so far, was unlikely. Even then, they would not gain anything from him. Joel knew that all men had breaking points, and even the most stubborn will falter given enough time in torture. There was an art to such things–one he’d shamefully mastered. He, on the other hand, was syndicate-conditioned, or at least partially, but enough so that torturing him was futile. They might as well try to get a mute to speak.
After a long series of tests, where he answered precisely what they needed to hear, the diagnosis of severe memory loss was made official.
His supposed ‘mother’ was heartbroken to hear of his condition, but could not be any less grateful that he was awake. Joel felt a strange sense of…guilt when he saw the look on her face…a strange, unfamiliar feeling.
Joel managed to figure out a few things from the past weeks. He was still himself, but not the ‘Earth’ version of him. This Joel was ‘Oran’ Joel and he was involved in an accident three years ago that should’ve killed him. It, perhaps, did kill him, Joel figured, for he was not the same Joel as the Joel they knew.
He remembered Earth Joel’s pathetic death, the car crash, and the strange sensations of the afterlife…Of all the ways he could’ve been killed, he couldn’t believe that it was from an accident of all things.
Yet he still lives…but for what cruel purpose, he did not know. For whatever reason he was sent here, he could not justify the taking of this Joel’s life for his own. What kind of other-worldly force thought it was a good idea to pry a child from his family and replace him with me, the syndicate’s monster?
Joel tisked. He knew he should not let his thoughts linger on events he had no control over. He did not choose to be here. The best he could do was to pray that Oran Joel has found peace, just as he did when he passed, or perhaps still be alive somewhere, just like he was now.
He would try his best not to tarnish his other self’s memory–whatever it may be. He could, at the very least, take care of Oran Joel’s family in his stead.
…Family…He had…a family…
Joel took his first step and, predictably, he faltered. If not for the hands grabbing him beneath his armpits, he was sure to have expected a collision with the floor. Joel looked behind him to see the encouraging face of his supposed father. The kind understanding in his eyes and the support Joel felt just from his mere presence had sent an appreciative reaction in him–one he learned to identify and understand in the past weeks.
Try as he might, Joel was not used to this strange sort of affection, especially when he was mentally twenty-four years old. In his previous life, he’d only seen such things from afar, through a false window of wishful thinking. “If wishes were fishes we’d all cast nets,” he remembered a quote.
He had once dreamt of a family of his own, for someone to love him unconditionally, to replace the one he’d lost…but he anchored himself in reality and taught his mind to seek only what is possible to take, to have.
…Yet here he was, his deepest desires dangling in front of him like a carrot on a stick. He was waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to drop. Yet in the past weeks, there had been nothing but encouragement from his family, and they expected nothing in return other than his continued wellbeing. It warmed him. It was strange, foreign, but Joel had grown to learn that this was what love meant. The small underappreciated gestures of kindness, their silent reassuring presence, the encouraging, unwavering support. He suspected that such things were what people took for granted, things that had he not been so deprived of, he wouldn’t be able to perceive. He would usually stay away from such things but they were…they were his family.
He nodded to his father in thanks, a hint of awkwardness lingering between them. Joel was unused to human interaction without the barking of commands and orders. In Earth Joel’s work, regular ‘normal’ conversations were few and far in between. Earth Joel was used to murdering people, not speaking with them.
Joel cleared his throat and tried again. One step at a time, he walked. Each step, trembling and buckling from his weight–which wasn’t very much at all–was progress. He found it a miracle that he was able to stand, much less walk as he did in so little time; Joel had bounced back from his illness faster than he thought was possible. It seemed like whatever he consumed in the strange hospital was instantly turned into lean, fibrous muscle.
There was something strange going on with him. He could not explain it but there was a…springiness about him like his very body was so eager to be put to use again.
Joel felt a sense of trepidation, a sense of higher, exalted purpose.
There was something for him here…something for him to do. He was sent here for a reason…with the promise of a prize he did not deserve…he looked towards the encouraging smiles on the faces of each of his family. The prize of happiness, of love. Joel clenched his teeth and took another step, this time steady and unfaltering. He did not deserve this…but he’d rather die than let a second chance decay into waste.