Chapter 2: World 22
The brief alleviation that he at least wasn’t naked anymore, now covered in simple cloth rags, didn’t last long in the face of his current situation. Stranded in God-knows-where -pun not intended- with only a twenty percent chance of not becoming one with World 22… or not, he reminded himself. If his soul was destroyed, he wouldn’t become one with anything aside from the void…
‘…dumb, so dumb! I mean, why the hell would you have a name like Heavenmen and not be guarding the gate to heaven or something. Honestly, I’d kill to fire whoever came up with that misnomer of a name…’
Such idle thoughts were the only thing occupying Blake’s mind as he forced his feet to trudge through the endless sand, enduring the strong winds that seemed set on filling his eyes with the coarse gravel… at least, that’s what he’s been desperately trying to believe for the last thirty minutes. The truth is that his subconscious mind was flooded with dark premonitions of his fate. ‘I’ll never make it', 'I’ll die like all the others that were sent to this wasteland of a planet’, and even more. These dark shadows kept shoving their way inside his thinking; malignant beings set on making him as miserable as possible. Was this truly how he’d perish… er, or perish again? Alone in a desert after being dissed and dismantled by one of The Universe’s wage slaves?
‘…stupid, so dumb!’
Hours…
It had been hours since he was first dropped onto this foreign planet. This had to count as bullying, right? Why was The Universe picking on a simple man like him, with no goals or wishes aside from having a happy afterlife? ‘World 22’ seemed to be nothing more than an empty, sand-covered shell. No wonder no one survived for more than three years, there was no life in sight… wait, three years...?
Hold on,
Is that right?
If people managed to survive for three years, that means there must be some sort of food source around here. If he could only find it, Blake would have a *chance* of squeezing into that 20% margin. With newfound determination, he kept himself on track to find food or water, preferably both… but not before taking a small break, of course.
As Blake sat down to admire the whole lotta nothing that rolled ahead of him, he detected something he thought he’d never see again after his whole post-mortem ordeal… a dog. It appeared as a small black blip in the distance at first, but after a while, it was clear that figure was moving somewhere- moving closer to him. Now, he had never been the biggest fan of dogs, but the prospect of having a companion to accompany him in his journey sounded a whole lot better than dyin- I mean, surviving alone… -yeah- surviving alone. He approached the mutt with a previously missing pep to his step and prese-
It had no face.
The dog had no face.
It wasn’t missing, no… there was just nothing there. Not a nose. Not a mouth. No eyes either, just flesh where a face was supposed to be. How was it even breathing… Was it breathing? Could it see Blake? Maybe it could sense him like Daredevil…
‘No, that’s stupid, why had he thought that… that’s dumb.’
“Um… Hello doggy! Are you… looking for your face?”. Blake crouched down to their level like anyone would do with a regular dog. This was no regular dog though, that much was obvious.
Silence once again festered in the empty wasteland. No reaction, no sign of awareness, nothing at all… until…
A slit seemingly revealed itself within the epicenter of the dog’s head, quickly expanding and expanding, deepening and deepening. Its mandibles opened; the stench of blood made itself well-known to Blake. Its mouth was nothing natural, thousands of black teeth projecting themselves along the fleshy walls of its oral opening. Upon closer examination, Blake noticed new teeth were jutting out of its gums while others retreated into their sheaths. Saliva dripped down the obsidian fangs as-
It happened instantly, a predator pounding on its oblivious prey. Its saliva proved to be toxic as it dripped down to Blake’s cheek, burning his skin with an acidic sting. He was going to be devoured by this afront to God... or The Universe… Whatever!
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Desperate for options, Blake grasped the only thing he could… Sand. He chucked a good helping of the starched substance into the beast’s jaw, and surprisingly, the dog-thing began to chew it down with utter ferocity.
Knowing he was on the cusp of a eureka moment, Blake reached down for another round of sand, but this time, threw it as far as he could from him, watching it disperse in all directions from the wind. He watched with glee as the monster stumbled and tripped on himself, clearly attempting to locate which direction its prey went… eventually deciding on one and pursuing it with single-mindedness. ‘He did sense me like Daredevil… Sorta…’
“Fuck off, you mutt! And never come back asshole…”
…
“… Maybe my fourth-grade counselor was onto something when he put me on that anger management program…”
.
.
.
…Holy shit. No way. Really? Really?
Blake couldn’t contain the tears that were now rolling down his dehydrated cheeks, their pores greedily swallowing the much-needed moisture. They weren’t the tears of defeat one might expect from a situation like this, no, they were the complete opposite. On the horizon, like a knight in shining armor coming in for the save, was a person riding what appeared to be a… four-legged ostrich? Blake would have enough time to analyze the biology of this planet after being saved from certain death in the desert… oh?
The good news just wouldn’t stop coming! It looks like a full-on search party had come to Blake’s rescue. He couldn’t bottle up the full-on sobs that were exiting him at that moment… finally, some semblance of hope had arrived. Maybe, possibly, he could live, enact his revenge on that bastard Ralse, and-
Whiiizzzzzzz
…What?
A something had whizzed past Blake’s face, most likely now lost to the unending sand below him. No… there’s no way, right? They couldn’t…
Whiiizzzzzzz
Whiiizzzzzzz
Whiiizzzzzzz
His brain only had to tell him once… he needed to run, now.
Blake’s legs shook off the lingering grasp of the sand underneath and took his body as far as it possibly could as quickly as it possibly could. He could hear the constant, menacing sounds of bullets trailing behind him.
He was scared. Mortified.
A part of him thought he shouldn’t be. It insisted that he should be grateful for dying to a bullet wound instead of slowing dying to thirst and hunger. But that shadow in his mind was easily dissipated by a much larger feeling. The need to survive. He didn’t think he had it in him, that oh-so-coveted survivor’s instinct that made living things so special… but he could feel it now. The need to keep on existing, and the determination to do anything in his power to do so.
He was rapidly approaching the nearest hill. Great! This should break line-of-sight, and then, he could maybe… fight them head-on? No, that wouldn’t work, Blake’s never been in a fight his whole now-deceased life. If he could only…
Whiiizzzzzzz
Thuph!
Huh?
Did he just… get hit by a bullet?
Wait, not a bullet…
A…
Tranquilizer?
As his consciousness became rapidly fleeting, he wrestled with the thought that this might really be the end for him… He’d love to say it was a good run but… was it?
“…Got the weaselly rat! Wasted too many bullets on this brat… he better fetch for a good price…”
Rumble…
Rumble, Rumble…
“Hmph, damn Earthfallen…”