Callan shivered involuntarily as he stepped out of the medical center and on to Seneca Street. Overhead, the sky was a mottled gray, eternally threatening rain and misery on whoever happened to draw its ire.

Dangit, he hated Seattle in February. Easily the most miserable month in existence.

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he set off shuffling down the hill. Westlake Station might only be a ten-minute walk from here, but on days like today it may as well have been on the moon.

Actually, the moon might have been easier to get to in his current condition.

He only made it to the corner before he had to stop and lean against a post, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

How annoyingly stupid. Not that he’d ever been the most athletic person, but it wasn’t that long ago he could have at least walked down the street without getting so winded he needed to lay down.

Callan wasn’t sure if this was a direct result of his condition, or one of the side-effects of his treatments. When he’d asked Doctor Martin about it, the man had given a long-winded talk about environmental factors and individual response that Callan had stopped paying attention to about three minutes in. Now he was wishing he’d listened a little more closely.

Either way, it really just made his whole situation even more unbearable. Bad enough his parents couldn’t take the time to go with him to his appointments, but on top of that they couldn’t even be bothered to schedule him a ride home?

No. That was unfair, and Callan knew it. Both his mom and dad were working overtime to help pay for his treatments. Heck, practically every spare moment they had went in to trying to make a few more dollars, and stay one step ahead of all the bills that were already streaming in.

Who knew that having cancer was so expensive?

His doctor called it Metastatic Periosteal Osteosarcoma, but far as Callan was concerned, it was good ol’ leg cancer. It had started with some uncomfortable swelling, which he had originally assumed was just from sleeping wrong. Then the pain had gotten bad enough his mom had taken him to see his usual doctor, who had sent him to a specialist, who sent him to another specialist...

By the time he’d wound up in Doctor Martin’s office, both he and his parents knew it wasn’t going to be anything good. But still, cancer? He was only seventeen, for fuck’s sake. He was supposed to be skipping school to mess around with girls in the back of cars or ingesting questionable substances purchased in a Walmart parking lot. Not hiking his sorry ass downtown to spend the entire morning in waiting rooms.

A few drops of rain started hitting Callan’s head as the gray sky finally decided he was due for a little more suffering. Great. Just great. With a resolute sigh, he set out walking—well, hobbling—his way down the street again.

Honestly, why was he working so hard to get to the station? All it would mean was an uncomfortable ride, followed by another painful walk, just so he could catch the last few hours of school, or go home and sit in an empty house. It wasn’t as if anyone would miss him. His parents were at work, and most of his friends had stopped talking to him after he was stupid enough to let his prognosis slip. Apparently, nobody wanted to be friends with the dying kid.

Well, nobody other than Lyle, but Callan suspected his sole remaining friend hung around him because he was even more of a pariah than Callan.

The ten-minute walk took more like twenty at his pace, and he was forced to stop three more times for a break before he got to the station. Despite there being a fair number of people on the streets—Seattle was never quiet, especially downtown—the entrance to Westlake station was empty. The only person in sight was a man sitting against the entrance wall, knees pulled up to his chest, empty baseball cap lying upside down next to him. Based on the grime smearing his clothes, Callan could guess what the hat was meant for.

The man’s eyes flicked towards him as Callan passed by, but he didn’t say anything. A moment later his gaze darted away, looking at nothing in particular.

Callan hesitated. He didn’t have any change, but he did have a twenty-dollar bill his mom had given him so he could get lunch after his appointment. Unfortunately, given the way his stomach felt at the moment, food was the last thing on his mind.

Fishing into his pocket, he pulled the bill out and tossed it into the guy’s hat. His mom would probably be furious if she found out, but whatever. Twenty dollars wasn’t going to make that much of a difference towards his mounting bills at the end of the day. It would probably mean a heck of a lot more to this guy.

The man glanced at him again as the bill fluttered down. His eyes were surprisingly blue, almost piercing in their intensity. There was a ring of light in their center that seemed to glow on its own. Callan blinked, and when he looked again, they seemed like normal eyes to him.

Must have been his imagination.

“Hey, thanks, man.” The guy’s hand shot out, and the twenty disappeared like magic. “Been a slow day around here. Hope yours is a good one.”

Callan shrugged, already wanting to get a move on. The stairs down to the light rail station beckoned to him. “Can’t get any worse, that’s for sure.”

“Wow, man, that’s like... dark. Whatever you got going on can’t be that bad. Young kid like you got his whole life ahead.”

Yeah, all six months of it, Callan thought glumly. Of course, Doctor Martin told him to be optimistic, that plenty of people made it past the fifth-year mark with his prognosis, but Callan had done enough googling to know his chances weren’t great.

Twenty percent survival if caught early. And his cancer hadn’t exactly been caught early.

Something must have shown on his face, as the man shot him a bit of a sad smile. “You just gotta have faith. Look at me. Here I was, thinking I might not even get lunch today, and then you come along. Fate provides.”

“Glad you’ve got a good attitude about it,” Callan said, trying his best to return the smile. He turned and made his way into the station.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Just remember, Callan, hitting rock bottom means you’ve got nowhere to go but up!” the man called after him. “Don’t forget that!”

“Right.” Callan got another two steps, then paused. When did I tell him my name?

He turned around, but the station entrance was empty.

Whatever. He needed to get moving. Before, he might have gone and hung out at a coffee shop for the rest of the day, but now that he was penniless, returning to school was as good an option as any. Maybe Lyle would have some new stuff for him to read. The guy was into the weirdest genres, but that was fine. Callan just appreciated being able to forget about his miserable life for a little while.

Behind him, one of the overhead lights flickered. With an audible pop, it went dark.

Callan glanced back and frowned. That was... weird.

The next light began to flicker. Even as Callan watched, it turned off, then on, then off again. There was another pop. It stayed dark.

“Okay, getting creepy.” Turning, he started hobbling his way down the stairs again. Behind him came the sound of a third light popping, then a fourth. The way behind was entirely dark now.

I really don’t need this right now! He was moving as fast as he could, which admittedly wasn’t particularly quick, but at least he seemed to just be keeping pace with the blackout. All he needed to do was get down to the station platform, and he should be safe. There were plenty of lights down there, and besides—

His foot missed one of the steps and went out from under him. With a shout, Callan landed on his ass. He stared up at the ceiling light directly overhead in a half daze.

The light flickered. Turned on. Winked out.

Darkness surrounded him. It smothered over him like a warm blanket. Callan tried to draw in a breath, but it was like being stuck in an airless room. His lungs started to burn as his lips sucked uselessly at nothing. A silent scream bubbled in his throat.

Then, all at once, the feeling lifted. Callan drew in a breath, the sweet taste of stale air filling his lungs.

Huh. Usually, Westlake station didn’t smell so... earthy.

Nearby, one of the overhead lights flickered to life. Or maybe it was part of the emergency backup system. The light was dimmer than normal and had a gray pallor to it that reminded him more of the overcast sky outside.

Even so, after being stuck in that smothering darkness, the light almost blinded him. Callan squinted his eyes shut for a moment until he had a chance to adjust. When he opened them again, he wondered if maybe he had hit his head when he’d fallen.

It wasn’t an overhead light at all. It was an open flame, flickering in the dark. The flame was burning inside of a small metal bowl set into the wall. The bowl was green with age, but a few spots of the original golden material still glittered through in places.

Also, the flame wasn’t a normal orange, but rather a grayish color that barely cast any light.

He was reasonably certain that wasn’t normal.

Another light flared to life behind him, and Callan turned to find a second bowl, this one also lit by gray flames. Seemed to be a common theme here.

Two more bowls lit up, then two more. Six became twelve, then twenty, then more than he could count. Callan held a hand up to block out the sudden light. Through his fingers, he started to make out details of his surroundings.

The stairway was gone. Instead, Callan stood in a large chamber, perhaps a football field in width. Bowls of flame lined the walls, and stone benches ran into the distance. The floor beneath his feet was rough-hewn stone as well, though of a different variety than the benches. Overhead, the ceiling had a look more reminiscent of a natural cave.

Either the Westlake station had been heavily renovated since his doctor appointment, or he was somewhere far, far removed from Seattle.

“Hello?” His voice echoed through the hall, the fading cries seeming to go on forever. Nothing moved around him. No rats scurried on the floor, or bats squeaked overhead. It seemed he was alone.

But if that was the case, how had he gotten here?

A deep rumbling noise began to build. Callan glanced around, but the sound seemed to be coming from every direction at once. It continued to grow louder, until finally he recognized it for what it was. Laughter. A booming, gravelly laugh, like the kind a mad scientist might make before saying something like, “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!”

“Who’s there?” he called again. “Just so you know, I’m pretty sure this qualifies as a kidnapping!”

It worked... it WORKED!!!

“Huh?” Callan blinked. He turned in a slow circle, and finally spotted what he had failed to notice before, what with all the other craziness going on.

The cavern came to an end a short ways behind him, with several openings leading off into darkness. Between him and the exits was another slab of stone, this one too high to be used as a bench.

On top of the slab was... a statue? He had no idea what else to call it, but it didn’t look like any statue he’d ever seen before. It was vaguely human, at least from the neck down. Instead of a normal head, there was a shape that almost defied description. Irregular angles and abstract shapes all mashed together. Staring at it too long made Callan’s head hurt, so he averted his eyes to scan the rest of the chamber.

“Where are you?” He was fairly certain the voice had come from this direction, but unless somebody was hiding behind the altar-thing, he still appeared to be alone. Had they fled down one of the tunnels before he spotted them?

I’m right here, little human. You are human, yes? It has been so long, and I have forgotten so much while I’ve waited here in the dark.

“Uh...” Callan looked around again. The voice seemed to be coming from right in front of him, but there was nobody here. “I mean, yeah, I’m human. What else would I be?”

Oh, so many things, little mortal, so many things. Perhaps not now, but one day.

“Huh. That’s not super ominous or anything.” Callan squinted. The only thing he could see was the statue, but that couldn’t... He started edging closer. “Listen, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you let me go, I promise I won’t mention your weird little wannabe temple down here to anybody. Just point me in the direction of the exit and we can both forget this ever happened.”

And why would I do a thing like that? After so much effort to bring you here.

Callan stopped in front of the statue. He was positive now the voice was coming from it. Was there a speaker on it somewhere? If so, it was well hidden.

So, little human, from what nation do you hail? To whom do you owe your allegiance?

“My what now?” Yeah, it was definitely the statue talking. Reaching out, Callan poked at it. The stone felt strangely warm to his touch. Almost like it was alive. “I’m from Seattle, Washington, in the good ol’ US of A.”

Hmm. These names are unfamiliar to me. It seems much has changed since... Tell me, mortal, does the Han dynasty still rule in Zhongguo?

“The—” Now Callan really did find himself at a lack of words. He had no idea what Zhongguo was, but Han sounded vaguely familiar.

“You’re talking about China? I’m pretty sure the Han dynasty hasn’t existed for, like, two thousand years.”

Two thousand? Interesting. And yet, that does seem reasonable. It took so long to build sufficient power to summon you here. But still, it appears I have lost more time than I thought. Two thousand years. Interesting...

The voice trailed off into muttering. Callan shuffled nervously.

“I hate to interrupt whatever it is you’ve got going on, but I really need to get going. If I’m not back soon my parents will call the police, and you really don’t want that.” Actually, he doubted his parents would even notice he wasn’t there for a day or two, at least. They rarely got home before he’d fallen asleep anymore. Stupid cancer bills.

Actually, that gave him another idea. “Listen, I’m really not going to be much use to you. I’ve got this form of cancer, and it’s pretty aggressive. If I don’t get back for treatment—”

I’m afraid you will not be going anywhere, human. Not for some time, at least.

Callan’s heart sank. So this really was a kidnapping. “What do you want with me?”

That is up to you. I require... assistance. If you aid me in getting what I desire, I can help you in return. You are free to refuse, of course, but without my powers, you will never find a way to leave this cavern, let alone back to your world.

“I mean, so long as this isn’t some weird sex cult thing...” Callan paused. “Wait, did you just say ‘my world’?”

Yes, human. I am afraid that you are quite a ways from Earth. Several galaxies worth, if I had to guess. Welcome to the Outerworld.