**2 weeks earlier**

Micheal woke up in bed, wondering what he had been doing the night before. Something felt off about him. He remembered meeting a stranger the night before and shook it off as a dream. As he got out of bed, he wondered why he was still in his clothes from the day before. Something is definitely wrong, he thought. He looked through his jacket pockets, making sure all his things were still there when he pulled out a note. Refusing to believe that his strange encounter was real, he plopped it on his desk and decided he should forget about it. But the sheath was on his desk. Now that he could see the sword was there, he couldn’t deny the experience he had the night before.

He grabbed the sheath. He felt slightly stronger when he held it, but he had no idea why. He quickly realized that the note was from the stranger, and promptly picked it back up and uncrumbled it. It read:

Micheal, the sword is yours now. Do with it what you want. But you must run, or fight. They will come after you, and they will want the blade. None of them will likely be from your homeworld. Stay within a reasonable speed, for then they will reach your destination before you do. I wish you luck, although you may never meet me. You most certainly won’t ever meet my agent again.

The machines are ever-welcoming,

A Crafter.

The note worried him, and he decided to think about it after breakfast. He walked into the other room and grabbed a brightly colored cereal box before returning to his room. He nervously ate out of the box, wondering how he’d survive whatever was coming. He placed the box on the end table next to his bed and put his head in his hands.

“What am I going to do,” Micheal groaned.

Micheal picked up the note that still lay on his desk. He reread it several times, hoping to glean new information from the paper. He let himself fall back onto his pillow. He clenched his fists at his sides in anger. Why can’t I figure any of this out?! He thought.

Then it came to him. The note had given him instructions. Micheal facepalmed.

“How did I not realize this?” Micheal laughed a little.

Micheal stuffed some clothes and food into his backpack. He slung it over his back, the sword at his hip, and was about to leave when he realized he had forgotten to pack money. He quickly shoved all his money into the backpack and walked out the front door. No one else was home currently and they probably wouldn’t notice he was gone when they got back. He walked down street after street. He passed several interesting-looking display windows but didn’t buy anything, knowing the money he packed was for food. He slept in an alleyway outside a donut shop.

The next morning he got up and blinked the sleep from his eyes. He slowly walked out of the alley and looked at the note. Am I going too fast? He thought. I’m probably fine. He responded to himself. He walked along the sidewalk as the morning sun rose, and suddenly, he felt a pull. Some sort of call, something that needed him to go in that direction. He didn’t follow.

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

Micheal stopped walking and thought for a second. What am I doing this for? I should just get rid of this damned sword. He began to jog back home. He got a few confused looks from people, most likely due to the sword on his belt, but he didn’t truly notice. He was a few blocks from his house when he remembered something crucial. He unsheathed the sword, and sure enough, there was no blade attached to the guard. What was I thinking? How could I even get rid of this stupid thing? Micheal continued through the city’s streets in the same direction, not bothering to return home.

* * *

Micheal was sitting on the sidewalk taking a break from his urban hike when he saw someone watching him across the street. He went dead still when he noticed the guy. He appeared homeless, but given what the note had said Micheal assumed homelessness was a ruse. He quickly got up again and started nervously speed-walking away from the area. His hand shook while it rested on the hilt of the sword. Micheal looked back and he saw the mystery man throw off his blankets and dirty overcoat. The man’s beanie flew off as well once he began to sprint after Micheal.

The now undisguised man had obviously died bright red hair and wore a greyish jumpsuit with a green stripe running down the sides and dark-colored shoes. On the left side of the portion of his jumpsuit covering his chest was small text Micheal couldn’t make out. Micheal began running, crashing through crowds of people and leaving chaos in his wake. The red-haired man continued relentlessly, pushing people away harder than Micheal had. Micheal turned into an alley, hoping to lose the man, but he continued following with almost superhuman speed. Micheal ran as quickly as he could but the other man continued gaining on him. Micheal ducked behind a garbage can to catch his breath but the man didn’t give him a chance.

“Found you,” he grumbled out.

“Who are you?” Micheal asked.

“I’m here to take the sword from you,” the man said. From what Micheal could tell the man just had a grumbly voice.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to do that,” Micheal replied.

“You were given instructions? This is worse than we thought. I have to report back immediately,” the man said. He tapped a few buttons on his wristwatch and disappeared.

“Wha-wha, huh?!?” Micheal exclaimed, “What the hell?”

Micheal lay there in the alley, panting a little. He clutched at his chest, feeling the beat of his racing heart.

“What. The. Actual. Hells.” Micheal managed to pant out.

Micheal slumped over onto some trash bags. Then he laughed. “Oh, I’m going insane,” he said, punctuating his statement with another chuckle.

The strange red-haired man reappeared in front of Micheal.

“Holy..” Micheal said, still gasping for breath.

“C’mon. We’ve got places to be and people to see,” the man said.

“There’s no way I’m going with you!” Micheal spat.

The man grabbed Micheal by his shoulder and pulled him close. “Don’t make me do this the hard way,” he grumbled. His touch was surprisingly warm.

Micheal started attempting to squirm out of his grasp. “Let.. me.. GO!”

Micheal’s eyes began to glow yellow and metallic spikes suddenly grew from his shoulder into the man’s hand. The man cried out in pain and released his grip on Micheal. Micheal took the opportunity to start running. He ran fast, faster than he knew he could. Streaks of golden light orbited his legs, but he took no notice of them, as he was more focused on the spikes shrinking back into his shoulder. He looked back to see a raging inferno spewing from the alley and began to sweat. He tried to run faster but he had reached his limit. The man never came out of the alley to follow him.