Ch. 6
I stood, a gut wrenching feeling settled over me as I stared at the calendar that hung crookedly, a stubborn reminder of a time I don’t know. I ran to the bathroom my stomach heaving I couldn’t think. All of my stuff was here but it was mixed in with little things I’ve never seen before.
Photographs, too, pictures of me with people I don’t know and where was my pictures of Alara and me from when I was I kid. Each frame was a window to a moment I had apparently lived yet I don't remember, each face a question adding to the mounting confusion of my current state, and my head wouldn’t stop pounding.
I got dressed and made my way to door I knew I could figure out what was going on if I could just find Alara she’d know. With each step I took towards the door, my mind began racing, thinking of what could have happened, each more fantastical than the last. Having quickly succeeded in siking myself out and now thinking I’m in the middle of an alien invasion I open the door.
Stepping outside, the world greeted me with the same strange dichotomy of old and new. The sun hung in the sky with the same lazy indifference having yet been blown up by alein space lasers, yet the air felt weird, strangely metallic. I recognised this place I was on a balcony that ran along the inside loop of the ranger apartments.
And then the people came, faces unfamiliar, yet in their eyes I could tell they recognised me. They greeted me with jovial claps on the back and knowing smiles, a camaraderie that felt artificial.
"Oliver, you sly fox, back from another adventure?" a burly man with a ruddy complexion shouted over the din. His eyes crinkled at the corners, with well worn laugh lines.
"Ah, the adventures never stop, do they?" I said with a panicked chuckle, hoping it sounded less hollow to his ears than to mine. My voice, somehow steady, hopefully matched there perception till I could figure out what was going on.
A woman with the brightest eyes and sharpest features I’ve ever seen approached next, her hand reaching out to grasp mine in a firm, enthusiastic shake. "We've all missed your quick wit around here, Oliver. The place isn't the same without you."
Her words, meant to comfort, instead twisted in my gut. I was a phantom in my own life, grasping at the smoke of memories not made. "Well, you know me, always chasing the next tale to tell," I replied, the words heavy like lead poured out.
A younger ranger, perhaps new to the corps given the pristine condition of his uniform, stepped forward with an eagerness that suggested a reverence I had somehow earned. "Sir, your last mission briefing was incredible. The details, the planning—it's like you're playing chess while the rest of us are just learning to navigate the board."
"Chess is just a matter of moving the pieces, right?" I offered, a knowing nod accompanying my words. I don’t even play chess, what the heck had I missed?
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As I navigated these interactions, each exchange only made me confused. I latched onto their words, piecing together a version of myself that was a complete stranger.
"Oliver, the equipment you requisitioned for the field—state of the art! How did you even know we'd need that tech?" a technician queried, pushing up the glasses perched precariously on his nose.
I squinted slightly, as if recollecting a distant thought. "Just keeping us one step ahead," I said with an uneasiness. "Always have to be prepared for what's out there, right? Hey do you know where Alara went?"
The technician seemed confused by my question, replying,”Whose Alara?”
“Never mind, just a stray thought,” I answered ending the conversation.
I quickly made my exit from the strange situation. Reaching outside to the busy streets I found a section of waal unused by the populous and tried to pull together what I knew. If it’s not aliens then something must be wrong with my memory. The only place I could think with answers instead of Alara would be the mission desk. So I moved trying to keep a low profile by staying away from any ziplines.
The walk to the Ranger headquarters was a eerily quiet as the roads weren’t as packjed for once. As the building loomed before him, a citadel of comfort.
The mission desk, a familiar landmark in the sea of my fragmented memory. I approached, each step heavy with a mix of dread and necessity. Gone was the grizzled veteran who once manned this post, replaced now by a youth whose eager eyes sparkled with an admiration I felt I didn't deserve.
His gaze locked onto me, a flicker of awe dancing within. "Mr. Oliver, sir, it's an honor!" he blurted out, standing up so quickly his chair rolled back with a squeal.
I mustered a tight smile, the muscles in my face tensing with the effort. "I need to see my mission record," I said, my voice sounding strange even to myself. The young man, still buoyant with youthful exuberance, swiveled around and logged into the system. "Here you go, sir. Your missions are the stuff of legends around here. The way you handle the fieldwork, it's like... like poetry in motion, if poetry could dismantle traps and outwit insurgents."
“Ah yes, how is the Insurgency going?” I ask latching on to the newest surprise.
“ The legendary Oliver is asking my opinion. I’m honored to essay they’ll be swiftly squashed thanks to all your hard work,” He replied with all the energy expected of a fanboy. Horror struck me as I could only ask myself, What have I done?
He turned the monitor toward me, the screen filled with a list of dates, locations, and objectives that read like a chronicle of a stranger's heroics. My eyes scanned the text, each sentence a weight added to the scale of my bewilderment.
I feigned a nod of recognition, my throat tight as if constricted by the vines of a foreign jungle I had supposedly traversed. "Ah, yes. It seems all in order," I murmured, scanning the list, hoping to spark a flicker of memory with each mission's codename and brief.
The young clerk beamed, clearly proud to be assisting someone he considered a legend. "They say your last mission was a real nail-biter, sir. The way you handled the negotiations, disarmed the conflict without a shot fired... it was nothing short of miraculous."
I could only offer a hum of acknowledgment, a non-committal grunt that I hoped was the kind of sound this Oliver would make. With each compliment, each pat on the shoulder, I felt a disquiet grow within him.
Who was this man they celebrated? Who was the Oliver that could stride through dangers untold with a heart of iron and a will unbreakable? I a rift between the person I knew myself to be and the legend these people saw before them.