“You there, kid, what’s ya name?”
“Me?”
“Yeah kiddo, I’m talking to you. What’s ya name?”
“Uh… Jason?”
“Well, Jacey boy, where’re you from?”
“New York.”
“No fuckin way. I’m from the Bronx.”
“Staten Island.”
“Ah, that garbage fire of an island huh? No wonder ya look like shit.”
“Says the chick from the Bronx.”
“Hah! Fair enough. Name’s Rosie. Say kid, how old are ya anyways?”
“Sixteen.”
“Alright Jacey boy, tell ya what. Ya seem like a good kid. Hows about we team up? I’ll look after you, you look after me. Sound good?”
“I guess.”
“Good looks kid. I’ll see ya in the Pit.”
“Sorry ma’am, no outside drinks are allowed inside of the club.” I said as I passed back their IDs, staring down at a group of three girls and two guys. The girl in question has a brown paper bag in her hand, and the group has obviously been drinking pretty heavily. She groans, wobbling in place, leaning on her equally wobbly male friend.
“Come on,” She whines, “we’ve still got half a bottle left. Couldn’t you just let it slide?” She tries to flutter her eyes at me, and nearly falls over herself for her effort.
I shake my head. “You can finish it now, or chuck it.”
Sighing very loudly, she stands and unscrews the cap of the bottle, leaning back as she does so and taking a huge swig. She hands it off while she coughs, and soon the entire group has passed it around. By the time it’s gotten to the last man of their group, he has to nearly tip the entire bottle to get whatever remains. They all cheer and toss the bag away, the contents shattering inside of the bag as it lands on the pavement. I sigh, but let them through.
The girl who had been carrying the bag blows me a kiss as she walks past, a little bit of spit coming out the side of her mouth. Classy.
“Well I’ll be damned. Jason Takada, the infamous Death Weaver and savior of Yarla, working as a bouncer for a club. Oh how the gods and goddesses would weep with joy if they could see it.” A voice says from the bottom of the steps, and I turn to look.
There’s a man standing there, wearing a black and white striped suit that I’m pretty sure have the words fuck off stitched the over lines. He’s wearing sunglasses and a fedora. Messy black hair falls from under his hat to frame a chiselled face, though his nose looks like it’s seen the bad end of a punch a few times. His build is visible even underneath the suit, the muscles straining against the seams of his jacket, and even from here it’s easy to tell he’s a few inches taller than I am.
“Well, I’m glad to see that your taste for fashion is still as bad as ever.” I reply coolly, eyeing him up and down. “And still the same smug asshole that I remember. I mean really, sunglasses at night?”
We stand off for a few moments in silence, before breaking into huge grins and walking forwards for a hug.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m famous. Someone in our group had to do something with what we got from there.” He says, clapping me on the back. I pull away.
“It’s good to see you Rome. What’re you doing in New York? And how’d you know I worked here?”
He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag and slicking his hair back under his hat. “Well there’s the meeting next week, first of all. I also have a fight a few days after that in Jersey, so you know, two birds with one stone and all that.” He steps back and looks at the sign to the club. “Carson said that you were working as a bouncer here, and I just had to see it for myself.” He says, giving me his trademarked shit eating grin. I roll my eyes.
“Are you going to be in New York for long?”
“Nah, just until the day after my fight. You should come, I’ll get you front row seats. My manager has been wanting to meet you.” He offers, and I shrug.
“Maybe. How’s Lexi, by the way?”
“She’s good, staying in the hotel with Mare-bear. Your goddaughter was a menace the whole trip here.”
I laugh, but quickly drop it as Roman steps aside for a patron. I pat him down, inspect his ID, and send him in. Rome shakes his head ruefully.
“A bouncer, Jace. Really? You could have gotten into the ring with me. The shows you could have put on. We’d have the entirety of the UFC shitting in their pants by now.”
I smile and shake my head. “I don’t fight for money, Rome.”
He waves me off. “Yeah yeah, you and your ‘changed man’ story.” He gives me another smile. “Still, I guess I can sort of see why you do it. Dealing with drunk assholes who stand no chance has to be pretty funny sometimes.”
“Oh you wouldn’t believe it. Some guy yesterday, my boss’ nephew actually, bit one of our dancers. Fucker took a swing at me.” We share a laugh, but my mood sours as it reminds me of my conversation with Mr. Lee. “Have they been trying to reach you too? The Brotherhood?”
Before Roman can answer, I hear the door behind us slam open, and we both turn to see Derek dragging a man out, followed quickly by an extremely embarrassed looking girl. Twice in two days? That was rare.
“Get off me man, get the fuck off me!” The man shouts before being tossed down the stairs. He stumbles and looks like he’s about to charge back before he sees me, Roman, and Derek all glaring down at him. Seeming to think better of it, he wheels around and storms down the street, cursing the whole time. The girl who was following them turns to us.
“Sorry Derek.” She apologizes, quickly walking after him.
“Problem with a dancer?” I ask Derek, keeping a watchful eye on them until they turn around a corner.
“No. Problem with me.” Is all the explanation he gives. Well this is new. I don’t think I’d ever seen Derek angry before. He pulls out a cigarette, and Roman offers him a light. For the first time he seems to notice that he’s there.
“I can cover the rest of the door shift if you want to talk inside.” He says, leaning against the wall, and I turn to Roman.
“See, that’s how I know you’re trying to get me killed. If Lexi knew I had gone inside of a strip club…” He shudders. “Was nice catching up Jace. We can finish our conversation at the meeting. I’ll see you around Jacey poo.” He blows me a kiss and starts walking off after I flip him the bird.
Derek’s eyes track him for a moment, before returning to me. “Sorry, do you mind covering the inside shift for me? I need to stay out for a bit.”
I nod and clap him on the shoulder. “No problem. Just let me know if you want to switch again.”
The rest of the night passed by uneventfully. I wasn’t sure if I liked or disliked that. While my talk with Roman had helped, the thing primarily on my mind for the entirety of the night was that people had come by looking for me, and my irritation grew every time that thought popped into my head.
“Busy night for you boys, huh?” Angie said teasingly as we waited by the front door for Lisa and the rest of the girls to finish cleaning up.
“Busy my fucking ass.” Cole grumbled, glancing resentfully at the stairs that led to the second floor. “How about an absolute snail crawl.”
Derek shrugged while the rest of us chuckled. Angie staggered out from around the desk, obviously struggling to carry the large sack of money in her hands as she brought it over to us and handed it off to me. I took it as the girls that hadn’t gone home yet finally joined us.
“So what’s everyone going to do tonight? It’s still only two.” Lisa asked, and Beck hooked her arms over Clarisse’s and Rachel’s shoulders.
“Benny should still be open. We haven’t been to his bar in a couple of days. What do you girls say we go give him some company?” She asked, and their eyes lit up as they nodded.
“I was just going to have some drinks at my place, but I’ll join.” Angie said, then looked over at us.
“Oh I’m going to need a few drinks after tonight. I’m fucking in.” Cole said. “How about you guys?”
Derek shook his head. “This is my weekend with Charlie.” He said simply, and we all nodded. Derek was the only one of us with a kid, but we understood.
Angie looked at me, brushing her hair out of her face. “How about you Jace?”
I lifted up the bag. “I’ve got to take this to the safe, but I’ll meet you guys there.”
“Sounds like a plan. Full night of partying, here we come!” Beck shouted, dragging the two in her arms out of the door. We followed, calling out our farewells to Mr. Lee as we did so, though we knew he couldn’t hear us from his office. Traditions were meant to be kept.
The air immediately helped improve my mood, and I inhaled it gratefully. Though still disgustingly polluted compared to Yarla, it was at least better than inside the club. I waved to the group, and we split off in opposite directions.
As I walked, the conversation with Mr. Lee replayed in my head. It was relatively easy to deduce who they were. When I had first relanded in my world, my first reaction had been to find my family. Immediately afterwards, though, was the decision to find others like me, who had also gone to their own various worlds. Fifty three million people had been forcefully kidnapped to fight in other world’s wars, all around the world. Even if nothing else, fifty three million simultaneous disappearances would have made the news.
As it turns out, not only did it make the news, there was even a world-wide holiday dedicated to the event (Vanishing Day, in poor taste really), and multiple governments had formed a task force whose sole purpose was to find the people who had vanished seemingly out of thin air. At that point, governments were still treating it as a mass abduction from some sort of crime organization, not that I could blame them. And when some of those people who disappeared returned, again seemingly from nowhere and very close to their original ‘abduction’ point, the task force took notice.
I hadn’t yet returned from Yarla when the first batch from other worlds were sent back. Apparently we weren’t all returned at the same time, simply in groups when enough people had either succeeded in their quest or failed. When the task force went to question these people who had come back to their lives, they were surprised when every single one of us claimed the exact same thing.
That we were sent to different worlds.
Of course, it was at first treated as some sort of forced suggestion. Our captors had either threatened us into corroborating the same story (which was implausible to say the least, there would always be someone who would go against the grain), or that all of us had somehow been psychically pressured into believing that we were, indeed, sent to another world (an even more implausible suggestion, but still more realistic than being sent to a different world).
A thorough showing of superhuman ability quickly changed that perception.
Nearly everyone who came back was almost three times as strong, fast, and resilient as a normal person. And then there were the spell casters. Though our spells were limited greatly by the lack of mana, there was still just barely enough that though it would take days to recover the mana spent, we could cast some small spells. And in the case of people who had been able to bring back Mana crystals, some not so small spells.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The first to come back made a deal with our various governments. We would not disclose to the general populace where we had gone, would have tabs kept on us, and would share any information we had on these other worlds, in exchange for a generous amount of welfare and minimal amount of interference in our day to day lives. And while some governments tried to forcefully conscript us somehow, they were shut down immediately by a ‘surprising amount of camaraderie and compliance’ we displayed. In other words, a show of force by superhumans that illustrated how bad of an idea it would be to try to take some of us as prisoners. They’d even come up with a name for us. The Returned.
There had been no way for me to know any of this, in the beginning. When I could find no way to contact people like me officially, I took to the streets. Like a lost and angry child I stomped around the underground, flexing my strength against anyone who would challenge me, until someone took notice. Thankfully that someone hadn’t been a local gang leader who had decided I’d challenged their authority enough, and was instead a woman from New York who’d heard about a local Returned that was causing problems. That was, coincidentally, the first time I’d met Alyssa. Turns out the coincidence ran deeper than I initially thought it had.
She’d told me about the various anonymous message boards run by people like us. Websites that would change addresses every couple of days, messaging app groups that disbanded and reformed at random. About the meetings we all met up for with the U.S. government. And about the Brotherhood.
When a few members of the task force initially assigned to track us down learned about our newfound supernatural abilities, they split off, subscribing to a belief that we could become a private army for what was to come. The Brotherhood was rather insistent about conscripting Returned into their ranks, and unfortunately a few of us had bought into their ideals of a better world run by people who understood the dangers of these other worlds. And now the Brotherhood had their sights set on those of us who had defeated the greatest enemies that could possibly be thrown at humanity. They had set their sights on me.
I’d thought I was rather clear with the disdain I held for them. Apparently clarity wasn’t enough, and a message had to be sent.
I was in the middle of forming an idea of how best to send said message when I noticed two people had started to follow me. At first I’d dismissed them, thinking them randoms that were returning home after a night of partying, but their steps were a little too focused for that initial thought to hold up, and the discreet glances I sent back allowed me to take in their clothes. I frowned when I recognized them.
“Stop right there.” A voice up ahead commanded, and I turned my head to see another pair that had emerged about twenty feet ahead of me. There was something in his hand that glinted darkly in the glow of light the street lamps offered.
Well shit. He had a gun.
I slowed down to a halt about fifteen feet in front of him, and took them all in. The one who had spoken was tall, maybe an inch or so taller than me. The person next to him was considerably shorter, while the two behind me were of average height. They were all dressed in black, and had masks that covered the lower half of their faces, with hoodies that obscured the rest. He carried the gun with an ease that spoke well of his experience with it.
His companion next to him held it with anything but. Poor kid looked like he thought the thing would bite him if his arms weren’t fully locked out.
“Can I help you?” I ask warily, turning my body so that I could keep them all within my peripheral. The two behind me also have guns, and while neither of them look as scared as the kid in front of me does, they don’t have the same ease their - who I assume to be leader - does either. The only one actively pointing a weapon at me is the kid and the leader.
“Yeah man, you can help us.” He says, gesturing to the ground with his weapon. “Put the bag down, along with your wallet and phone.”
I’ll admit, I was a little frustrated with this turn of events. If this had happened even just six months ago, I would have never let them get the drop on me like this. I had let the relative peace of my new life rust my instincts. As it was, there was nothing I could do with that frustration other than let it congeal and settle into my gut, joining the annoyance that was already there from my earlier talk with Mr. Lee.
The ‘leader’s’ voice is flat and hard, but there’s still the telltale crack of youth in it.
“Listen kid, you really don’t want to do this.” I say, rousing the mana in my body to connect to the bag with a spell that has become my trademark.
You have cast [Mana Wires: Lvl 1]
WARNING!
THERE IS NOT ENOUGH AMBIENT MANA TO SUSTAIN NORMAL RATE OF MANA REGENERATION! MANA (7/20) WILL REGENERATE AT 1/20 OF NORMAL SPEED!
I ignore the warning while faint blue threads begin to float around the bag, connected to my fingertips, watching my limited mana pool swiftly plummet into single digits.
“Whatever man. Bag and wallet on the ground, now.” He growls, hand tightening around the pistol, and I know it isn’t an idle threat. I sigh, keeping my eyes on him as I set the bag down. Pretending to rifle through my pants pocket, I turn to the now very anxious looking person to his left.
“I don’t know your name, kid, but trust me when I say that this will end badly for you.” My voice is calm, but I project a hint of my precious mana into it, aiming to grate on his already frayed nerves. He shifts nervously to his other foot, glancing over to his friend.
“This isn't right man. He doesn't look at all like the description.” He whispers, my Perception easily able to pick up his voice. “You said that the guy we were hitting was small, that he'd just give it to us no-”
“I know what I said!” The leader snaps in a low hiss. “How the fuck was I supposed to know the guy who tipped us off lied?”
While they’re talking I cautiously take a step forward, which he immediately notices. “BACK THE FUCK UP! PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” He shouts, finger now coiling around the trigger, and I raise my hands compliantly, taking exactly one step back, centering myself behind the bag. My Mana Wires are now fully formed, floating in the air, completely invisible to anyone without the ability to see mana.
The leader licks his lips through the mask, keeping an eye on me as he slowly walks towards me. Thirteen feet away. Ten. Seven. I subtly shift my weight onto one leg, preparing to kick the bag towards hi-
“WHAT?! A MUGGING?!” A voice up ahead shouts, and my eyes widen as I see a kid, no older than fourteen and wheeling a bike with him, step into the street light about thirty feet away, looking into the air above him. Both the leader and the nervous one wheel around. The kid looks down at us just in time to see the latter raise his gun.
“NO WAIT DO-!”
BANG!
Before the words can leave my mouth he shoots, the blast echoing down the streets, instantly making my ears ring. We all watch as the kid looks down in shock, the front of his shirt starting to stain red around his stomach, while he lets go of the bike to bring his hands to where he'd been shot.
Fuck.
“Oh fuck.” One of them whispers behind me, mirroring my thoughts. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.”
I move.
My foot has already lashed out at the bag, sending it sailing at the leader as he spins around to me. The bag soars right past him, money scattering into the air, and he raises the gun.
BANG!
I duck to my right, the bullet whizzing past my shoulder.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!
More shots, from behind and from the front. I grunt as a bullet slams into the back of my shoulder, and stagger as another passes through my calf. Fire and pain erupt from those two points, but I keep moving. The leader levels his gun at me, finger squeezing the trigger, and I clench my fist.
The wires that had settled onto his right shoulder immediately tighten, passing through his body like a knife through tofu. His arm, shoulder, and neck separate cleanly into four segments, his face going wide in pain and shock, before he crumples to the ground without getting another shot off.
More shots behind me as I sprint to his companion, one of them hitting my side. I roar as I punch him in the throat, fist connecting with soft flesh and collapsing his windpipe. His eyes go wide while his hands immediately move to grasp it, as if it would help him. I dart behind him, hooking an arm around his waist and another under his shoulder while his gun clatters to the ground. More shots thump into his body but most whizz past us as I charge towards the two in the back, carrying him like he weighed nothing. They back up as they fire, but that doesn’t help them. I cover the distance in an instant, slamming into one and dumping his friend’s body onto him, toppling him to the ground. I whirl around and lash out with my foot, hearing a sickening crack as it connects with the other’s knee, instantly shattering it and sending him down. He screams, fingers loosening around his pistol, and I stomp down onto his skull. Another crunch, and he’s dead.
I walk over to the last one alive, struggling to shift his friend off of him. He’s hyperventilating, eyes wide and wild as he watches me approach. He struggles harder, desperately scrambling to claw his way out from underneath the body’s weight. The fiery agony in my shoulder, side, and calf fuel my rage as I stalk towards him. His gun is discarded on the ground out of his reach. I easily wrench the body off of him, planting a knee on his chest and grabbing his face.
“NO NO NO WAI-” He shouts before I slam the back of his skull against the ground. Once. Twice. On the third there’s a wet schplik, and he goes still, blood pooling out from the back of his head. I let him go and stand up, chest heaving as I gulp down mouthfuls of air.
WARNING!
HEALTH (63/250) CRITICALLY LOW! BLOOD LOSS (-6/MIN) WILL DEPLETE YOUR REMAINING HEALTH IF YOU DO NOT HEAL!
I ignore the second warning that the System has given me, activating the spatial storage of my ring and pulling out a potion. I put the cork in my teeth and yank, tipping the contents down my throat and splashing some of it on my shoulder and side. I feel the liquid pour into my stomach and soak my clothes, the strawberry-esque taste barely touching my tongue before the magic gets to work repairing the wounds on my body. It’ll stop the worst of the bleeding before I can get actual help. I didn’t have the Mana left to pull out a stronger potion.
Oh fuck. The kid.
I wheel around and dash to him. He’s crumpled on the ground, blood quickly pooling around him while he clutches his stomach. His skin is pale, almost white underneath the harsh glare of the street light. His breathing is fast and shallow, eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Gods dammit kid, why did you have to be here.
Analyze I command mentally, spending the last of my mana to pull out another potion, yanking the cork free, drizzling some on his stomach and forcing the rest down his throat.
Name: ??
Lvl: 3
Class: (Not Selected)
Titles: Chosen (Other Titles: Savior)
Health: 22/95(+.05/minute); Stamina: 10/43(+.1/minute)
Current Status: Critically Injured(All physical stats suffer a 40% decrease); Severe Blood Loss (Health and Stamina Regeneration suffer severe penalties); Shock (All mental stats suffer a 60% decrease)
Okay. That would stop him from bleeding out. But now I had to-
I freeze.
What the fuck did I just read?
Analyze
Name: ??
Lvl: 3
Class: (Not Selected)
Titles: Chosen (Other Titles: Savior)
Health: 23/95(+.05/minute); Stamina: 10/43(+.1/minute)
Current Status: Critically Injured(All physical stats suffer a 40% decrease); Severe Blood Loss (Health and Stamina Regeneration suffer severe penalties); Shock (All mental stats suffer a 60% decrease)
…
No. It can’t be. Not yet.
But it was right there, against all common sense.
Lvl: 3
Class (Not Selected)
Titles: Chosen
I scoop him into my arms. I had to get him help, and there was only one person I knew who could that I would get to in time.
.
I kick against an apartment door for the third time, and just as my foot is about to land once more the door is yanked inwards, revealing a hispanic man with disheveled hair and a very irritated look on his face.
“What the fuck do you-” He snarls before realization morphs his expression from irritation to confusion. “Jason?”
I brush past him. “I need your help.” I say as I walk inside, what sounds like the muffled crying of children drifting over us from upstairs. I place the unconscious kid in my arms onto a couch. “Now.”
“Raya save us, Jason, what happened to you?” He says, his eyes taking me in and then settling onto the boy bleeding on his couch. He frowns. “Go get my bag. It’s in the first floor bathroom cabinet.” He says grimly, immediately kneeling down beside him.
“There’s an anomaly, Carson.” I say over my shoulder as I move, my tone equally grim. “He’s been Chosen."