“Some semblance of dreams fell upon me briefly, no more real than life itself was. More memories drifting to the surface than standard dreams, words floating up. Back in my school years, we were often assigned to write poems and those decided to be the ones that came back now.


    They handed us templates,


    Lines drawn in boxes like streets I couldn’t cross.


    “Find your inspiration,” they said,


    But I found nothing—


    Just the silence of an empty room,


    Where even echoes refused to stay.


    They told me to write about home,


    But what is home when it crumbles at the edges?


    When the roof leaks, and the heat barely reaches,


    And the fridge hums, but it''s mostly empty.


    The corners where hope should sit


    Are cluttered with overdue bills


    And dreams left to dust.


    I tried to fill the boxes with something real,


    But how do you shape hunger into stanzas?


    How do you rhyme with cold nights


    Where the blanket barely covers,


    And the wind whistles through cracked windows?


    I stared at the paper,


    Like I stare at the shelves in the store—


    Counting what I can’t afford,


    Weighing the worth of words I don''t have.


    So, I reached for the school computer,


    Its screen flickering like our lights during storms,


    And looked up poems, already written, already full.


    Someone else''s story—


    Not mine, but close enough


    To fit in the lines they gave me.


    And though they’ll never know,


    I tried—


    Tried to make my empty boxes hold something more.


    But you can’t pull words from pockets


    Already worn thin.


    I am from generic toothpaste,


    The kind that barely foams,


    And store-brand soap, worn thin, lasting as long as it can.


    I am from canned dinners and frozen meals—


    The kind you find on sale,


    The kind that screws up your health,


    And makes you struggle down the line to fix it.


    I am from who knows how many cramped apartments,


    Whether perched atop a hill or nestled at the bottom,


    Always bigger from the outside than in.


    A mess that’s not cozy but I was told were necessary,


    Stuffed with things we can''t afford to throw away.


    (Comforting in its chaos, stifling in its tightness. Claustrophobia inducing, scary on dark nights.)


    I am from the stubborn backyard weeds I cut in my free time,


    Overgrown and forgotten, unnatural and a scourge on this earth, like me.


    The patches of dirt where grass refused to grow.


    From the scraggly crab apple tree that gave shade in the neighbor’s yard,


    Which I snuck to to make use of,


    Its branches brittle,


    (Decrepit, rotting, old, yet still standing—just like me.)


    I am from hand-me-down clothes,


    Faded, too big or too small,


    From saving every penny,


    And stretching every meal.


    I am from the unspoken struggle,


    Where hope lingers, but quietly,


    And pride in survival is the only thing


    We can truly call ours.


    I’m from the arguments with opposite and contradicting stories,


    from false neutrality,


    from long hugs where I question my own mentality and sense of morality.


    From forgiveness never given and old grudges brewing.


    I am from religions I went through strife to get out of,


    I am from pictures collecting dust atop a who knows how old box of ‘heirlooms’,


    Occasionally on a small space above a piano,


    When in an apartment that has one.


    For if my life was a piano, I’d be the row of keys to play,


    Because even when controlled and played with,


    I create beauty they could never begin to dream of.


    I created beauty they could never begin to dream of.


    I am from wondrous projects that I went above and beyond on, and songs I wrote in my free time.


    I am from slowly giving less and less into everything I do in search of comfort and relaxation.


    I am from grieving alone about sorry subjects I would despise anybody else for bringing up.


    I am from the cool breeze on a chilly October morning,


    That showed me how to live a fulfilling life.


    And the times I struggled and was trained for adulthood ahead.


    That training failed.


    The teaching failed.


    I failed.


    I’m here now.


    So I deal.


    I try to deal.


    Unconsciousness is a funny thing—one moment, everything seems fine enough, and the next, dizziness takes over. The world spins out of control, becoming foggy as a lightheaded feeling washes over you. Cubic black spots scatter throughout your vision. What isn’t blocked by those spots is blurred, and your limbs feel sluggish, hearing distant and muted. That’s how it had felt the first time I experienced it, but this time was much faster—just one quick swoop and done. The last time was when I’d passed out drunk after the time I’d lost my phone. At the time, since I was below legal drinking age, I’d…possibly smuggled in a six pack of beer–stolen from my place of work as I left that night. At the time, the price for that had been more than just money.


    When I came to, mind muddled and exhaustion pushing on me heavily, I noticed I was no longer where I had been. The looping terrain was gone, as everything seemed at least a bit different. Beneath my head was the same cold, densely packed soil—not the most comfortable place to pass out. And around me…stood people. In the plural. Fuck no. My chest tensed up uncontrollably and butterflies made my stomach their home for the day. The uncertainty of what lay before me filled my mind with dark thoughts, the shadows of anxiety creeping in, and I was painfully aware of every heartbeat, every shallow breath. I needed to escape, but as the figures closed in, I could feel my pulse quickening, an instinctual response to the fear that swelled within me. The feet circled me, closing in, closer, and closer, and closer, and–


    [Current capacity: 97/100 - Time remaining: 186 seconds]


    It really had been quite a while that I’d been moving, then…


    “Identify yourself!” Screamed a gruff voice, the body of whom I couldn’t identify from my position. They were shushed by somebody else nearby. "Roger! Calm down! He’s injured,” they admonished. Their voice was steady and gentle, distinctly female although I would have to check to be absolutely certain. “Are you alright then? Were you also ambushed? I had to fight off some rabid dogs but I heard it was different for-…My apologies, prolly’ should’ve waited for you to wake up more. How ya’ doing, kid?" The others surrounding me strolled away after seeing I was relatively alright, an optimistic presumption. Slowly lifting my groggy head, my pupils darting around nervously, I took in the sight of the woman who may or may not have helped rescue me. Assuming any of that was real. She stood tall—while hard to gauge from my position on the ground, her height had to be at least equal to mine, maybe a bit taller, around six feet. Based on her appearance, I couldn’t tell if she was older than me, making it odd that she called me "kid." Her skin was a pale olive, clear and smooth. Her eyes were a muted blend of gray and blue, and her features were sharp, distinct. Unlike my own hair, which fell nearly to my waist, hers was a short blonde, cut so that it just barely reached her shoulders. I forced my eyes to stay fixed on her face, knowing she’d probably notice if they wandered. I scrambled backwards, unwilling to trust anyone at the moment.


    "So? Are you going to say anything? I just saved your damn life. I-No, I shouldn’t be talking like this to you…Have you sustained any other wounds than that hole on your midsection? After we congregated here, we compiled a small stockpile of resources based on what people happened to have with them." Her voice, now edged with irritation, cut through my hesitation, clearly expecting an answer as I sat there, mouth slightly agape, studying her face. Blinking myself out of my stupor, I sat up. She patted some lingering grime off of her pant legs.


    "Sorry... just groggy…but there were…vine monster things…and an evil little girl who helped them…and everything is gone! Please tell me you aren’t one yourself. Or aren’t just another hallucination. Please. I’m begging you." I mumbled, still fading in and out of consciousness, images of what had happened flashing on the tip of my irises, while I scratched the back of my neck and avoided direct eye contact.


    "You’re okay now…you’re okay. Everything is going to be fine as long as you’re alright. And no, I’m not a monster, but I might’ve turned into one if you kept acting so ungrateful," she replied, extending a hand, chuckling. Her fingers, caked in dirt, looked much tougher than mine. In her other hand, she clutched a long kitchen knife slick with plant matter and reddened with dried blood. I accepted her firm grip and let her pull me up, her strength evident. A real person then. A relief, at least for now. As long as she didn’t decide to drive her blade into my back, this arrangement was perfect. Still, I kept a careful distance, no more than a foot away, just enough to avoid drawing attention to my own wariness.


    "You can stand on your own? Good, good…Best get over there then, eh? To the circle, or near it…Feels like the world is ending, so you might as well survive." She gestured behind herself as she spoke, though her eyes lingered on me, still curious.


    “You’re not worried about anything? The world is ending and you just admitted it yourself. There’s…literal monsters trying to kill us and some ‘system’ thing that might kill us as well! Assuming all of this is even real, of course…”


    “It already did in a million other ways. Why should this come as a surprise? Better to just accept things as they happen and stay positive-Wait, what do you mean by not real-”


    “I guess I can understand the philosophy, even if I find it…um, rather optimistic?”


    “Well, I was lying. Mostly just out of fucks to give, these days…You know, we only get one trip on this crazy absurdism that we call life, and then everyone tries to make it not worth living? Just gotta beat the system.”


    Knowing of a separate system than the metaphorical one she was referring to, I nodded. “Strong agree for the most part…we’re all just so meaningless in the grand scheme of things that we needn’t have a purpose except what we make of it…it can cause you to get a little…demotivated.” I cleared my throat. “Who are you by the way? Did you kill those vine monsters? The ones who were attacking me anyway. Who was screaming before? I heard it a long while away. Sorry for, you know, asking so many questions. I’m Alaric. Nice to meet you.” I asked in a rapid fire fashion, not caring to answer her final question that she had asked before. I hadn’t talked to people enough, I could probably use some experience.


    “Name’s Crystal…never saw any vines that could be ‘attacking you,’ but I grabbed this knife here as my house was fucking evaporating,” she answered, motioning to a handle she held, the main blade seeming to rest in her pocket. “For the last question…I don’t know what you’re talking about. There''ve been some arguments and the like but no screaming from what I know.” Her attentiveness to answering my questions individually was rather impressive. She turned her head and looked over her right shoulder, causing me to look in the same direction.


    Peering over her shoulder, which took some effort due to the awkward angle and the way she blocked most of my view, I finally spotted it—a large, crudely drawn black circle etched into the dirt. The size of the thing struck me immediately; roughly the size of a silo interior. Nestled deep within this forest that seemed vaguely familiar, a crowd had gathered at one end of it, adding to the unclear atmosphere. The notification had mentioned fewer than a hundred people, but in such an isolated, eerie place, the gathering felt far larger.


    Scattered words filtered through the gaps in the crowd, fragments like, “Patch that up!” and “You gotta do it tighter!” Most of it blurred together, more chaotic noise than coherent commands. I took a step toward them, curious, but a firm grip caught my shoulder. Crystal’s hand. She shook her head, her expression grave.


    I didn’t ask why she wanted me to stay back. Maybe I should have. Instead, I ignored her silent warning, pushing forward toward the group. I had to know why they were huddled so tightly and why, despite their presence, they didn’t seem fully within the circle as the notification had claimed.


    Finding the largest gap I could, I squeezed through the tangle of bodies, weaving my way toward the center. What I found there made me stop short. A heavily bandaged woman, her brown skin slick with sweat, lying unconscious in a shallow pool of blood. The red starkly contrasted the pale cloth being wrapped tightly around her by a few frantic hands. A second figure lay just to the right, similarly bloodied, with a different set of hands working feverishly to stem the flow.


    For a moment, I couldn’t move. Most of the crowd seemed equally frozen, too horrified to do more than watch, like witnesses to a slow-motion car crash. What could I even do? They already seemed to have it under control…didn’t they?


    Dropping my gaze to the ground, I noticed something that made my stomach drop—the same type of tight bandaging wrapped around my own midsection. Crystal had mentioned something about that…Had this group bandaged me up too? How much blood had I lost to those damn vines? The realization sent a cold chill through me, though the stroke of luck that someone had been prepared with medical supplies…that was just as unnerving as the existence of the…I suppose, gods, that had put me here.


    As the timer ticked down, people began drifting back toward the main area of the circle. I hesitated a beat too long, and when I finally turned to leave, the crowd surged forward. Someone shoved past me, sending me sprawling to the ground with a painful blow to the head, which had hit the forest floor first.


    Lying there, dazed, I burned the image of the man who had pushed me into the front of my mind, who just continued striding forward; I had every detail seared with clarity. That was no accident, he had definitely shoved me outright, and I was just about done with people pushing me around.


    The group had moved out rapidly and was now scattered across the space in more disorganized clusters, speaking in low tones, their movements hesitant and uncertain. It was a scene of quiet chaos, a jumble of people trying to make sense of something incomprehensible.


    The diversity of the group was striking, standing out even more in the strange, forested backdrop. People of all different skin tones, from pale white to deep shades of brown, stood huddled together, representing a wide range of ethnicities and cultures. Some were dressed in clothing that hinted they were from far-off places, their accents barely discernible amidst the general murmur. A few had even adopted traditional garments—long robes, patterned fabrics, or distinct accessories—making them stand out even more among the mix of modern casual wear and pajamas. There were families, too. Small children, no older than five or six, clung to their parents with wide, tear-filled eyes. The small bodies of these young children trembled as they pressed themselves against the legs of their guardians, seeking comfort amidst the confusion. I caught a conversation between a young girl and her mother before someone stepped in front of them, blocking them from my view.


    “You’ll get me new toys, right? To replace the ones that went ‘bye, bye’?” The girl asked innocently. The mother didn’t respond, unable to give her a straight answer.


    The elderly and those generally on the older end moved slowly, the minority of the group by far, their faces worn with age and confusion. One old man hobbled across the dirt, gripping a makeshift cane—a tree branch, hastily cut down to serve the purpose. It was saddening to think that he wouldn’t have a functioning means of support other than that. His knuckles were bone-white as he clutched it, his lips pressed tightly together in what I could only assume was silent fear.


    Nearby, a group of teenagers stood in a loose huddle, their faces betraying a mix of fear and morbid curiosity. They whispered to each other with hushed excitement, exchanging glances that wavered between disbelief and dread. A tall boy with wild, curly hair kept glancing at his phone, as if expecting it to provide answers. The phone was off, dead or disfunctional as he frantically pressed the home button and held it high in search of signal. My vision spun for a moment after passing by them, and I put it off as an aftereffect of passing out. It was only slightly concerning that my ears were ringing, and had been, on and off since I’d gotten up.


    Among the group at large, more distinct figures caught my attention. A middle-aged Indian woman, wearing a faded sari and with worry lines etched into her face, gently rocked a baby in her arms. The infant, swaddled in a simple cloth, whimpered softly—its quiet cries lost amidst the surrounding murmurs. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes darted between the faces in the crowd, searching for any sign of clarity or direction. She was the image of maternal care amidst the chaos, trying to comfort the child despite the disarray around her.


    To her left, a figure starkly out of place—a seemingly British man, sitting lazily on the ground with an air of obliviousness, wore nothing but a pair of slim, bright red boxer briefs. His pale skin was flushed even with the cool shade of the canopy, beads of sweat trickling down his bare chest. He seemed almost proud of his attire, or at least completely unaware of its absurdity. Too exhausted to care. Too shocked about what had happened maybe. It had to be startling to be teleported somewhere randomly. The sight of him was jarring, a sharp reminder of my own disheveled appearance, without a shirt in the same manner. It was a laughable thought, worrying about how I looked in the midst of all this madness.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Crystal filled me in on some of the order of arrivals while I surveyed them all. She had arrived within 10 minutes after being placed conveniently close to the circle with what I felt was a lesser foe than mine. She told me how the group had mobilized to help those who had been wounded, pooling supplies and such, and how despite appearances, everyone here had a “kind soul.”


    “You!” I exclaimed, pointing a finger in his direction. I’d spotted the guy that had shoved me aside before, and I planned to do something about it. He stood tall, his presence an unwelcome constant amidst the unfamiliar faces, despite his being just as unfamiliar. His lanky figure loomed near the center of the circle, the crowd parting slightly around him as if instinctively sensing his importance, or rather the threat he posed. He held a desperately maintained straight face, and even from this distance, I could feel the weight of his gaze, mocking and predatory, directed at random in a similar fashion to mine. He seemed unaffected by the tension swirling around him, as if everything was playing out just as he expected, though still somehow he seemed nervous. There was something unsettling about this mix of a quiet confidence and fear that made my stomach churn. He knew exactly what he was doing, and even in this chaotic setting, he maintained control. My eyes lingered on him and his snapped to me, sharp and unyielding, a cold sneer playing at the corners of his mouth–no, it was just a smile, why should I attribute emotions onto that? He’s probably just being friendly. Nevertheless, I frantically looked away, caught in the act. I just felt…loathing towards him, the same loathing I had for Greg or Jordan or any of those that had caused me harm in the past.. Maybe it was just a distinct facial resemblance, but I inherently hated this man, no matter who he was; I just channeled all my hate for Greg into him. Perhaps it was also the fact he had pushed me over so rudely…If he so much as walked towards me, I felt as if I might burst–I saw Greg’s face plastered over the face of whoever this was, at this moment I saw him as the cause of all my problems. Unable to do much else while in this much pain, I glared daggers at the ground for a few seconds before moving on.


    I glanced at a burly man with tattoos crawling up both arms, who was hunched over, whispering harshly to a shorter woman by his side. His bald head glistened under the sun, and the designs inked into his skin seemed almost alive with movement as his muscles flexed. The woman next to him, clad in a dirty, torn sundress, kept glancing nervously over her shoulder, her hands fiddling with the hem of her dress.


    Toward the edge of the circle, a tall, elderly woman with silver hair pulled tightly into a bun stood stoically, her hands clasped in front of her. Her face was gaunt, and her thin lips barely moved as she whispered something under her breath, her eyes closed in concentration.


    A few steps away, a young man with dark sunglasses and a fake leather jacket lounged against a tree, exuding a smug sense of confidence. His arms were crossed, and a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the smoke spiraling lazily into the air. Despite the tension that gripped everyone else, he seemed entirely unconcerned, his mouth twitching into a lazy smirk as his eyes scanned the crowd. He could fit right into a gangster movie, and the thought at least brought some humor to the situation, wondering why he was in that getup.


    Of course, these were just those notable enough to mention, there were countless more mingling around. All these people, each lost in their own thoughts, fears, or confusion, had unknowingly formed an uneasy community in this strange, isolated place. And somehow, despite the distance and the foreign faces, the man’s cold, mocking eyes stayed fixed on me, tying me to this surreal scene. They dug deep down to my soul, reaching in for answers. I didn’t like it one bit. Out of all the people here, randomly put here from numerous spots on the globe, this asshole just had to be put there too. It felt like meeting a teacher outside of school, even though I didn’t know him. Just awkward. For occasional moments, his features kept changing in my vision with randomness, my rapid blinking not enough to stop my vision spinning or stop his nose from being on his arm. I clutched my head and shook myself, allowing my vision of them to finally stabilize into the image of him I recognized from a few moments before.


    He indeed looked lanky, but with a build of lean muscle evenly spread out. His light and tousled brown hair was buzz cut to only be on the top and back of his head, removing the sides and front, which he scratched absentmindedly. His face split into a confused smile yet again, like I was an acquaintance he sort of remembered. His teeth were not what I for some reason expected, instead of a coffee-stained, disgusting New York taxi yellow, they were a bright white. He carefully pushed past bystanders, weaving in my direction. Deftly positioning Crystal in front of me as a human shield, something she didn’t appear to appreciate, I hid myself unsuccessfully, retreating when I realized the man’s shadow covered me.


    [Current capacity: 99/100 - Time remaining: 63 seconds]


    “What do you want? I know you from somewhere?” he demanded, his voice slightly uneven and deeper than I expected, slicing through the tension. His question broke the intensity of the moment for those around us, and some onlookers, once silent, began murmuring again, the volume of voices gradually rising.


    “Are you actually okay, dude? Why do you keep staring at me like that?” he demanded, his tone shifting from confusion to a simmering hostility. His voice struck me as just as unclean as his greasy, unkempt hair. His face seemed fuzzy, you know, blurry, if nothing else. His figure seemed to waver slightly, strangely hazy in a similar fashion. My eyes struggled to focus on his face, the edges blurring, shifting in and out of clarity. The temporary stability had gone away again. I couldn’t make out his expression; it morphed with every glance, like a fleeting image just out of reach. The disorientation only stoked my anger. I forced myself to focus, my resolve solidifying.


    Instinctively, I patted my own pocket, searching for my switchblade, the one I carried every time I went out—except when it mysteriously decided to vanish on me. A streak of unease cut through my rising bravado as I realized I couldn’t feel its reassuring weight.


    “No! I’m not fucking okay, you asshole!” I screamed at him, spitting at his feet.


    “Ugh, that’s disgusting! Calm down already! Who even are you?” He replied, shoving me backwards slightly, then recoiling.


    “Die in hell! I’ll kill you, I swear it on my…” I spat out, rage-fueled words tumbling out without thought. I stammered at the end, unable to finish with anything meaningful to swear on. It was a weak line, but it was all I had at the moment. He barely reacted, looking mildly surprised, more taken aback by my anger than intimidated. I took a step back, drawing into the fighting stance I’d half-remembered from those impromptu lessons by the Captain all the way back when. I squared my shoulders, turned sideways, fists raised at chest height, and glared up at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. I’m not sure I truly remembered how to fight anymore. The man in front of me, all but clear in my eyes, didn’t make any threatening movements in response, but Crystal stepped in front of me, one arm stretched protectively to hold me back, which did nothing for my nonexistent intimidation factor. She glanced at me, her expression questioning, and I shot a middle finger at him behind her back.


    “You two know each other? Actually, that’s kind of obvious. Forget I asked,” she muttered, her voice tense. “Could you guys not fight, though? We might need to work together if we want to figure out what’s going on. I’m begging you, restrain yourself…” She whispered the words urgently, trying to defuse the situation.


    “Are you two idiots seriously fighting right now? We’re all gonna die! We should be praying!” A chubby kid in a blue onesie yelled, panic making his voice waver. His wide, frightened eyes darted between me and the man, his small fists clenched at his sides. He couldn’t have been older than eleven, and his Southern accent came through loud and clear, thick with concern as he tried to make us listen. He stepped forward, close enough that I could see his hands shaking as he pleaded for us to snap out of it.


    "We’re all gonna die, huh? None of this is real, kid! We’re in some Matrix-type shit!" rasped a voice from behind, thick with the edge of whiskey and years of wear. The man speaking was disheveled, bald with a crooked nose and skin worn rough with age, but he didn’t look a day over fifty, a relic of a terrible lifestyle. His gray beard spread unevenly across his face, partly covering a web of wrinkles. He clutched the boy’s shoulder, almost like he was grounding himself, or maybe using the kid to stay upright. A foul mix of alcohol and sweat lingered around him as he let out a laugh that started low and grew into a cackling snicker, clearly amused by his own doomsday theorizing.


    His outburst drew glances, a few people turning to exchange wary looks. Someone muttered something about him just being a kid, that the old man shouldn’t say something like that to him, and others began chiming in, the panic spreading like an infection.


    "Enough with the theories! We have to stay calm!" barked an older Indian woman, her voice loud enough to cut through the noise, yet thick with an accent that seemed more refined with age. Her tone held an edge of authority, as if she’d dealt with chaos before and knew how to handle it. She cupped her hands around her mouth, trying to address the entire crowd, but the voices around her continued to rise. Her sharp gaze settled on me and the man next to me, brow furrowed in disapproval. For a brief moment, her eyes met mine—steady, unwavering, as if daring me to take control or stop whatever madness had started here.


    She held the group’s attention for a moment, but not everyone was willing to listen. Someone it failed to fall upon was a tall, gangly guy—maybe in his early twenties, with stringy hair that hung over his eyes. He stood off to the side, grinning with a kind of crazed excitement. His posture was jittery, bouncing lightly on his heels, practically glowing with misplaced enthusiasm as he spoke to the other half of the crowd, who looked at him as if he were nothing more than scum on the bottom of their shoes.


    “This message…it’s just like the isekai shows! This is fucking awesome!” he shouted, almost breathless with excitement, waving his hands erratically as he stared blankly in front of him, presumably at one of these notifications. Just a tad bit slow on the uptake. Trying to convince one of their own sanity was a difficult task. I knew that better than most…His voice carried an almost cartoonish sense of glee, an eager tremble betraying how deeply he believed in what he was saying. His eyes, wide and wild, flickered with the anticipation of something grand, some impossible adventure that would lift him from the mundane into the fantastical. He stood alone, on the northeastern end.


    The contrast between the two couldn’t have been more stark—the woman’s controlled, steady tone, full of the wisdom of her years, versus the young man''s carefree thrill, rooted in a world of anime and fantasy escapism.


    “Guys, this is it! Our time has come!” He continued. His voice had a strange, continually manic quality, and he waved his arms in exaggerated gestures as though addressing an invisible crowd of fans. His wide eyes darted around, and he seemed oblivious to the growing horror on people’s faces as he continued his rant, caught up in a fantasy no one else shared.


    The older woman’s jaw clenched, her lips drawn in a tight line as she glared at him, visibly biting back a rebuke. Her gaze bore into him, brows furrowed in exasperation as though she could dispel his childish glee with a look alone. But he was unphased, utterly lost in his own world, and continued to prattle on about monsters and “power-ups,” completely unfazed by her judgment.


    A tween slouched nearby scoffed, muttering, “Shut up, dumbass,” a sentiment shared by many judging from their expressions, before getting smacked upside the head with a pocketbook by their mother, who glared at them, horrified. The kid mumbled an apology, and the exchange was amusing to watch, a brief distraction from my growing nerves. It grew even more hilarious when a random teenager came literally flying forward and slammed into the mother at an insane velocity, leaving both on the ground sputtering and coughing out dust. Maybe they were in a car on the highway, and the car disappeared, sending them flying, and then they were brought here without being slowed? That was my best idea for it in the minimal time I had.


    Others, meanwhile, were breaking down in different ways. Many’s gazes flitted between strangers as if hoping someone, anyone, would have an answer. They all had made it to this circle their own way but few truly understood the scope of their predicament.


    Before I could lose myself in the spectacle, my focus snapped back to my foe.


    “Hey! Look at me! Look, I don’t know who you are, aight? You’re getting on my nerves though, so if that’s your goal, you win, there.” His tone allowed me to peek at the ferocity he held, but he didn’t stop there. “You want my help? Is that it? That why you keep bothering me? Want the last spot instead of that girlfriend of yours?” He answered for himself.


    The last spot?


    [Current capacity: 101/100 - Time remaining: 34 seconds]


    “The name’s Alaric. Maybe you need to learn your fucking place!” I cried out, outraged, voice cracking. I guess I was so upset because of the pent up anger caused by the absurdity of where I was.


    “Alright, Aly whatever. I’ve never met you in my life so chill the fuck out. Are you mentally ill or some shit?” He replied coolly, while he looked at me with casual disdain, as though I were an unremarkable nobody.


    “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Maybe you are, seeing notifications in front of your eyes.” I replied noncommittally. “No, who the fuck am I actually kidding, I definitely am.” I said to myself, not quite loud enough for him to hear.


    Aly whatever. Okay. I wouldn’t happen to be 21 fucking years old or anything even if my social maturity or shirtlessness said otherwise. His smile widened, and his fists were clenched just as tightly as mine. That grin…did seem off, just as blurred as the rest of his face, contorted, unnatural.


    And what did he mean he hadn’t met me? That definitely was Greg–No, it wasn’t–No, it was–I don’t even know anymore. My head pounded and vision kept going in and out. Did he have memory loss? Did I? Or was the blood loss just catching up to me? The shirt I’d wrapped around my arm earlier was quite soaked by now and didn’t appear to be stemming the flow particularly well.


    I was briefly distracted by a commotion on the other end, wherein a middle aged white man in a suit and tie brandished a briefcase at a young kid who had tried to approach him for some sort of comfort or support, shouting something that sounded a lot like, “This is some sick prank isn’t it?! Show me the camera! Show me the fucking camera!”


    My focus returned to my opposition. He looked at me, exasperation etched into his expression. “So, you want help or not? Or are you just going to keep staring at me? Think I’m a fucking animal?” The words hit me hard, grounding me with a jolt. I studied his face, actually taking it in this time, and all the little differences started to stand out—his jaw wasn’t as sharp as I saw, his brow more relaxed. The ringing in my ears ended and my head felt better. Finally, I could think clearly, the bile in my throat falling back down. I took in more details I’d missed before, the sound of his voice nagging at me. There was a hint of an accent—Spanish, maybe. He wore a tailored black suit and blue tie, not the casualwear that I’d thought I’d seen before, looking strangely out of place yet oddly intimidating. The outfit was sharp, professional, but his posture, the tension in his body—it hinted at something barely restrained, as though he was prepared to lash out at any moment. “You probably want me deported! Well guess the hell what, your country doesn’t exist anymore!”


    Reality settled in, like waking up from a dream that had twisted everything I thought I was seeing. I felt a chill run through me as I wondered why my mind had played a twisted trick, why it had been so eager to turn my perception of a stranger into that of someone I knew…someone I hated. Rather, why the system would do this to me, when I hadn’t even done anything wrong! Had I? No, maybe I had.


    More differences stacked up, each one dismantling the mistaken identity I’d forced upon him. No familiar ticks or movements I would’ve recognized. I’d been sparring with a stranger—an angry, unyielding stranger, and I knew that, but…still. He flexed his fingers, cracking each knuckle deliberately, the sound sharp and menacing in the tense air between us. It sent a cold stab of realization through me. Whoever he was, he looked ready to throw a punch, maybe at me, maybe at Crystal, maybe at some unlucky passerby who happened to cross his line of sight, but probably at me, since I’d been the one to aggravate him.


    It didn’t matter who his target was; he had the potential for violence in his stance, the kind of fury that didn’t discriminate. Noise still swirled around me, coming from every direction, and nobody paid my situation any notice.


    It didn’t take long for him to build up his resolve to make an attack and fulfill whatever sense of justice he might have, especially when he didn’t feel he would receive consequences for his actions judging by the events of today. He brought his fist backwards and swung it forward rapidly, before his fist was caught by someone else dashing in from the side.


    “You said you wouldn’t get into fights! We had a deal, Manúel! Does that mean nothing to you?” The intervener, a taller man of the same ethnicity and attire screamed at my near-attacker, with tear-filled eyes.


    “Nah, fuck that. Our lives are changing, Josè. I can fight now! I can kill now! I ain’t going to jail, ain’t nobody gonna stop me like before,” Manúel retorted, trying to pull away from José’s grip on his arm, but José’s hold was sturdy. The next moment, José had Crystal’s knife pressed to his throat.


    “You’re crazy, man, you know that? You never were like this before-”


    “You’re crazy!”


    Crystal just looked bemused, wondering how her knife was taken from her without her noticing.


    “Hey, everybody, listen up!” Manúel ordered. “Drop every weapon you’ve got on the floor right now, or this man’s dead!”


    Without even waiting for anyone to do as requested, José’s throat was slit, and the thump of their body hitting the dirt was all I could hear. Cruelty at its finest.


    All around us, people froze as the body fell, an uneasy silence swelling before a few screams broke through. Panic spread in waves, but nobody dared to rush forward or flee. The air was as still as them, the shade unrelenting. Fear held them captive, many caught between shock and morbid curiosity. One woman shouted angrily in a language I didn’t recognize, her voice defiant even as others backed away, hoping to distance themselves without drawing attention.


    “Want your knife back? Here.” Manúel said curtly, shoving the knife into her chest and leaving it in before winding back again. With a single whipped punch from the man towards the face of Crystal who still was in front of me protectively, her head snapped back, hair whipping in an arc as she stumbled, knife slipping out from her with a muted thud. She staggered, too stunned to even cry out, her face pale as she struggled to stay upright. The stranger sighed, flexing his knuckles in satisfaction.


    “Crys-” I faltered as the man’s gaze fell on me.


    “Hey…She had nothing to do with anything! There’s been a mistake! Please believe me! Calm down! Please man, I’ll do anything…” I attempted to plead faintly, attempted to appeal to his humanity, the words only coming partly up my throat before halting. I was frightened. Really frightened, in the kind of way where you know that whatever you do, it won’t work out well.


    “You got on my nerves, bitch. Thought you could tell that much.”


    “Yeah, but-”


    “Dealt with too many of your kind. People who gawk at people who are different from them. Whether that be skin color, physique, nationality, language, or culture, it’s irrelevant-”


    “Somebody help! He’s gonna kill us all!” I jutted in. Nobody came to my rescue. Too scared…or they saw how I had pushed him into his rage and thought me partly to blame.


    “Racist piece of scum.”


    “I’m no-”


    “You think someone’s gonna stop me out here?” He quipped, spitting on the ground when he finished to match what I had done to him, misunderstanding greatly what had happened. He picked up the knife and pressed it lightly against my throat, the cold steel biting into my skin just enough to make me recoil. He held it there for a moment, his gaze unwavering, daring anyone to interfere, even going so far as to look around at every other group of individuals, to egg them on. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have some semblance of a reason to do so, which made me feel even worse. I didn’t argue much more than that as I started to step back fearfully. “Your ‘mistake’ led to this and you’ll deal with it. Prejudice this deep rooted must be cleansed.”


    “Your partner said something changed you…you weren’t always like this…I’m only human, you understand, don’t you?” I asked in desperation. “I did something bad, something very bad, and I’m truly sorry. All my emotions just exploded onto you, so I beg for you to forgive me this once.”


    He leaned towards me conspiratorially, his words low but somehow cutting through the surrounding noise again. "This is just the beginning,” he murmured, a chilling certainty in his voice. I tensed, realizing with a sinking feeling that he hadn’t finished what he’d come here to start. “I’ll spare you for now. In return, lick the underside of my muddy boot.” Feeling disgusted, yet not wanting to die at his hands, I bent over to do as requested, only for him to step back and laugh derisively, though not exactly in a normal sort of way. I find it difficult to explain how it looked or sounded, but it was rather unnatural. “No way…you thought I was serious. Well…We have…limited time right now, but take this as a warning to you.” His expression was grim; throughout this he hadn’t looked exactly happy, really nothing even remotely similar to Greg, but I still had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t him. Just…


    “Everyone! Settle down, settle down. You must all realize that this is simply a trial of our faith to God almighty, up in heaven. We must simply seek his forgiveness for whatever sins we must have committed and we will be able to return to our lives.” Manúel shouted to the gathered crowd, voice raised to an extreme to reach even those in the back. Many turned to listen though many others still ignored his preaching. Many were too afraid to contradict him. I guess I was just stupid for doing anything. Either way, it was a nice speech for someone so psychopathic…Another uproar erupted. Pointedly turning away, I tried to change my focal point to the scene erupting at the far end. The man who had been brandishing his briefcase now wielded it like a club, swinging it wildly at anyone within reach. His eyes gleamed with a manic energy, face twisted in a furious grin as he struck out, his movements so unhinged it was as if he were possessed. The crowd around him scattered in alarm, but he pursued them, unleashing his frenzied rage with each swing.


    Some onlookers attempted to subdue him, but they were quickly swatted away, their attempts swallowed by the man''s unpredictable movements. His crazed laughter cut through the air, and the sounds of impact—a sickening thud with each swing—grew louder as the onlookers tried and failed to overpower him. His briefcase had transformed from a simple item into a blunt weapon, crashing down on those nearest him with a force that left some stumbling backward, clutching bruises and cuts.


    It was hard to make out distinct sounds now, anything audible was high pitched shrieks or shouted calls for help. Amid this storm of violence, a small child somehow broke free from his mother’s hold, perhaps spurred by curiosity or simply unaware of the danger. The child’s tiny form darted into the open space, winding through the legs of the terrified crowd with surprising agility. The crazed man’s eyes flicked down to the child, his arm swinging wide as if to catch him, but the boy ducked and swerved just in time, narrowly avoiding the trajectory of the briefcase. His mother let out a piercing scream, her face drained of color as she saw her child slipping further into harm’s way.


    Panicking, she thrust herself into the thick of the crowd, her arms outstretched, frantically clawing her way forward. She begged, shouted, and struggled, her voice hoarse and desperate, but the crowd barely moved to help her. People turned away, choosing to ignore her or simply too distracted by their own terror to give her passage. Her desperation grew as she shoved past elbows, stumbling over feet, trying to reach her son who was still dodging the man’s unpredictable swings. Her hands clawed through the air, straining for him, yet she was held back by strangers who formed an unwilling barricade, preventing her from breaking through.


    In a last-ditch effort, she pushed herself against the crowd’s resistance, crying out with all the strength her voice could muster. Her face was red, eyes wide with fear, as she fought the indifferent mass of people who continued to block her path. A few feet ahead, her son ducked and darted, oblivious to the peril that surrounded him, his small form disappearing and reappearing in the chaotic tangle of legs. The seconds stretched, each heartbeat an eternity as she struggled, desperate to reach him before the man’s crazed swings finally found their mark.


    A true domino effect began to unfold, chaos rippling outward as if the entire scene had been primed for it. Disorder surged through the crowd the moment a reckless teen charged forward, targeting an elderly man with a sudden shove. The old man’s body buckled under the blow, collapsing to the ground with a shocked gasp, arms flailing as he reached for anything to break his fall. His cry of pain barely registered with those around him; people were either too self-absorbed or too stunned to react. Emboldened by the utter lack of resistance and indifference of the onlookers, the teen grinned, his face twisting with an ugly kind of thrill. He turned, lashing out at strangers from behind, one after another, watching them stumble forward, disoriented and defenseless.


    My gaze was pulled back to the stranger I’d mistaken for an old enemy, the illusion of his identity now shattered. He seized my shoulder, his grip like iron as he wrenched me around to face him, forcing me to look directly into his dark, calculating eyes.


    “Pay some fucking attention!” He raged. His gaze flickered to Crystal, cold determination set in his expression as he raised his fist again. The intent was clear—he was going to finish what he’d started with her, and he wanted me to watch every second of it, to witness the full extent of his violence.


    Without a thought, instinct took over. I pulled away and threw myself between them, my arms crossing in a last-ditch attempt to shield her. His fist connected, pain bursting in white-hot tendrils across my forearms, though somehow not as brutally as I’d braced for. My knees shook, but I managed to stay upright, a shaky breath of relief escaping me. But it was fleeting—his other fist was already swinging towards my unprotected face, his movements relentless. I tried to duck but wasn’t nearly fast enough to escape his wrath.


    “Shouldn’t have tried to be a hero, man,” he jokingly reprimanded. He smiled faintly.”