deadline (dream team)

I - Chapter 1

PART I - DREAM(S)

Sometimes, it feels like the entirety of this miserable universe is mocking me.

From the way the sun rises in the morning, creating long, dancing shadows of trees, you would never guess the creatures that come out at night. You would never guess how many times I've ended up on my knees, coughing up blood as I choke down food, waiting for my wounds to heal and wondering if this is the end. And if it is the end, then how should I feel? Afraid of whatever comes next, or simply relieved to be out of my current hell?

But now, as I watch the sun poke its head over the treetops, those thoughts almost feel like a bad dream. I run my hands through a crystal clear pool of water, and even my memories of the cave I just emerged from fade away as I wash its grime from my fingertips. How long was I down there, lost in the twisting hallways of an abandoned mineshaft? A few days? A week?

I have no idea, not that it matters anyway. I hadn't found any of the answers I was looking for. Not even a single clue lay in the rows of broken tracks and worn support beams that would point me towards who built them, and why. I had given up, low on food and sick of feeling the venomous fangs of cave spiders sinking into my skin.

And, of course, I emerge, defeated, to a picturesque sunrise over a peaceful desert. As I wade further into the water, its temperature is perfect - not cold, but cool enough to counter the sun beaming down on me. I roll onto my back, floating languidly, and notice that there's not a cloud in the sky. Not a single one.

I flip off the sun with a hint of satisfaction. No world so cruel has a right to be so pretty.

I only allow myself a few minutes in the water to wipe away the layer of dirt that had accumulated on my skin. After dunking my head under, running my hands through my tangled hair, I pull myself back onto the sand with a sigh and gather together the supplies that I had dumped by the shore.

Never stop moving. I had learned this the hard way during my first few days, and I've stuck with it ever since. Only now I'm sure where to go next, after coming up empty-handed from exploring the mineshaft. Well, not completely empty-handed - I had built a diamond sword while I was down there, and I let my eyes trace over it admiringly - but that wasn't what I was looking for.

I wanted answers. Or... an explanation. I wanted to know why I had suddenly awoken, lying in a grassy field full of grazing cows, with nothing but the clothes I was wearing, a backpack, and a compass. I wanted to know why I can't remember anything beyond my first day besides my name.

Clay.

One word, four letters. A meaningless piece of info that tells me nothing about my reason for being here - if there is one at all. I hold out hope that there's more to this world than simply staying alive, and I keep myself moving to keep my mind off of it.

I chew on a piece of bread as I shuffle through the contents of my backpack. As many loaves of bread as I could fit, the last of some dried salmon. Extra wood for torches, extra flint for arrows, extra iron for tools.

And the compass. I have a natural sense of direction, so it had lived in the bottom of my bag since the first day. I turn it over in my hands, absentmindedly running my fingers over the grooves and dents in the metal. Why had I been given a compass, instead of something more useful for survival?

And a pretty shitty compass at that. No matter how many times I shake it in frustration, the needle points unwaveringly towards the east, towards the gaze of the sun. I toss it to the side, giving up on the hunk of dented metal.

Clothes, a backpack, and a broken compass. It all makes no sense.

Unless...

Unless there's a reason it points to the east. Unless it's leading me somewhere, rather than simply helping me navigate. I gently pick the compass up from the sand, examining it with newfound curiosity as I turn it over in my hands.