What follows is a story of Endless City; a never-ending urban sprawl of both the strange and familiar. It is a mixed place of unnatural phenomena and beat up bus stops, alien cultures and convenience stores, so large and old its residents have forgo...
It felt like a desert at night. Or, rather, a desert that had been stripped of all its light, leaving behind only dark shifting sands and the blackest howling wind. I was lost, disorientated. It didn't matter how far I went because I had no idea if I was going the right way or not, or even really an idea of where I was trying to go. The sand blasted away at me, hateful little particles, chipping away at who I was supposed to be. I felt nauseous and dry and lost and cold. Wrapped tightly around my eyes was some kind of blindfold made of hot barbed wire. I couldn't touch it, I couldn't let myself get anywhere near it.
"Fitz? Hey kid, ya hear me?"
Something or someone was calling out to me, but each time my mind began to surface it pulled back reflexively, shying away from the pain of consciousness. The dark desert was hellish, but it wasn't actually hell. Being awake and alert? That was too close to the real thing. I yearned to give it all away, to not feel it all anymore.
"Fitz, I'm here. Jack is here."
Jack? Here?
I began trying to claw my way out and nearly gave up. I was so tired, and it hurt so bad. It hurt so, so, so bad. The front of my brain must have been exposed. There was no way anything but that could cause what I was feeling.
But, even beyond that, what really scared me were the parts I didn't feel.
"Hey, did you say my name? Can you hear me? Gods in hell kid, I've got to know if you can hear me."
It was him. My mentor's voice was unmistakable. One part Downtown accent, one part sandpaper, one part baritone sax.
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"Jack?" I croaked, and coughed with the effort of it. My throat felt like it hadn't done anything meaningful in awhile. My mouth was dry and had the lingering taste of stomach acid.
"Yeah kid, I'm here. Your neighbor got in touch with my secretary down at the office."
"Hey. Hey Jack, how's-how's it going?" I tried to sound nonchalant, but fell apart into something between a sob and a hacking cough. Something about my voice didn't sound quite right. My upper lip was strangely stiff, slurring the words. After a moment a glass of water touched my hand, and with his help I poured it down my throat. That upper lip was too stiff and the corners of my mouth weren't working quite right. As much of the water got on me as went down the hatch.
"Easy kid, easy. That's better, take it slow."
"Jack," I said, trying not to cough further. "I haven't-I haven't seen you in months...." I trailed off, and Jack merely cleared his throat.
"I know, kid. It doesn't sit right with me, what happened, but we shouldn't have left it like that. None of that matters right now though."
"It does matter," I started to say. This was something I could latch on to. Something I could focus on that would bring my attention away from the tight feeling of my skin being stretched strangely across my upper face. Away from the fact that, even though I was awake, my eyes were still in that dark desert. Grainy, filmy light and shadow passed over my vision, but nothing more. I wouldn't have even known Jack was in the room if he hadn't said something.
