A revised narrative. | bsd

Chapter 4

You sprint across the floor trying to avoid a machete to your face, your breath ragged, struggling not to choke on your blood while you gasp for air. Albatross chased you like a maniac with a machete in hopes of frightening you into "teleportation," which you began to doubt because he just looked like he was having fun. The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering against the walls, creating an atmosphere that felt both surreal and nightmarish.

"Can we-- please stop?!" your breath shudders as you try to plead for mercy, desperation lacing your voice as you dart to the left, narrowly avoiding another swing of the blade that whistled through the air. His laughter rang out, a chilling sound that echoed off the walls and filled you with dread.

His speed kept picking up every time you seemed to pick yours up. "Not until we replicate what I saw earlier!" he yelled, his voice bubbling with excitement, the thrill of the chase evident in every word. A laugh of his echoed throughout the room that terrified you, to say the least, sending shivers down your spine as you desperately searched for an escape but your mind was too cluttered to do so.

"Are you even sure that shit happened—" you wheeze, not being able to believe the insanity of it all as you strangled a sob back, "must you chase me with a machete?!" The absurdity of the situation felt surreal, like a twisted game devised solely for his amusement.

"Of course, I do! And I have a strong feeling we need an adrenaline rush for it!" he shouted, his enthusiasm terrifying. Just as you thought you could gain the higher ground, he slid his foot, catching yours and making you lose your balance. You stumbled forward, the world tilting around you made panic stream through your veins.

Afraid that he might catch you, you crawled desperately, trying to create distance between you and the deadly blade. You managed to get back on your feet just before his machete hit the floor with a deafening bang that reverberated in your chest, urging you to keep moving. The sound was like a gunshot, a warning that your time was running out.

You felt your eyes sting as tears blurred your vision, but the fear of being caught pushed you onward. Huffing a shuddering breath as your knees began giving out, you bit your lip, cursing yourself for not being quick enough, feeling your muscles strain under the pressure. Every fiber of your being was screaming for you to stop, but the chase was relentless. One last piercing bang was all it took to fuck your head over, the noise ringing in your ears like a death penalty. Your body finally gave out as you came crashing to the floor, hitting your head on the concrete.

In that brief moment of impact, you weren't aware that you had teleported, being it was buried underneath layers of fear and exhaustion. Albatross grinned at the "progress," but disappointment flickered across his features when he saw your body crumpled like a rag doll.

He sighed as he walked over to you, a mix of concern and irritation playing across his face. "Hey, it ain't my fault. I was assigned to train you, not wrap you in a blanket—" His voice trailed off as he flipped your body over to see you unconscious, blood bubbling out of your mouth, pooling beneath you on the cold floor. "Oh shit, you really are out..." His demeanor shifted, the playful glint behind his rimless glasses replaced with a grim realization...

You squeezed your eyes at the brightness behind it as you blinked them open to see yourself in a white hospital bed and a curtain covering it; you also saw the back of what you presumed to be a doctor. The sterile smell of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the faint beeping of machines monitoring your condition, creating an eerie yet oddly comforting atmosphere.

He turned around, and you recognized his skinny and extremely unwell look; it was Doc. His eyes tired, but there was a flicker of relief as he met your aware state, a smile breaking through his weariness. "Good evening, bloodhound," he greeted, giving you a nickname that confused you.

"Huh..?" you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you felt your throat feel hoarse and dry, like sandpaper against your vocal cords.

"You were drooling blood like one," he tried explaining it to you, but the imagery only added to your confusion and concern. "Oh..." you muttered, the previous situation beginning to come back and settle in.

The man gave you a sympathetic look, "That rascal overexerted you, but then again, that's just a sucky after-effect for your ability," he said, referring to Albatross, you assumed, the name bringing a rush of memories that made your head feel hazy.

You tried to give a response, or perhaps to ask questions, but stopped when you felt your throat ache painfully. "Hurts to talk? Don't doubt it; your windpipe was contracting heavily, which didn't help the blood bubbling," Doc continued, his tone shifting to one of concern. Now that really scared you; the idea of blood bubbling from you was unsettling.

Right then, the curtains were forced open with a dramatic flair to reveal Albatross adjusting his glasses as he entered, his presence made you aggravated in your already sore state.

"Yoo, you up?" he dragged his words, asking as if you weren't scowling up at him, your irritation not taking over only due to the fear of your condition.

He took a seat on your bed unwelcomed, his casual demeanor in stark contrast to the sterile environment surrounding you. "Don't be mad at me, kid. How was I supposed to know you'd be tweakin' that bad?" He flashed a grin that felt more like a dismissal of your discomfort than an apology.

"Whe-- I cough--d up blood the fi--st time..." you managed to squeeze out, feeling your throat chafe painfully with every syllable.

"First time—Albatross," Doc interjected, his voice carrying a weight of disapproval as he looked at the blond man, who simply waved his hands around in a dismissive gesture, trying to divert the conversation. "All is well now, so let's give it up for Doc!!" he declared, his attempt at humor falling flat in the tense atmosphere.

Doc shook his head disapprovingly before turning his attention back to you, his expression softening. "You'll be healed enough in a day or two but—" You shook your head pleadingly when he began to have a positive tone at the end, not ready to face the possibility of being back on your feet and training with Albatross.

Noticing your distress, he quickly adjusted his words, "...but I recommend a couple more for complete recovery."

Albatross groaned as he leaned his head back dramatically, "Aw man, just when things were getting interesting.." His tone was disappointed. You couldn't help but glare at him, your annoyance bubbling over as you nudged him away with your knees. He frowned before he got up and left, muttering something about how he didn't comprehend how you could be so sensitive. Doc gave him a warning to be more gentle, and you felt a flicker of appreciation for the older man's protective nature.

Doc rolled his eyes as the blond left, shaking his head as if to dismiss Albatross's antics. Before he could leave to attend to his work, you reached for his sleeves and pulled on them, catching his attention. He turned back to you, surprise flashing across his features at your sudden gesture.

You forced your throat to comply with you despite the discomfort, "Thank you..." The words felt inadequate, but it was all you could manage at that moment, your gratitude bubbling beneath the surface.

He blinked at your gratitude before chuckling softly, a sound that felt warm and reassuring. "Don't worry about it. Just focus on getting better, bloodhound."