Wonder World: Ignition

Future Sight

He was lost in a fog, wandering aimlessly. He had been looking for ... something. Or maybe he had been running from something? Whatever it was it had been important, he was sure. He tried to walk forward, but his legs felt heavy and sluggish. What had he needed? If only he could remember. He looked around intently, but the fog was impenetrable. Besides, his head ached something fierce. His legs started to prickle, like a thousand push pins had turned his thighs and calves into a cork-board. He had to ... he had to ... what? If he didn't figure it out soon something terrible would happen, he was certain. People were counting on him. What was wrong with his damn head? It was pounding, and if he didn't do something soon, Mbabelli would die. 

Mbabelli, the plane crash, the village, the gunshot. The images poured into Alex's brain like floodwaters through a burst levee. Holy fuck he had been shot! He tried to move, but as soon as he did pain shot through every fiber of his being. He struggled back into consciousness as the memories kept coming, hitting him like a freight train. Mbeh's glassy eyes, Mopana's outstretched hand, the man he had gunned down twisting like dancer as he fell. 

"I'm a murderer," Alex realized with a start. "I killed those men. Their lives are over. I stole them." The thought deeply troubled him, but only for a moment before the pain seared through him again. It felt like a power drill was blending his eye. White hot knives were stabbing his legs. He bolted upright, screaming in agony. He could barely breath, something was lodged in his throat. He frantically clawed at his face, his fingers getting tangled in medical tubing. Instinctively he pulled, and immediately regretted it. The tubes sliding out of his stomach made him gag, but he had already committed. 

"Oh God!" exclaimed a voice. Alex caught a brief glimpse of someone in scrubs dashing out the door. His chest and face were heavily bandaged. The pain in his eye had receded to a pounding headache, but his legs were still in excruciating pain.   

"Mr. Fletcher!" someone shouted from the hall. A doctor rushed into the room as the nurse returned and immediately began taking measurements. "Mr. Fletcher, you have been in an accident," the doctor said urgently.

"No shit," Alex fired back, hes face cradled in his hands.

"It appears you were in a crash..."

"What happened to me! What's wrong with me!" Alex demanded. He had to know.

"You suffered a bullet wound to the head. It entered through your right eye and exited behind your ear, damaging your sinuses, cochlea, and frontal lobe," the doctor said quickly, as if that would make it easier to hear.

"What's wrong with my legs!" They were still throbbing.

"There was an explosion. Your legs had to be amputated above the knee."

The world went foggy again. Alex thought he was about to pass out. He couldn't have heard correctly. Gone? Impossible, he could feel them. He threw back the sheets, staring in shock at the useless bandaged stumps beneath them. No, they couldn't be gone. How would he work? How would he live? They couldn't be gone, they couldn't be. He needed them! They couldn't be gone.

"I understand this must be a difficult for you, Mr. Fletcher," a voice was saying from somewhere. "Many amputees can go on to live full and ..."

"Get out," Alex said coldly. This couldn't be real.

"Mr. Fletcher, it's important that you ..."

"Get. Out." His voice dripped with venom. This couldn't be. He sobbed into his hands, wishing he could just be left alone. He heard comforting murmurs, but couldn't make out the words. Finally the door closed and he was alone. 

He wanted to drown in despair, to give up and crawl away somewhere dark where he could wallow in his misery alone. But a small voice in his head wouldn't let him. He knew if he fell down that hole he might never be able to climb out again. He wanted a drink so badly, anything to dull the pain.

"No," the small voice said. "You can't give in. If you give up you are lost."  He took a ragged breath, his shoulders shaking violently. He balled up his sorrow, shoving it deep into the recesses of his mind where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He needed to step back, calm down, and reevaluate the situation. He took another breath. He could do this.

He started by going over his resources. Money, he had lots of money. Not inexhaustible, but enough to make things easier. Vince was a huge asset. He was the best assistant Alex had ever had, seeming to know exactly what Alex needed before he did. And he still had his life.

"Whatever that's worth," he thought darkly. How had it all gone to shit? How did he wind up so broken? He wished he was dead. He didn't deserve to be alive. Not when Rick and Tom and Mike were dead. Not while Mbabelli rotted in the jungle, without a single person to dance for his soul. Why was he alive? It was sheer, dumb luck. He should be dead. He felt so helpless. "No, not helpless," he reminded himself.  

OK, so he had resources. Now, what to do with them? A thousand thoughts raced through his head. Maybe he could start a charity, make a difference that way. No, too many rich assholes do that already. He could do better than them. He just needed a plan. His mind drifted to Mbeh, how he had wanted to fight. It wasn't fair. Mbeh deserved justice. Why was the world so fucked? Someone needed to do something!

"And it might as well be me." 

He didn't sleep all night. The doctor returned at some point to give him more pain meds, but Alex refused. He needed his head clear to think. Vince found him the next morning propped up on his pillows, face buried in his phone.

"Oh my God! Mr. Fletcher! I can't believe you're alive! Listen, I'm so sorry about the crash ..."

"Yeah, yeah, cut the shit, Vince. We have work to do."

"I ... what? Sir, you just woke up. Take some time and ..."

"I don't need any more time!" Alex snapped. "I need to do something before I go crazy. Now shut up and listen to me."

"You're not healthy yet, sir. You need to wait until ..."

"I'll need you to liquefy all my non-essential assets. That includes the house, and all the cars but the '69 Mustang. That should give me enough seed money to get the company off the ground without being some investor's bitch. Obviously I'll be the owner, but I'll need help on the business management side..."

"Alex, the doctor said the bullet hit your frontal lobe.  You're decision making might be impaired. You aren't thinking clearly ..." 

"Would you shut up for a goddamn second, Vince? I'm making you my CFO! Now, I've found a surgeon out of Sweden who might be willing to help. I've also scoped out a couple bright minds at USSC, so I'll need you to contact them. There's also a tech startup I need to buy. Next we'll need .."

"Alex, I ..." 

"WHY AREN'T YOU WRITING THIS DOWN?!" Alex shouted. Vince opened his mouth, then closed it again and turned away.

"Vince, listen," Alex started. "I ... I have to do this. I need to. I can't sit and do nothing or I'll ... I'll ..." he trailed off, not knowing what to say. There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, Vince sighed heavily.

"Alright. What do you need, Boss?"

Alex smiled for the first time since he woke up. "OK, so here's the plan ..."