RELENTLESS || NEWT, TMR [1]

[001]: THE NEW BEGINNING

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CHAPTER ONE;
[ THE NEW BEGINNING ]
[RELENTLESS || NEWT]

THERE WERE A MILLION OF THOUGHTS SPEEDING THROUGH Lucas's very perplexed mind, but the most prominent of them all involved a realization that he wasn't exactly sure how to react to. He had no memories.

Lucas' comprehension of the situation seemed utterly clear, despite how absolutely confusing and triggering the news was to him when he first awoke. His mind, he came to conclude, was wiped blank. There was no fragment of himself that conceivably remembered ever living a day before that very moment—it was as if someone has taken a ragged cloth and simply rubbed away all the parts that make Lucas, well, Lucas. Names, memories, collections upon collections of remembrances of what he had done the day before and the day before that. For a split second, even, Lucas hadn't remembered his name. But as if an all mighty, invisible power from above had taken pity upon him and the situation he found himself rather stuck in, the name that a faceless mother had given him flashed before his eyes like a scene. Lucas, Luke even.

It was all he remembered.

A surge of panic had filled his chest the moment that cruel realization had sunk inside of his blank mind, but a wave of relief only followed seconds later. Despite the overwhelming reality that Lucas did not know anything but his name, he perceived that there had to be an explanation. Wherever the metal box was going would surely grant him clarification. Perhaps a person, if he was lucky, maybe a group of people would greet him on the other end. Either way, Lucas had learnt within the first minutes in the journey upwards that panicking would only bring more stress to him, and he surely did not need more of that.

Although his chest swelled with anxiousness and confinement, Lucas slowly extended out his legs before him in attempt to make himself more comfortable in the rusted box he sat in. They were excessively long, he realized as his eyes scanned over the baggy material, and rather muscular in his own personal opinion. And his skin—from what he could make out in the scarcely illuminated light, was a shade of white that looked as if it had never been exposed to sunlight.

Lucas crinkled his nose in distaste as he lifted his hands, realizing that not only did he look sickly pale but also boney. His fingers were long, slender, and very beaten up. He shifted his gaze to his palms, taking notice of the scratches that littered the surface; the skin covering his knuckles was bruised and blistered. It made him wonder what had happened prior to his awakening—perhaps he had gotten into a fight? Or maybe punched something in anger? The possibilities seemed endless to him, just as the possibilities of what awaited him above.

Lucas felt his stomach grumble. He placed his hand upon his stomach, feeling the light protrusion of his ribs as he curled his fingers into the skin. With a prolonged sigh, he let his head fall back against the box, hearing it rattle as he rolled it to the side. He wondered how long the ride up would take upwards—perhaps hours. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but that didn't matter now. He just wanted an explanation.