CER: Fay Lan: Alarm

Creators' Earth Realm: Other Realm People: Level 1 Mission 2: Fay Lan

                                Alarm


        I walked timidly through the gates of the city as the last glow of dusk faded and the street lamps flickered on. The scene before me was a grimy city full of polluted air and rusting metal—it reminded me of the Industrial Revolution, for a moment, until I tried to gather more information from my reluctant brain, and the memory eluded me. In mere seconds I had gone from being reminded of the Industrial Revolution to wondering what the Industrial Revolution was, or even if I had made it up myself somehow. The speed with which I was losing grasp of my past was alarming—especially since I still had no knowledge of this new world with which to replace it.

        I wandered through the city aimlessly, becoming with each step more and more lost in the labyrinthian twists and turns of the cramped streets. I did not know what I was searching for. The few faces that seemed to even notice I was there did not appear friendly, and I admit I was too frightened at the moment to stop any of them. What could I say, anyway? “Hello, I think I fell through the sky from another world and I have no memory or background knowledge about this one. Could you explain the most rudimentary workings of this universe to me?” It would be laughable. For all I knew, it could be grounds for being arrested, and that was not how I fancied spending my first night in this strange place.

        Suddenly, a terrified scream woke me from my trance. I stopped and looked up just in time to see a young girl of about twelve years running towards me. I didn’t have enough time to move before she crashed into me headfirst. I was already disoriented, and that sensation was not helped by my sudden fall, but even through my confusion I managed to get a glimpse of what the girl was running from. Running up toward me, from whence the girl too had issued forth, came a cruel-looking man with black hair and eyes. He was holding an old-style gun—it was one thing I was glad I recognized so swiftly. Had my throat not been stuck shut, I might have shrieked as the realization hit me that this man was aiming that gun toward the girl who was at the moment on top of me. The girl was trying to get up, and so was I, but in that split second I realized there would not be enough time. We would both be shot.

        Everything was surreal, like a movie set in slow motion. It was almost like I was outside of myself, watching the scene. Even the feelings of fear were mixed up inside me, like I did not know if I was an actor or an observer in this moment.

        I heard a shot. I turned my face away and stretched my hands out in front of me by instinct.

        Then the moment passed, and I still had not felt the anticipated impact, nor heard the anticipated cry of the girl.

        I opened my eyes and saw the shock on every onlooker’s face. I saw the girl’s eyes widen, and the shooter’s jaw drop. I saw the bullet sitting idly by my feet. And I saw what had stopped it.

        From my own hands issued a shield of fire.

        The moment I noticed it, it dissipated into smoke. For a moment, no one acted; we were all too surprised, myself included. The girl was the first person to remember herself. She jumped off me—pushing me further down in the process—and ran off. The gunman did not follow her; he was no longer interested in her. His eyes narrowed on me, and I heard him say, in tones of the most virulent hatred, “It’s another Descendant.”

        Whether or not the sentence made any sense to me was a pointless question. The sound of his voice snapped me back into reality. I jumped to my feet and began running as fast as I could. The man with the gun of course chased after me, shooting as he did. I was fortunate enough that none of the bullets hit me, but I was panicking nonetheless.

        I turned through the twisting alleys as best I could, but I did not know the city, and was deathly afraid I would run into a dead end and meet my fate. I had just turned a corner when somebody pulled me through a half-caved in doorway I hadn’t noticed. That somebody held me down behind the wall. The gunman kept running, oblivious to my disappearance.

        For a few minutes, all was silence as I caught my breath and both my rescuer and I watched to make sure the gunman wasn’t returning. Finally, the stranger’s iron grasp on my shoulders loosened, and I relaxed enough to take a look at the face of the person who had probably just saved my life.

        A flash of realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. Why had I not noticed sooner? Was I really so frightened of a simple gun that I failed to notice that drawing pain inside me? The face I saw was not a kind one, and the deep blue eyes were not warm. I had come to this city because I felt the enticing pull of my other half, the part of myself I’d lost in transition.

        And now I was staring him in the face.