Running From The Shadows

Smith saw a light in the distance, cutting through the total darkness. It allowed him to see where he was. In the pitch black, he realized he was on an asphalt road. On both sides, there were only trees—more and more trees—but they had an unnatural appearance.

'They must be artificial…'

He kept running as fast as he could. The light grew closer and closer.

Brighter.

Brighter.

Brighter.

And even brighter.

But he still couldn't understand its source—it seemed to be moving, possibly more than one person. But there was no way to be sure.

What had once been a source of relief now became a source of discomfort. The light was so intense that it prevented him from seeing anything clearly.

"Stopp! Polizei des Geschäftshauses!"

Smith didn't speak German, yet somehow, he understood what it meant. What surprised him, however, wasn't that—it was the fact that someone was speaking German at all. Since his arrival, everyone had spoken English. And even more bizarre, he recognized the language instantly.

He fell to his knees, breathless, raising his hands.

The officers ran toward him, holding flashlights in one hand and plasma pistols similar to his in the other. They shouted in German.

"Nicht bewegen!"

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

"Antworten Sie!"

"Es muss amerikanisch oder Antiqua Tellus sein."

Another man approached, dressed similarly to the others. However, he looked younger, more composed, and remarkably imposing.

— "You must be Stanley Smith... Yeah... Matches the description..."

— "What do you want with me, you moron?!"

— "Arrest him. Ahhh… They always pretend they don't know anything."

One of the two officers who spoke only German stepped forward and cuffed him.

The cuffs were thick, entirely black, and formed two perfect circles.

As soon as the officer locked them—one on each wrist—Smith flinched. They suddenly snapped together. He chuckled, realizing they were magnetic handcuffs.

'Was I stuck in the Stone Age? Why the hell is every piece of technology here so much better?'

His face turned red with irritation… So much effort, only to be caught so easily.

He wondered—what had Hans done? Lied to the police?

'How can there even be police in a place that harbors mercenaries?'

The thought enraged him further, filling him with wrath.

The officer forced him into a gray-and-black vehicle, shoving him inside and tossing him onto the back seat.

He immediately noticed—it was another one of those flying cars, just like Hans'.

When the officer slammed the door shut and got into the driver's seat, Smith saw the young officer approaching. As he neared, he spoke briefly with the driver.

The tinted window lowered, and the officer crouched slightly to talk to Smith—his tall stature making it necessary. He had a smirk on his face and casually rested his hand on the window frame.

— "I just came to warn you, Mr. Smith. You have no chance of escaping arrest here. Chief Hans informed us that you've been causing disturbances and resorting to violence. And as you may already know, the bastards who disrupt the peace... get back exactly what they dish out. Let's just say… we operate in the name of karma."

Smith remained silent.

— "Very well, Mr. Smith… It's a shame the chief has such an ungrateful brother like you. So, let me make it clear—you won't have a single day of peace here. This will be hell for you. That being said… Have a nice trip."

He chuckled softly, flashing a mocking smile.

Strangely, the young officer had a charismatic presence. Despite his harsh words, Smith didn't feel threatened—just oddly at ease.

The officer patted the car's roof twice, and the vehicle lifted off the ground.

As it ascended, the young officer waved with a broad grin before casually walking away—seemingly heading toward Hans' house.

...

Antiqua Tellus, April 11, 2099.

— "Here's the job… It's nothing like stealing or breaking into some abandoned place."

— "Well, that's a good start, Hans!"

— "Whatever… But listen up! We're gonna be… SECURITY! HAH!"

Smith looked at him, clearly disappointed.

— "What? What do you mean? Who the hell needs security in this godforsaken place?"

— "You're still as impatient as ever, like some grumpy old man. You know, like Ebenezer Scrooge."

— "I will get impatient if you don't hurry up and explain!"

— "Alright, alright… It's nothing major. We just have to pick up some mafia kid from a high-radiation zone… He hired us because he got lost, and his smartwatch GPS stopped working. He also contacted me through the emergency radio on his watch. The secrecy part is because he doesn't want his father to find out. Apparently, his dad believes there are still enemies of their family lurking around in Antiqua Tellus… As if there were any real threats left in this wasteland. But the kid blindly trusts his old man, HAHAH."

— "And what's a brat like that even doing here?"

— "Came looking for a woman… But he didn't explain much. Just said she tricked him."

— "Is it far?"

— "Yeah…"

— "I'll drive, but I want to stop halfway to rest. Because I absolutely hate driving."

— "Then why not just let me drive?"

— "I don't trust you with that…"

— "You trust complete strangers more than me! Tsk… You know what? Let's just get this over with."

They got into the car, and before shutting the door, Smith yelled at Hans not to start rambling during the ride.

...

...

Smith had fallen asleep during the short trip. He jolted awake as someone yelled into his ear—then passed out again after feeling a shock on his neck.

He woke up to the sound of murmuring, his vision still blurry.

'What the hell is this place?'

He thought to himself and quickly remembered—he had been arrested.

The room he was in was square, with the walls on either side and behind him completely white. A blindingly bright light shone from the equally white ceiling. In front of him, there was a glass screen.

He was seated on a white metal chair. It didn't take long for him to notice that his restraints were gone, and he was now dressed in plain white pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

He stood up abruptly and looked directly at the glass. Behind it, two shadowy figures with ominous features stood watching him.

As soon as Smith locked eyes with them, a chill ran down his spine. His expression twisted in rage, and he ran forward, slamming his left fist against the glass while simultaneously kicking it with his right leg.

— "YOU BASTARDS! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

But he realized immediately—they couldn't hear him.

He stopped, exhausted, resting his forehead against the glass.

Tears welled up in his eyes. Suddenly, he threw another punch at the glass, making the figures jolt slightly.

— "AAAAHHH!!!"

He backed away, his hands gripping his brittle, graying hair in frustration.

— "I WILL FIND A WAY OUT OF HERE! EVEN IF I HAVE TO KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU SONS OF A BITCH!"

He clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached.

Grabbing the chair, he hurled it at the glass. The figures remained indifferent.

Pausing for a moment, he tried to make out their faces, but the darkness beyond the glass obscured them completely.

He walked to the right wall and pressed against it, slowly sliding down to the floor, his hands covering his face.

He curled up, arms wrapped around his knees, head buried between them.

Then, he broke down, crying even harder, shutting his eyes tightly.

Memories flooded back.

His wife. His son. His daughter. His comrades.

Everything that had happened recently flashed through his mind in intense bursts.

So many questions...

Was the invasion of Antiqua Tellus really just a coincidence? Or was it part of Hans' plan? But how could he manipulate an emperor? How had he managed to get everyone into those coats? Some kind of technology? How would Smith escape? How long would he be trapped here?

His mind became a chaotic mess of whispers, images, screams…

With great effort, he let out a silent scream inside his head, forcing himself to calm down.

Slowly, exhaustion took over.

And finally, he fell asleep.

Curled up in his own despair…

...

Antiqua Tellus, April 11, 2099.

They were stopping just as Smith had planned—somewhere halfway through the journey, or at least close enough.

— "You're actually stopping?"

— "Yes!"

— "You sound like an old man sometimes… Why don't we just keep going?"

— "Because I want to stop!"

— "Then let me drive."

Hans reached for the steering wheel.

— "Get your damn hands off!"

Smith grabbed Hans' hand and yanked it away violently.

— "Are you an idiot? What's with the aggression?!"

Smith opened the door and stormed off, walking quickly toward some wreckage.

He wasn't a smoker. But whenever he was around Hans, the urge hit him. It was the only way to ease the tension of being near that man.

Reaching into the left pocket of his pants, he pulled out a small metal case, taking a cigarette from inside. Then, he fished out a red metal lighter.

He lit the cigarette, his face twisted in disgust, inhaling deeply.

'I must be cursed… To hell with all of this shit.'