Ever woken up to the sound of pleasant bird chirping, the soothing gnashing of waterfalls, the slight hum of nature, and the sound of a half-censored screaming in the distant background? Don't worry, there's always a first time.

Wooziness crept into his mind, and he was sure that he could see doubles; unless there were actually two waterfalls, two pairs of feet, and two middle fingers in one hand. His clothes were in tatters, and something was squirming inside his shoe, bobbing and wriggling like a maggot– Across the board, he did not feel fabulous. His body was tired of feeling tired, but at this point, he'd begun to equate weariness to the new normal.

He tried to sit up straight.

The prancing sunrays flashed like a mono-coloured disco ball– somehow, they seemed impossibly incandescent. Torrents of water teased his feet, nearing and retracting to a ridiculously inapt distance, over and over. It was strange how the same water body, which had decided that drowning Mac was a fantastic idea, felt nippy and cold against his damp skin. The bank had that after-smell of a monsoon shower and was moist and slippery. A sparrow, perched atop a column of stone, studied him with great curiosity– "What kind of a horrid-looking beast is this?" It must've been thinking. There was an instigating breeze billowing through the grass, which was really useful when you were lying on the ground face-first, butt-up. All this, countless hours after being surrounded by controlling waves in the deep waters... was overwhelming.

He felt as if he'd debunked a rocket ship and entered the empty, vast space– The fact that in the tremendous nothingness, he was a nobody, not even a speck of dirt, hit him like a rocket. He was free. Healthy (sort of). No more choking to coma. But then why did he feel so vulnerable? Like a vital something was torn apart from him?

His memories were fuzzy. He could remember handful scraps of his past experiences, and it was unclear whether or not he'd suffered permanent brain damage. There was no extra-large, extra-swollen bump on his head, so that would be a no. Apart from this image of a dark-skinned boy with these glowing emerald eyes and another one of a furious old lady with a dangerous-looking spoon in her hand, it was hard to differentiate anything.

Helloooo, A shrill female voice suddenly blazed inside his skull. Anybody there?

He needed more rest. End of discussion. Haltingly, he lay back down again– There was nothing better than the realization that you were going crazy.

That was just a formality, boy. I know you can hear me, The voice toned down to a mediocre grumpy old hag level. And respect your elders, you maudlin! I can hear your thoughts!

He stared at the sunny, blue sky, as one does when one encounters positively weird shit. For a moment, he just wanted to let the river bank be his active grave, but the thought of being this close to the Seri, even in cessation, was enough demoralization. Using his hands in place of half-crumbled pillars, he propelled himself into a kneeling position and timidly got up. His hands were shaking so much that he began to question whether the cause could be an actual earthquake.

Mac felt strangely uneasy– He had definitely forgotten something. The thing about forgetting stuff that you don't even know what you're missing until it's too late. Getting out of here was your mediocre option– Be it that he had to rent a helicopter, drop a couple bombs and skitter out, the urban style.

That's actually the hooligan style, The voice chimed inside his head like a pair of annoying ringing bells. But the enthusiasm is appreciated.

"AggH- That brat is escaping- get him!"

Huh. Bizarre. Was that an actual larva wriggling in the soil? He reached out to touch it then realized that might not be the best course of action. The question was not about a fucking larva underneath him this whole time, but that his first instinct was to touch it.

"How do you know I'm a man?"

"Get her!"

Mac brushed against the larva. It was squishy. Or it became so when his fingers contacted the verdigris insect.

"I could be they/them too!"

"Get that imbecile ass of solidified camel spit!"

"Much better."

Were those voices in the background? Nah, that's just the nutty lady insi-

If the possibility to feel sounds existed, then the one coming from the lady inside his head would've trounced him into a freshly baked pita with the blessed seasonings, EXCUSE ME?! The lady in his head demanded. NUTTY?

"GET THAT TRUCKER (or something like that) YOU SLACK OFFS-"

Wondering what kind of animal made that horrible sound, he bobbed his head towards the noise.

"I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE MANUSCRIPT LOOKS LIKE!" The figure hollered. As she darted rock to rock, a brownish-paper-like thing flew from one of the pockets. Before the paper could fly away, she nicked it with a swift flick, but it was obviously too late.

The way the hair stuck out as if it'd been attacked by a pack of morbid ravens, and how lovelily brash its voice sounded, it was safe to assume it identified itself as a female. Black gear spiralled upto her neck and spilled down her slender arms, her waist belt loaded with miscellaneous combustibles and her cargo pants ornated with grubble. She looked like a battled-up mafia diva. It was strange how he could see the cricket chirping on the nook of her head, but her features were distorted like a blurred photograph.

She's using nebulous. Interesting.

"WELL, FUCK IT," The black mafia diva swore and greatly accented its pace, the brown parchment squeezed in her palm, flapping as she moved. It was then the awoken one realized that when something screaming was heading towards you, it just might be a good idea to get out of its way.

Unfortunately, his legs remained rooted to the ground. He could only helplessly gawk as the black-clad figure barrelled up a fallen log and accelerated onto a nearby tree. A moment later, more figures could be spotted preening through the dense flora. There were square jaws, harpoons, rifles, and even a monkey eating a mango. They didn't seem very pleased, and then one of them tore into the somewhat open area, saddled comfortably on a horse. Soon the others followed suit, but the only thing Mac felt was sympathy for the poor horses.

Maybe he could outplay them or-

"Where... that undignified brat?" The man said. His voice might have been rough, but to him it sounded more like a hush. Frankly, he shouldn't have been even able to hear them, but here he was, eavesdropping on a violent interchange twenty metres away.

That's some of my strength, you dolt. The lady in his mind spoke, And you can do better than 'the lady in my mind'.

"Oh yeah?" Mac was starting to get fed up with the constant commentary. Nonexistential or not, this was simply absurd and nerve ringing. "I'm open to better suggestions." If anybody was monitoring him right then, it would've been phenomenal to experience a blonde talking to himself in broad daylight.

Claire, came the terse reply.

Before Mac could think of a counter back, the well-chiseled man from before swerved his horse a bit, and now, it was a long-distance direct eye contact.

It would be a blatant error to take him for granted– the hulky biceps spelled s-t-a-y-a-w-a-y, and insanely enough, those furrowed brows and that deepened frown seemed relatively familiar. It was problematic to capture more details from that distance.

Then, as if it were a series of chain reactions, more dark smudges arrived from where the first ones had broken, and it was alarming how big and beefy they seemed. Hopefully, they would totally bypass him and concentrate on t-

"Wait, isn't that the traitor servant?" The muscley man on the horse said. Even as Mac had no idea what that meant, it was safe to assume it was a definite sign of aggression.

Or yeah, Mac could just run for his life. He tried to get ahold of his footing and his life, but it was like trying to skate wearing banana peels. Pushing against the ground, he stood up, and it made absolutely no difference since he was in no condition to sprint. On top of t-

The black figure. With a howling battle cry, it surged forward, unfolding its desperate clumsiness in the worst way. It was hard to make out anything, but in that split second, her eyes were what stood out the most. They glowed like polished diamonds and had a grey-ish tint to them. A sizzling energy crackled around her cornea, and then, everything blurred into one again.

He blinked– And in that second, a hooded body appeared approximately ten inches from his face. Its face was buried within a series of black loin, apart from the eyes, of course– Grey, glowing eyes, surrounded by a whirl of sizzling energy, like the midst of a thunderstorm. They were eyes that spoke– Not words, feelings. They'd been hollowed out, seen so much of reality that it'd left them as empty shells. There was a sense of fortitude and supreme confidence in those eyes, the salvaged remanents from a tragedy.

Or maybe this was just a serious case of caffeine overdose.

"Please don't kill me I don't even know who you a-" Mac prayed. At that exact moment, her black loin slipped off her face and revealed a set of sharply cut eyebrows and annoyed puckered lips.

The figure thrust her arm and punched Mac's gut. The remaining water he'd inhaled on his expedition squashed out of nostrils with an eruption worthy of a volcano. How depressing it is to have people gladly watch you die. Inclusive of the birds binge-watching the scenario.

Suddenly a memory surfaced itself in his head.

"I think he's cute– I mean, look at those poofy dead-unicorn eyes!"

"Sure, he's still a pathetic unicorn corpse."

"As a person who identifies myself as a unicorn, I'm deeply offended."

He didn't even know with whom he's spent it with– Or if he was there at all. Mac felt a bittersweet pang, and somehow, unclearly how, his heart knew the answer. It wasn't feasible to convey it in words, but those intense pangs had a source, a place from where all of it originated, of someone whom his nerves still remembered, nevermind his recollection.

The pain in his abdomen was solid– The hit was destined to leave a purpled bruise.

He did not want to faint. Not after half-recovering from a coma. No. He'd actually suffered a heinous memory loss, had turned crazy with voices in his head, and now he was destined to lose himself at a riverbank.

Mac landed on the ground.

The pain mixed with anger and frustration and streamed down his blood vessels. His cheeks heated up and they appeared suitable for roasting marshmallows. There were so many emotions in one small hit, so many thoughts streamlining, the voi- Claire was no longer audible.

He felt weak and pathetic, how he could recollect everything except his past, even some trigonometry. His body spasmed and on flowed an everlasting headache like someone was ringing bells in dissonance inside his head. There was an abrupt sensation of him frying up and then numbness took over.

When he looked at his assailant again, there was terror in those eyes.