Darkness.
Endless, suffocating darkness. Joe tried to move, tried to feel anything, but there was nothing. Just an eternal void that consumed everything.
'Is this death?'
The thought echoed in the emptiness. He had expected his mother's voice, Emma's laughter, something. Instead, only nothingness stretched in every direction.
Then something shifted. A heartbeat pulsed through the void—not his own, but someone else's. The darkness began to crack, and suddenly Joe could feel weight pressing down on him. Heavy, foreign weight that didn't belong to his body.
'What... what is this?'
Joe tried to move his hand—just his fingers, anything—and felt the faintest twitch. The sensation was wrong, like wearing gloves that were too big, but it was something. He focused harder, willing his arm to obey, and felt it shift slightly under what seemed to be blankets.
His vision flickered, gray shapes swimming in and out of focus. The world looked like it was underwater, all blurred edges and shifting shadows. Slowly, painfully, the shapes began to solidify into recognizable forms—ceiling tiles, fluorescent lights, the sterile white walls of what looked like a hospital room.
'Where... where am I?'
Joe tried to sit up, but pain exploded through his skull like a sledgehammer. He groaned, the sound coming out hoarse and unfamiliar, and raised his hand to his head. The movement felt clumsy, uncoordinated, like he was controlling someone else's body through thick syrup.
When his hand came into view, Joe's breath caught in his throat.
The skin was pale—paler than his had ever been—with long, slender fingers that definitely weren't his. These hands were smooth, unmarked by the scars he'd accumulated over the years. No callus on his right middle finger from gripping pencils too tightly. No jagged line across his palm from falling through glass when he was ten.
'This isn't... this isn't my hand.'
Panic surged through him as he stared at the foreign appendage. The skin, the shape, even the way the fingers moved—none of it belonged to him. He flexed his fingers experimentally, watching them respond to his commands despite feeling completely alien.
A soft snore drew his attention across the room. Slumped in an uncomfortable-looking chair was a young man about his age, silver hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the window. His face was sharp and aristocratic, all clean lines and perfect angles, but worry creased his brow even in sleep. He wore a simple gray hoodie and dark jeans, nothing fancy but clean and well-kept.
Joe turned toward the window, desperate to understand where he was, and caught sight of his own reflection in the glass.
The face staring back at him was a stranger's.
Black hair fell messily across a pale forehead, framing features that were somehow both sharper and softer than his own had been. The bone structure was different—more refined, like it belonged to someone who'd never missed a meal or slept on a couch that smelled like cigarettes and disappointment. Dark eyes stared back at him, wide with confusion and fear. He was wearing a standard hospital gown, pale blue and wrinkled from sleep.
'What the hell is happening to me?'
"Mike? Mike, you okay?"
Joe spun toward the voice, wincing as his head protested the sudden movement. The silver-haired guy was sitting up now, rubbing sleep from green eyes that sparkled with relief.
"You scared the shit out of me, man," the stranger continued, standing and stretching. "Been sitting here for hours waiting for you to wake up. How you feeling?"
Joe opened his mouth to speak, but only a croak came out. He tried again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Who... who's Mike?"
"You are, dumbass." Liam grinned, though concern flickered in his eyes. "Michael Andrews. Ring any bells?"
"Who... who are you?" Joe's voice was getting stronger, though it still didn't sound right.
The guy's expression shifted from relief to worry. "It's me—Liam. Liam Torres. Your devastatingly handsome best friend?" He tried to joke, but it fell flat. "The doctors said you might be a little foggy, but come on. You're starting to worry me."
'Best friend.' The words hit Michael like a physical blow. Images flashed through his mind—Kevin's smug face, finding him and Sarah together in his bed, the way his so-called best friend had betrayed him with his own girlfriend. His jaw clenched involuntarily, and for a moment, something dark flickered across his features.
"You okay?" Liam asked, noticing the change. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Michael forced his expression to neutral. 'Is this real, or am I dreaming?' he wondered, studying Liam's concerned face. 'This can't be happening.' But the wariness remained, coiled tight in his chest like a snake ready to strike.
"I..." Michael's voice was getting stronger. "I don't remember—"
"Hey, hey, it's okay." Liam moved closer, his expression gentling. "The doctors explained this might happen. Memory loss from the... from what happened. But they said it should come back gradually. Don't force it."
Liam's throat worked as he swallowed hard, like the words wanted to stick. When he continued, his usual easy demeanor faltered slightly. "Look, Michael, your family's been worried sick. They were traveling when this happened, but they're almost back now. I told them I'd pick you up once the doctor cleared you for discharge."
'Michael. My name is Michael now.' Joe tried to process this information. He had a family here. People who cared about him. The concept felt so foreign after years of Martha's resentment that he almost couldn't grasp it.
"How many days have I been here?" Michael asked.
"Four days," Liam replied, pulling a small bag from under his chair. "Oh, and I brought you some clean clothes. Figured you'd want to get out of that hospital gown."
Michael took the bag gratefully. Inside were simple clothes—jeans, a black t-shirt, and a jacket. Nothing fancy, but they were clean and smelled like laundry detergent instead of antiseptic.
"How... how did I get here?" Michael asked as he changed behind the privacy curtain. "What happened to me?"
Liam's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "The doctors said you'd ask that. Look, it was just an accident, okay? Nothing you need to worry about right now."
"That's not an answer." Michael emerged from behind the curtain, feeling more human in regular clothes. "You didn't answer my question."
"Just a little accident, you heard?" Liam's tone suggested the topic was closed, but Michael caught the way his hands clenched slightly. "Anyway, that's not important now. What matters is you're okay and—"
His phone buzzed, and Liam's entire demeanor brightened as if someone had flipped a switch. "Oh, perfect timing! Your sister just texted. She's home now." He pocketed the phone and clapped his hands together. "Come on, buddy, let's get you out of this place. Hospitals give me the creeps."
Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing his weight. Everything felt wrong—his center of gravity, the length of his limbs, even the way his feet hit the floor. But he managed to stand without falling over, which felt like a small victory.
Before they could leave, a nurse appeared in the doorway with a clipboard floating beside her—though she seemed to be the only one who noticed this was unusual.
"Michael Andrews?" she asked with a warm smile. "I need to go over a few things before you're discharged."
She quickly checked his pupils with a small flashlight, had him follow her finger with his eyes, and asked a few basic questions about his pain levels. The whole process took maybe three minutes.
"Any dizziness or nausea?" she asked, making notes on her clipboard without touching it.
"No, I feel fine," Michael replied, trying not to stare as her pen moved across the paper by itself.
"Good. Here's your discharge paperwork and follow-up instructions." The papers floated from her clipboard into Michael's hands. "Take it easy for the next few days, and if you experience any severe headaches or confusion, come back immediately."
"Thanks," Michael managed, still processing what he'd just witnessed.
They made their way through the hospital corridors, Liam chattering about mundane things—the weather, some mutual friends Michael couldn't remember, plans for the weekend. Michael only half-listened, too focused on the strangeness of walking in this borrowed body.
As they walked, Michael noticed something odd. A nurse at the reception desk was organizing files without touching them—papers floating through the air in neat stacks before settling into drawers. A doctor further down the hall gestured casually, and a clipboard slid across a counter into his waiting hand.
'Am I seeing things?' Michael blinked hard, expecting the strange sight to disappear. But when he looked again, another nurse was casually moving medical supplies through the air with just a wave of her hand. 'Maybe the head injury was worse than I thought.'
He glanced at Liam, but his supposed best friend seemed completely unbothered, still talking about some mutual acquaintance's new job. Michael decided to keep his observations to himself for now.
When they stepped outside, Michael was struck by how normal everything looked at first glance. Regular sidewalks, regular buildings, regular people walking around. But then he noticed the cars.
Some taxis sat normally on the street, their tires firmly on the ground. But others—others were floating several feet in the air, hovering silently as passengers climbed in through doors that opened into empty space.
"Are those—" Michael started to point.
"Yeah, floating cars," Liam interrupted, giving him a strange look. "Michael, you're acting all weird. You've seen plenty of those before."
Liam flagged down one of the ground-based taxis, and they both climbed into the back seat. The interior looked normal enough, though Michael noticed the driver had a small device on his dashboard that pulsed with soft blue light.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
Liam rattled off an address—"Maple District, 47 Clearview Lane"—that meant nothing to Michael.
As they drove through the city streets, Liam's phone buzzed again. He glanced at it and grinned. "Sophie says she made your favorite—that weird pasta thing you always ask for. She's the best sister, even if she's a pain in the ass."
Michael stared out the window, watching the mix of normal and floating vehicles navigate the streets. In the distance, he could make out massive walls stretching toward the sky—not the concrete barriers of a modern city, but something ancient and imposing that seemed to encircle the entire area.
'What kind of place is this?' he wondered, watching a group of teenagers casually levitate their backpacks while walking to school. 'This isn't Earth. This can't be Earth.'
"Hey," Liam's voice broke through his thoughts. "You're being awfully quiet. Sure you're feeling okay?"
"Just... processing everything," Michael replied, which wasn't entirely a lie.
"Fair enough. Memory loss is weird shit. But don't worry—you'll be back to your old self in no time."
Michael nodded absently, still staring out at this impossible world. The old him—Joe—was dead, crushed under a train's wheels. But Michael... Michael had a family waiting for him, a best friend who cared enough to sit by his hospital bed for four days, and a sister who made his favorite food.
For the first time in years, he felt something he'd almost forgotten existed: hope.
'Maybe this is a second chance,' he thought as they drove toward his new life. 'Maybe I can be someone different here. Someone better.'