He held the shout inside. Where was this place? A tiny room enclosed him - all gleaming, aged timber. A lone, dirty window let in weak light. Not a place you'd find in Oxforth - so where was this, then?
She came nearer, that girl with eyes like jade. Before he quite registered it, she was close enough to touch - her warm breath a whisper on his cheek. His pulse jolted, a wild drumbeat echoing the shock rippling through him. He jumped, a quick reaction. Here we go again. Is she going to accuse me of something now?
But instead of an accusation, he felt a light, sharp flick against his forehead. He winced, blinking in confusion. The protest... "What was that for?", was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. He was adrift in a sea he didn't know of, and speaking out of turn felt more dangerous than staying silent.
"Why are you still ignoring me?" the girl asked. "I told you I'm sorry already."
The things she said stole his voice. There was simply no record of a fight, nor offering amends. Moreover, he hadn't a clue who this woman was. He suddenly understood - or did he? It felt heavy, dropping into stillness within him. Was I reincarnated? It feels like something from ancient stories within the history books.
He lifted his palms once more, checking - they weren't right. Not his own. A different person's hands. So, this is what becoming someone else feels like. So, I reincarnated. Not gone. Relief bloomed, then quickly turned to dread. Yet - was that even worth celebrating? Lost. That's how I feel - no bearings, no self. A nagging worry creeps in: could things actually get worse?
"Are you still mad at me?" she asked, those green eyes of hers boring into him - a jolt that yanked him back from wherever he'd drifted off to.
Clive... no, the person everyone here saw as 'Dave'. The name 'Tanya' surfaced in his mind from some hidden, instinctual place, a piece of this new identity clicking into place. "No, Tanya," he heard himself say, the name feeling foreign on his tongue.
Hold on.. where did that memory come from?
Tanya's face softened; a small smile appeared. Rising, she offered her hand. "I'm buying," she said. "How about we find some food?"
His hand in hers felt strange, yet he allowed her pull him up. Resistance seemed pointless - her hold was strong, resolute, drawing him from the flat onto a tight lane bordered by structures much like their own.
A lively diner - noisy, warm, brimming with chatter alongside crashing dishes - was where she brought him. Across from one another, they settled onto a wood bench. Tanya rattled off her order - beef stew, shrimp roasted golden, then mashed potatoes alongside rice - as if she did this every day. It was a feast built for at least three.
Clive, looking at the impending feast, couldn't help himself. "Isn't this too much?" he asked.
Tanya scoffed, her eyebrows knitting together. "Are you trying to make a joke out of it? Or something else?" When he could only offer a blank stare in return, her irritation flared. "Dave, don't tell me you hit your head so hard that you forgot. Today is our last day here."
Her gaze locked onto his, intense. She reached, seized his wrist, then flipped it. He stared - a pale line marred his skin, a sign utterly foreign to him.
Seeing his complete and utter bafflement, Tanya's shock was palpable. "Wait," she whispered. "You mean to tell me you forgot that we've been branded by the Game Maker? That tonight we'll be joining his game? The one with the 0.01% chance of survival?" Her grip on his wrist tightened. "Dave, you mean to tell me you forgot this very important thing?"
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The noise of the restaurant faded into a dull roar. The Game Maker. A brand. A 0.01% chance. The synopsis of his second life was more horrifying than his first.
Clive was gripped by one idea, silencing all others.
Shit!
Just starting over - a fresh life, actually - he found out it wouldn't last past dark.