Malachai Walker opened his eyes and the first thing he felt was… nothing. No chronic back pain from entire nights farming raids in WoW, no exhaustion from a 24-year-old body that was already starting to betray him. Just a high, immaculate white ceiling, a chandelier screaming "rich," and the subtle aroma of vanilla and freshly ground coffee.
"Where the fuck am I?"
He sat up. His body felt different leaner, younger, more energetic, like when he was seventeen, with adolescent muscles that hadn't fully developed yet and a decent height.
His hands trembled as he looked at them: short nails, smooth skin, no cigarette-burn scars from the stupid shit he did at 22. He glanced at the wardrobe mirror and saw a different face.
The boy in the reflection had warm chestnut hair with honey highlights under the light, falling in deliberate messy waves, as if each strand had been styled by the wind itself. A few more rebellious curls curved over his forehead and brushed his arched eyebrows, giving him the look of someone who'd just come out of a run or a restless dream. It was the attractive kind of disorder that doesn't require effort to be unforgettable.
His eyes were large, an intense, almost unreal translucent blue, like pieces of sky trapped in sea glass. They stared back with an unsettling mix of panic, confusion, and surprise. Beneath them, the dark circles were barely a whisper enough to suggest long nights of thoughts or clandestine reading, but without stealing his freshness.
The memories of the "other" Malachai hit like a data punch: father who bailed to California three years ago, successful lawyer mother, huge house on the outskirts of…
"Riverdale?" he muttered, frowning.
He sighed. He still couldn't fully process everything flooding his brain.
He had died in his old life. Now he inhabited a new body in a new world or so he believed.
"Malachai, honey! Get down here or you'll be late for school!" a female voice shouted from downstairs. A voice he recognized instantly because he had seen her in… well, very specific corners of the internet.
Cory Chase.
His mother in this world.
He went downstairs still in boxers to investigate. The house was ridiculously huge seemed built of marble, floor-to-ceiling windows, a pool in the backyard visible from the open kitchen.
Cory Chase stood there, impeccable tailored suit, skirt effortlessly hugging curves, blonde hair in a professional bun. Thirty eight years old but looked ten years younger. She gave him a warm, maternal smile, yet with that intensity of someone always watching the clock.
"Good morning, sweetheart. I left breakfast ready. And please put something on before Betty comes by again to borrow the biology book." She said with a soft laugh, adjusting her glasses while checking her agenda on the phone.
'Betty. Betty Cooper. The neighbor. Riverdale. This can't be real…'
Malachai forced a smile.
"Sure, Mom. I'll be down in a minute."
He went back up, showered in a bathroom that looked like a five-star spa, put on the Riverdale High uniform (navy blazer, white shirt, loose tie), and came down.
While devouring scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, he opened his phone. Social media, local news.
The headline hit him like a truck-kun:
'Riverdale, Maine - The Town That Left Its Dark Past Behind'
Article from 2018: 'Almost thirty years ago, after a series of inexplicable disappearances in 1988-1989, residents voted to change the name from Derry to Riverdale to heal collective wounds and attract family tourism…'
Malachai dropped the fork. His heart pounded so hard he felt it in his throat.
'Derry. The Derry from IT. Pennywise. The clown that feeds on fear every 27 years. And I'm here, with all the movie memories, no system, no cheat code. Just me—an otaku—and a mother who… well, looks like she stepped out of a +18 video.'
He took a deep breath. Calmed himself. Panic was useless right now.
"Malachai, you okay? You look pale," Cory asked from the doorway, purse in hand. "You seem… distant."
"Just… tired, Mom. Stayed up gaming too late," he lied.
She smiled, approached, and kissed his cheek lingering half a second longer than necessary. She smelled of expensive perfume and something else… maternal yet with an edge that made his new body react uncomfortably.
"Take care today. And if you see Beth Boland next door, remind her the book club meeting is tomorrow. She's been a little stressed lately… money problems, you know."
Malachai just nodded distractedly.
Once his mother left, he stepped outside.
The neighborhood was like a postcard: restored Victorian houses, impeccable lawns, gray Maine sky. To his right, Betty Cooper was watering the flowers on her porch. High ponytail, pastel pink cardigan buttoned all the way up, modest pleated skirt. Perfect blonde, big expressive blue eyes. She saw him and blushed slightly, lowering her gaze shyly.
"H-hi, Malachai…" she said softly, voice gentle and polite. "About the math notes, you know, I can lend them to you later and help with the homework…" She smiled with genuine, nervous sweetness, as if talking to someone took real effort. No flirting. Just pure kindness the perfect girl who always helped everyone.
"Hi Betty, sure, that'd be a big help," Malachai replied with a light smile.
When he turned left, Beth Boland was in her garden, pruning rose bushes with surgical precision. Brunette, natural curves, comfortable housewife clothes (jeans, simple blouse), but with the tense posture of someone carrying the weight of the world. She greeted him with a tired but kind smile.
"Hey, Mal. Tell your mom not to worry about the club thing. And… thanks again for the other day, helping with the grocery bags. Dean wasn't around, as usual," she said wearily, faint dark circles under her eyes. Financial problems. Debts. A shaky marriage. She hadn't yet crossed the line into crime. But she was teetering on the edge.
"No problem, Mrs. Boland, and don't worry, it was nothing. If you ever need help with anything else, just ask," Malachai said, waving with a smile.
'Two neighbors. One shy genius, the other a housewife on the brink. Two women who could become perfect wives, but I'm in a town where a killer clown can jump out of any bush and eat me alive. Great, perfect and me here with no golden finger, no powers, nothing to defend myself with. Simply splendid,' he thought, his mouth turning sour.
He climbed into his truck (a gift from the absent father) and drove off. He needed space to think. He wasn't even going to school today.
He took the road toward the center dense forests, thick fog, the Kenduskeag river shining like oxidized silver. He pulled over to the side to breathe and figure out his next move.
'Goal: survive. Obstacles: IT. No system, nothing to keep me safe from that thing. Only my memories of what's coming. The only thing I can do to stay alive is find that mystical dagger and I'm not even sure it exists in this world.'
He spent most of the time in his car thinking and praying for a system to activate or some dormant superpower to awaken. Nothing happened.
Frustrated, with the sun setting, he decided to head home, soft music playing in the background. He had no idea his life was about to change forever.
Suddenly, a brilliant flash tore across the sky, splitting it in half. At first he thought it was a plane, but looking up, he realized what was approaching had no wings or fuselage. It was smaller, stranger, completely at odds with the mundane drive. Then the glowing object began plummeting like a meteor in free fall, and Malachai felt time stop.
A thunderous crack shattered the calm atmosphere. The craft crashed wildly a few meters from the truck, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. Malachai, eyes wide and heart racing, slammed on the brakes. In his mind, disbelief mixed with excitement, the powers he'd been searching for seemed to have arrived right then.
When the dust settled, he could see the small craft: round, metallic, gleaming under the sunlight. Its surface bore the marks of atmospheric friction, as though it had traveled at unimaginable speed. Scratches and dents covered it, but the design was unmistakably futuristic.
The ship was exactly as he remembered from that childhood movie he'd watched out of boredom: Skyrunners. Small, silver, with glowing blue alien symbols.
"This is real. The ship. The one that gave the kid powers. Perfect body, strength, speed, and so much more." His heart pounded with excitement.
He looked around. Deserted road.
"Now we're talking. With this, there's nothing left to fear." A cold smile spread across his thin lips the smile of someone who just spotted the glitch that breaks the game.
He dragged the craft to his truck (surprisingly light). Covered it with a tarp and sped home without looking back. If this ship existed, the men hunting it probably did too.
And indeed, after Malachai left, men in suits arrived at the scene… but found nothing.
Malachai, already far away, smiled and gripped the wheel tightly.
"I died, and now I'm in a new world: killer clown, alien ship, possible alien invasion coming soon."
"These next few months aren't going to be calm at all…" Malachai murmured with a soft, cold smile. This new world, terrifying as it was, felt… fun. He no longer wanted anything to do with his old boring life. If this was a dream… he never wanted to wake up.