Take an object, and make it as real as possible. Then mistune it ever slightly. Make it true but also seemingly wrong. Incorrect.
Welcome to the uncanny valley.
I rinse off my face, and look at myself before me. My acne treatment seems to do well for me. I style my hair, applying a clay product with a couple good squeezes of water spray. Swipe left. Swipe forward.
There, I look slick.
My wardrobe, guided as per my role models, displays a selection of fine attire. Dress shirts, quality jeans, and suits and pants in five appeasing tones.
Seventy-five out of five. What a wondrous man.
I go for a nice casual drip. Some quality denim come down at slim fit on my legs, showing off a nice plain black. I go a for a band t-shirt underneath my patterned dress shirt; you have to rep the Alcatraz's!
A nice pair of aviators hang from my shirt. It shimmers off the sun as I leave for higher learning.
My old man calls for me. I take the back seat.
"Sit in the passenger seat! I'm not a taxicab!"
"It looks cooler this way, dad!"
"Hey, son, so you've watched the latest spring releases, right? How'd you like it?"
"No, dad! Anime is for weirdos."
Whatever. I take out my phone and scroll through the feed. Good role models here. This guy talks about investing and using your capital wisely. That guy preaches good morals and discipline.
Look at this fitness influencer. I can barely bench two plates.
Look at this video, it has a dragon.
That's some pretty good CGI for a dragon. The feathers are reminiscent of feathered dinosaurs, and the lighting and physics make it truly part of our existence. I have an admiration for these kind of studios, because that's the kind of work that produces good movies and stories. Also, look at this school. It seems the cameraman is going for a "recorded horror" look, as if it happened. The screams sound so familiar.
What? Is that my school?
I drop my phone on the cushion, screen facing down. I look out the window. Oh. That's the dragon. That's the school.
And that's a fire department.
And that's a big, big fire.
Well, they fucking deserved it. All the kids at that school are weird as shit. Burn. Burn in righteous fire. One of the clubs there was called "Alt Appreciation" and they were so unhealthily obsessed with nose rings, lip piercings, face tattoos that it surprised me the school didn't crackdown on them.
Don't even get me started on theater kids. They're overweight, depressed, and consuming crusty chips by the dozen so much that I've seen an entire cheese puff waxed into the floor.
Zero self-respect.
"Hey, uh buddy, let's go home."
I ripped out a trenchgun from underneath the seat and, throwing open the passenger door and putting on my sunglasses, ran out the car. There's a crisis here, and I'm running towards it. That fucking flying lizard probably killed someone.
"H-Hey! Aaron! Get back- Fuck!"
My dad followed me with his rifle. Should I turn? My sprint grew faster when he shouted at me. The tree, sidewalk, and all sorts of scenery flew behind me. His begging voice grew fainter.
I called back "Sorry dad, you raised a leader, not a follower!"
He's barely keeping up, his rifle just hanging by the sling.
As we reach the start of the school's entrance, a stampede of students passed by us. A group of friends, I recognized immediately, laughing loudly as they "skipped school." My eyes drift over each student as my sprint slowed to a brisk pace. There was a tall girl who could be on a football team, and, how come the entrance is so open? No police car? No yellow tape? I only see a lone fire engine fighting the flames.
And more than that, the firefighters are cowering from the pissant dragon.
I ran inside the vulnerable entrance.
Where is the dragon? I spin my head around, looking for the flying thing. That red monster is nowhere to be seen in the lunch area. I'm running everywhere - behind the math class, in the lunch area, and up in the sky from wherever - but can't be all the places, right?
The sports area.
I make headway into the sports area. There the track field smoldered with arcane flame, and the basketball hoops had lain fallen over and trampled. I can just smell the raze of char and smoking wasteland. The smog fills my lungs, and then-
The stench of rotting flesh hits me.
Burning flesh.
Fuck that! I look away from any scorch marks, and focus on where the beast ought to be. Wait, there's a group of kids gathered around here?
I wave my hands. "Hey, you have to get out!"
My running carries me forth, and I place my hand on the rotting kid. Smoking embers flew from his eyeholes. And a couple more flames spurted from my hand. The kid must be dead already.
My hand glowed a bright orange.
No, no. No!
I stumble away, and then fall upon my hands and knees. Digestive acids hurl from my stomach and onto the asphalt. It's green. It's textured. All those kernels and this porridge of nutritional soup forms a puddle before me.
Licks of fire slipped from my fingers, but then I smacked my hand against the asphalt. Get it out! Put it out! Each smack and smother bring rushes and stings of pain. Fuck it's not working!
No, think smarter. My hand lays flat and then I chest-smother my own hand.
The heat burns, but as I sit up, my hand had stopped burning.
I stand up. What's even going on? Every thought that spurred forth, every twitching movement I make, that stomach-sick feeling rushed forth. My head felt light. The sky was still a dark red above, but now my vision felt hindered by a black haze.
Everything felt blurry. A feeling of death felt closer. My lungs are burning. They're screaming at me. I feel sick to my core, but I have to stand up.
I lift my trenchgun, and run forth until I slip on my own puke.
Behind me was the dragon. It sat there, like a crumbling statue. The view around the dragon, it warped and turned like its very own body heat produced a mirage, and yet besides it too was a mirage of visions - a tear through reality itself.
A rip in space-time? A portal to another world?
Where is my father? Did he come over to help?
"Hey dad!" I called out, but yet heard no response. Only the solemn crisp of fallen children whispered back to me.
This phenomena - that's where the flying lizard must have left through. This portal is big enough to let that bastard through. Think about it, a magical creature needs a magical beginning.
My calves shock forth. I send myself through the portal.
As these rings of reality fell behind me, there was this field of hilly grass, these cream clouds painting the sky, those fieldworks of stone dotting the landscape, and now as I stood in that fantastic world, I've been surrounded by a gathering of mystical, imperial garb. The people before me seemed like they were just above my own age, around twenty years old or so, wearing simple white silks with jade accents, their hair flowed in length; they wore no helms or wreaths.
If they could, I would be dead, so I ready my trenchgun in the new world.
These wisemen (and wisewomen) look at me in bewilderment, their countenance giving off a mix of fear and excitement. They all speak a mix of gibberish and some oriental language, as if their words operate upon syllables rather than consonants and vowels.
From their unintelligible muttering, I can only make out one English word.
"H-Hero. . ."
Hero? That's not right – this isn't a fairy tale. There is no such thing as a hero, yet they've gathered here for such a purpose. At least they're somewhat friendly. I'm not quite sure what to think about them. Wait, what's this presence behind me?!
"Huh, me-e-e!?" A girl pops up behind me. Her lipstick glosses with red, and her skin a most fair powdered white, but her dress slithered down to a gothic black - patterned like a tapestry of dead flowers. She squeaks, "I'm not a hero, I'm a girlboss!"
W-What the fuck? Who invited this goth girl over here!? And who's that other nerd to the left of her? Her younger brother?
"I th- think." The nerd fixes his glasses. "I think we're inside an 「いせかい」."
What kind of anime fuck did he just say?
"O- Ohhhh! Ohio go soy sauce!" The goth bowed down. "Did I say it right! Did I say it right?!"
The wisemen bowed in response. Some of them got on their arms and knees - a kowtow. Their de facto leader, a balding muscle-head, spoke back in a language completely unlike whatever anime shit these two goofballs said.
Are they oriental Romans?
The nerd flicked his glasses. "Hm! I think we're here to save the day!"
I punched the nerd.
He fell back, and his spectacles fell back in two halves.
I screamed. "What the fuck are you! Why am I here! Why was my school on fire!"
"Whu-Whuh!" The wimp tears up.
"What makes you think you know what you're talking abou-u-ea-aghk!"
A swing came through my jaw, my mouth sliding sideways. I stumble, slipping onto the dirt; my face eats dirt. Blood spurts forth; the taste of iron swells through my tongue.
"You broke his glasses!"
Fucking goth bitch. "Hey! Where are we!"
"I don't know! We followed you here. Aaron, I thought you were cool! I thought you would help people in need!"
"Yeah what about it?"
"Fuck you, you're fake!"
The goth bitch spews her slander, but then some shimmering aura of gold falls around us. A chain of ethereal hue traced from us to one of the wisemen. His single eye, dark with a hint of red, stares through us. That little pupil slit with silver shimmers the same gold glow. Only some ambient chirping and the wash of a cool breeze came through the silence. Perched on his shoulder was a smaller, tinier, red dragon.
"Welcome to our world, foreigners. You are all here because we have a problem. You solve that problem. You go home. You don't solve that problem. You go bye-bye." The speech sounds awfully machine-translated. "On my shoulder is a spawn of the devil. You take care of the devil. You master the devil. You point the devil at our enemies. You kill our enemies. That is a deal."
Oh. Ohhh. Oh-oh-ho-ho. Ho. Hoe.
This fucking hoe.
We're not heroes.
We're child soldiers!