Spencer slowly opened her eyes, her eyelids fluttering as he adjusted to the brightness of the room.
Blinking a few times, he felt a wave of confusion and disorientation wash over him.
As her surroundings came into focus, she realized she was in a hospital. The unmistakable scent of disinfectants and alcohol permeated the air, enveloping her senses.
"What happened?" He murmured, her voice barely audible.
"Did the plane crash?" The words escaped her lips in a mixture of shock and disbelief.
A surge of fear coursed through her veins. "What the hell..." he trailed off, unable to comprehend the situation fully.
"Am I still alive?" Spencer's voice wavered with uncertainty.
"How did I survive?" Her mind raced with questions, desperately seeking answers.
A sense of surrealism washed over him. "Is this a dream?" he wondered aloud, his voice laced with a tinge of hopelessness.
"Josh, where is your friend?" Spencer's voice trembled with concern as he looked around for any sign of familiarity.
Where is he?" Spencer repeated, his tone growing more urgent.
Something felt off, deeply unsettling. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had been through a plane crash, but the details remained hazy, elusive.
Had he been in a coma for years? The thought flickered through her mind, casting a shadow of doubt on her fragmented memories.
Vaguely maladjusted, he tried to piece together the jumbled fragments of his recent experiences. Nightmares of him and Josh intertwined with the presence of a mysterious hacker in a mystical, supernatural setting haunted her subconscious.
However, as she stepped through the door with Josh, the world transformed before her eyes, and bright diffused lights danced in the air, morphing into a breathtaking meteor shower. The speed seemed unreal, distorting her perception of reality.
Another bizarre and supernatural encounter.
Spencer's senses heightened, allowing him to perceive the details of the room. He could hear the reverberations of a man's roar, resonating like that of a wild animal. The sound sent a chill down her spine.
Standing at an exceptional; height of 1.92 feet (0.59 meters), Spencer considered herself tall. But the man before him towered over him, his massive frame boasting twice the muscle mass.
Spencer, a strong and reasonably healthy 48-year-old, couldn't help but wonder: Is this man turning into a werewolf? 🐺
Spencer found himself ensnared in an utterly surreal nightmare, reminiscent of a spine-chilling scene straight out of a horror flick. A mixture of dread and panic flooded his being as he became acutely aware that he stood on the precipice of being devoured, akin to the hapless victims in those bone-chilling movies.
Yet, armed with a mischievous sense of humor, Spencer couldn't help but lament his lack of a silver bullet or any means to combat the looming threat. Undeterred, he steeled himself for a showdown, determined to take down his assailant by any means necessary.
Amidst the chaos, Spencer could vividly feel the excruciating pain of the creature's bite on his neck, as if it had actually happened. The agony overwhelmed him, causing him to black out.
When he regained consciousness, Spencer believed he was finally emerging from the coma that had been induced by the accident. Memories of haunting nightmares left him shivering, a chill creeping down his spine.
Despite his attempts to rise, Spencer found himself unable to do so. A nurse's bell caught his attention, conveniently placed within his reach. He pressed the button, summoning assistance.
Soon after, a man in his sixties entered the hospital room accompanied by a nurse. Introducing himself as Dr. Jacob Evans, he approached Spencer and inquired, "Áster, how do you feel?"
"Áster?" Spencer questioned, his voice sounding peculiar to his own ears. Had his extended coma caused changes to his vocal cords, or was it yet another manifestation of the ongoing nightmare?
Dr. Jacob Evans narrowed his eyes, a flicker of recognition passing through them, but Spencer couldn't decipher its meaning.
Seeking answers, Spencer asked, "Is my friend here?"
Dr. Jacob Evans replied, "Yes, Damián is in the next room."
Curiosity piqued, Spencer inquired further, "How long have I been asleep?"
"Three days," came the doctor's response, his tone laden with a hint of concern.
Both the doctor and the nurse silently noted the significant changes in Aster's appearance.
As Spencer attempted to rise from his bed, fragments of unfamiliar memories began to swirl in his mind. These disjointed recollections felt like glitches in a scratched record, intensifying his headache until he ultimately succumbed to unconsciousness once more.
Observing Spencer's cold, moist, bluish, and pale skin, rapid breathing, and weakened state, Dr. Jacob Evans identified the signs of shock. Acting swiftly, he initiated necessary first aid procedures to stabilize the patient.
In the midst of the commotion, a tall, elegant man with a regal bearing entered the room, his attire exuding an air of sophistication. An exasperated tone laced his voice as he inquired about the situation.
"The patient has collapsed into shock," Dr. Jacob Evans informed him. "Given the circumstances and what has transpired, I kindly request that you leave so that the patient can receive proper care."
When Spencer regained consciousness for the second time, he cast his gaze out the window and saw the night enveloping the surroundings. The hospital room was partially illuminated, creating a serene atmosphere amidst the lingering sense of uncertainty.
In Spencer's hospital room, another bed occupied the space, its occupant seemingly lost in slumber. Spencer refrained from ringing the bell, opting instead to take a moment to contemplate his predicament. He needed time to gather his thoughts, to mull over the bewildering situation he found himself in.
Seating himself on the bed, Spencer's condition gradually improved, and he couldn't help but notice a striking difference in his hands. They appeared smaller, prompting a growing curiosity within him. A pressing need arose within him to locate a bathroom, a place where he could glimpse his reflection, for he had an insatiable desire to see himself.
Setting his sights on the door at the far end of the room, Spencer rose from the bed with cautious movements, ensuring that his footsteps were soundless as he made his way towards the bathroom.
Upon catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, a jolt of realization surged through Spencer. "Oh, shit, it's not me. It's the person in the mirror," he muttered, a mix of surprise and incredulity coloring his words. The figure staring back at him appeared to be in their early twenties.
Áster, as he now identified himself, possessed a visage of extraordinary beauty, akin to a meticulously crafted work of art. The natural contours of his face held a captivating allure, with his slightly fuller and rounded lower lip exuding a sense of contentment, as if life had smiled upon him. His upper lip, slightly thinner and upturned at the corners, bestowed upon him an almost perpetual smile. A straight and proportionate nose added to his lively and charismatic countenance.
But it was Áster's eyes that truly mesmerized Spencer. A deep, starry blue with hints of violet and flecks of black, they held an irresistible allure. His petite ears framed a cascade of dark curls, bestowing upon him an air of grace and modesty, with no need for elaborate hairstyling techniques. Regardless of the angle from which he observed Áster's reflection, Spencer couldn't help but acknowledge the young man's breathtaking beauty.
As Spencer gazed into those captivating eyes, a memory surfaced. Violet eyes were exceptionally rare, a unique combination associated with a genetic mutation linked to the fabled Genesis Alexandria. Carriers of this mutation were said to possess immunity to diseases, granting them longevity, youthfulness, and remarkably clear vision.
Comparatively, Spencer, at 48 years old, considered himself a handsome man, but when juxtaposed with the image in the mirror, his former features appeared somewhat blurred, lacking the captivating allure that Áster possessed.
Spencer found himself engaging in a soliloquy, attempting to calm his racing thoughts. "Is this some NASA experiment? A diabolical scheme orchestrated by a criminal entity? Perhaps an enigmatic experiment by the FBI?" He chuckled, his laughter tinged with confusion and disbelief. Frankly, he had anticipated waking up in heaven, but this bewildering turn of events was beyond anything he could have fathomed.
Exhaling gently, Spencer endeavored to relax his mind, allowing a faint smile to grace his lips. "I suppose I should start planning a long vacation," he mused aloud, attempting to find a semblance of humor amidst the chaos of his surreal dream-turned-nightmare.
The madness of the nightmare triggered memories of a mission Spencer had undertaken at the age of 36. It was a mission that had left an indelible mark on his mind, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom.
This mission had taken place several years after the tragic death of his beloved wife, Emma. During the darkest period of his life, when he had contemplated surrendering to despair, he had merely existed, a mere shell of his former self, surviving on the promise he had made to Emma. Emotional healing seemed elusive, and he toiled tirelessly, functioning like an apathetic zombie, clinging to survival.
The cooperative mission had been a joint effort among allied countries, aimed at thwarting terrorists and curbing the illicit arms trade. Spencer had collaborated closely with a French agent named Pierre Durand, playing pivotal roles in strategizing and executing the mission's objectives.
For a span of 15 days, they had masqueraded as a couple on vacation, taking up residence in a luxurious resort. While their true purpose was to infiltrate the arms dealers' network, their days were spent appearing like enthusiastic tourists, exploring the opulent surroundings and indulging in the amenities the resort had to offer.
Even after the successful completion of their mission to intercept the arms dealers, Spencer and Pierre had remained fast friends. Pierre was a peculiar and enigmatic individual, someone Spencer deemed as different, though not in a negative sense. In fact, he regarded Pierre as an exceptional agent.
Pierre carried a collection of books with him during their time together, despite having little familiarity with literature. The volumes featured stories from otherworldly realms, captivating Spencer's curiosity. One day, while they were in their shared hotel room, Pierre had flung a book onto the ground in evident displeasure. Observing his French companion's agitation, Spencer had wondered what had transpired.
The memory of that particular incident lingered in Spencer's mind, mingling with the bewildering circumstances he currently found himself in.