Anthony trudged through the scorching desert, the rocky ground radiating blistering heat. The temperature shift from the rift's exit was jarring, as if he'd entered a furnace. Above, the sun blazed, already high in the sky, contradicting the early sunrise he'd left behind on Earth.
Each step felt labored, the dense air weighing him down. Scorching gusts sliced across his skin, leaving tiny lacerations. The planet's intense pressure bore down on him, like shouldering an immense burden.
The alien landscape unfolded before him. Unfamiliar plants dotted the desert, their bright red, blood-like leaves glistening in the harsh light. Purple trunks anchored them, defying Earth's botanical norms. Scientists would covet these specimens, but Anthony disregarded them, his focus unwavering.
He pressed on, unrelenting.
Anthony pressed on, his purposeful stride unwavering, despite the lack of landmarks or guidance. Periodic glances at his watch reminded him of the ticking clock, as eight hours was his deadline.
As he walked, Anthony left subtle markers with his brick hammer, ensuring his return path. His pace quickened to a jog, devouring distance.
Two hours passed before the desolate landscape transformed. Vegetation thickened, and in the distance, a forest emerged – an unsettling tapestry of blood-red leaves and ominous purple trunks.
No sane person would venture into this alien landscape alone, but Anthony showed no hesitation. He tied a vibrant green cloth to a tree, the color jarring against the crimson foliage. This was one of the shredded shirt pieces he'd prepared beforehand.
With the marker in place, Anthony stepped into the forest's shadows.
Anthony navigated the dense forest, machete in hand, leather gloves protecting his palms. The undergrowth slowed his pace, but he pressed on, unwavering.
After an hour, he found his target: a blood tree, distinguishable only by the droplets falling from its leaves. "Finally," Anthony sighed, relief etched on his face.
He rested, drinking water, and surveyed his surroundings. This tree, uniquely, shed water, a phenomenon he'd known existed but hadn't understood.
Rejuvenated, Anthony scrutinized the ground where the blood drops landed. "Damn," he muttered, finding no visible signs.
Undeterred, he began digging beneath each drop, seeking the elusive vegetable – a crimson, potato-like treasure hidden beneath the blood tree's roots.
Anthony carefully dug with his brick hammer, following the blood drops. Finally, he uncovered one, cleaning it with drinking water. This was the proof he needed – confirmation of his future self's existence.
He had navigated the desert and forest with uncanny familiarity, but now, holding the blood potato, everything felt different. It was as if he had been on autopilot until this moment.
"My knowledge is not wrong," Anthony affirmed, convinced.
Finding three blood potatoes made the trip worthwhile. He left an empty bottle under the dripping leaves and began preparing one of the potatoes. Peeling it revealed a vibrant purple interior.
Anthony stabbed the potato, then torched it with his lighter. Minutes passed, and the potato was transformed.
Anthony gazed at the potato with trepidation. Consuming it raw would unleash an intense surge of protein and energy, potentially overwhelming his body. Diluting it would mitigate the risks but diminish its potency.
Memories of past hardships flooded his mind. He recalled feeling helpless, powerless until the end. But now, with this potato, everything changed.
Five years earlier than before, Anthony's journey began anew. A spark ignited within him, fueling his determination.
"A new starting line," he whispered, eyes gleaming with resolve.
The blood potato, a crucial catalyst, would propel humanity's fight for survival. Anthony's grip on the potato tightened.
"I will kill them..." Anthony's voice grew fiercer. "I will kill them all!!"
With a swift motion, he devoured the blood potato, swallowing it whole.
Sitting still, he monitored his body's reactions. The initial energy surge hit minutes later.
A warm sensation spread from his throat and chest, intensifying throughout his body. Muscles tensed, fists clenched.
Gritting his teeth, Anthony grabbed a nearby wooden stick, biting down hard.
The energy overwhelmed him, heat radiating from his chest. "UGHH!!!!"
Pain contorted his face, muscles locked in agony. His body felt aflame, fire coursing through his veins.
Anthony's resolve was tested, but he held on.
He couldn't hold out any longer, and started to punch the hard ground.
"UUUUUGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"
Anthony's body was ablaze, every fiber screaming in agony. The pain consumed him, and he lost control.
Convulsions racked his body, flailing and punching wildly. Self-inflicted wounds multiplied as he smashed his forehead into the ground and nearby trees.
Despite severe injuries, he thrashed on, unstoppable.
Finally, darkness claimed him, and he collapsed.
***
Outside the rift, Anthony's father, Ethan, waited. A group of people arrived shortly after Anthony left, securing the area with cordons to keep onlookers out. They worked with a simple, relaxed efficiency, clearly accustomed to their task. One of them, a young man, noticed Ethan watching them and approached him.
"Good morning, sir," the young man said.
"Good morning," Ethan replied.
"I noticed you keeping an eye on the rift," the young man continued. "Did you perhaps notice something unusual before we arrived?" Ethan hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "I might have seen someone enter as I drove by, but I could have just imagined it."
The young man raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Ethan asked, "Are you guys from the government?"
The young man shook his head. "We're not, but we have authority over what happens with the rifts."
Ethan's curiosity was piqued. "What happens to someone who enters one of them?" he asked. "I heard the government strongly suggests keeping a safe distance from the rifts, but it's not illegal."
The young man nodded. "That's correct. It's not illegal, but we take precautions to prevent accidents, especially when rifts appear in high-traffic areas like this one."
The young man seemed genuine and willing to share information. Ethan observed that the rift was indeed located in the middle of a busy street, posing a potential hazard to distracted drivers.
Ethan's curiosity led him to ask, "Your organization has authority over the rifts, but do you do more than just keep people out of them?" Kevin's expression turned thoughtful. "We have multiple branches focusing on different aspects of rift management. My branch specifically deals with preventing accidents and mitigating risks associated with the rifts."
Ethan nodded, intrigued. "I see..." Kevin's eyes sparkled with interest. "Was there something specific you were curious about, sir?" Ethan began to respond, but Kevin interrupted with a smile. "Let me introduce myself, sir. My name is Kevin Lewis." He extended his hand for a handshake. Ethan smiled, shaking Kevin's hand. "I'm Ethan."
Kevin's curiosity got the better of him. "What are you curious about, sir Ethan?" Ethan's response was unexpected. "Is it true that the rifts don't close within the first eight hours from the moment they open?" Kevin's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the question. "W-where did you hear that?" he stuttered.
Ethan shrugged nonchalantly. "The internet." Kevin's expression turned skeptical. A few organizations worldwide had access to such intel, but it was strictly monitored to prevent incidents. For a random person to possess this information, especially near a rift, seemed more than coincidental.
Kevin's eyes narrowed, and he subtly signaled to his companions. They slowly began to close in, surrounding Ethan. "Mr. Ethan, I apologize for the inconvenience, but you're going to have to come with us." Ethan's eyes widened in alarm. "What?"
Ethan's eyes darted behind him, but it was too late. He was already surrounded. Though he hadn't intended to flee, the option was now off the table. His earlier words had been a calculated gamble, designed to test the group's knowledge about Anthony's claims. The outcome was telling: they did know, and that information was more significant than Ethan had anticipated.
With a newfound sense of unease, Ethan nodded. "Alright, I'll go willingly." He was escorted to their car and driven away, leaving the rift and his previous life behind.
***
Minutes ticked by, and Anthony lay motionless. Suddenly, he began sweating profusely. A black, sticky fluid mixed with his sweat, drenching his body. He stirred, groaning in agony. "Ughh!!" The initial energy surge had passed, but the blood potato's digestion was far from over. Although the most intense pain had subsided, the aftermath still seared his body.
Anthony struggled to sit up, battered and bruised. His eyes locked onto his trembling hands, and he assessed his wounds. Relieved, he found they weren't as severe as expected. His hands and head bore the brunt of the damage, but none of the injuries threatened long-term harm. As he regained full consciousness, Anthony realized he was drenched in the sticky, foul-smelling black liquid.
Anthony reached for a water bottle, pouring it over his head to rinse away the foul liquid. He repeated the process with several more bottles, refreshing himself with each rinse. Feeling revitalized, Anthony stood up, surveying his surroundings. The forest, once ominous, now seemed less intimidating in the fading light.
His gaze fell upon the remaining blood potatoes, a reminder of his purpose. He checked the time; six and a half hours had passed since he entered the rift. Although he was cutting it close, he wasn't overly concerned. Anthony packed his belongings neatly, including the remaining blood potatoes and a few bottles of blood water.
With everything ready, he took one last look at the devastated landscape. Once the rift closed, finding this place again would be nearly impossible. "Time to go back, then," Anthony said to himself, turning towards the rift.
Despite his injuries and open wounds, Anthony's body pulsed with energy and strength. Each step propelled him forward with increased power and speed. Though he was energized, the pain was excruciating, enough to leave a normal person writhing on the ground. Some might have even passed out, but Anthony gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, pushing forward relentlessly.
Anthony was no stranger to pain, but his past experiences had taught him that his body's limits were often tested by the sheer energy coursing through his veins. He sprinted toward the rift, reaching it in record time, a full 20 minutes before the deadline.
Anthony surveyed his battered body, sighing at the sight of his wounds, blood, sweat, torn clothes, and residual black sticky fluid. Bracing himself, he stepped into the rift. The second passage was less overwhelming, and he emerged steadily on the other side.
As he took in his surroundings, Anthony expected to see his father waiting nearby. Instead, he found a couple of people and a makeshift barrier, such as yellow tape, boxes, and warning signs blocking the rift. It took him a moment to sense that something was off, and his instincts kicked in. While the onlookers were shocked by his sudden appearance, Anthony quickly scanned the area. Nine people surrounded him, none of them armed. His father was nowhere to be seen, but Anthony spotted his dad's car parked in the distance. A growing sense of unease settled in, either his father was hiding nearby, or he had been taken by these people.
Anthony's mind racing, he deduced that his father's absence was no coincidence. His father knew the eight-hour limit, so it was unlikely he'd leave without waiting. That left only one explanation: these people had taken his father. Anthony's demeanor turned icy. "There should have been someone here waiting," he growled. "Where is he?"
His appearance only added to the intimidation factor. Wounds, blood, and torn clothes made him look like a deadly hunter, primed to strike. The onlookers, initially shocked by his sudden emergence, quickly regained their composure. To them, Anthony seemed a total mess, but his eyes told a different story.
A tall man stepped forward, approaching Anthony with caution.
The tall man attempted to assert his authority, placing a hand on Anthony's shoulder. "You're going to have to come with us." However, this gesture proved to be a grave mistake. Despite their training, the group's combat experience was no match for Anthony's.
With fluid, practiced movements, Anthony swiftly removed the man's hand from his shoulder, twisting it with a sudden motion. The man was flipped over, slamming into the ground. The unexpected display of agility and strength left everyone stunned.
The group's demeanor shifted instantly; they now viewed Anthony as an enemy, not just a civilian. Regaining their composure, they charged at him with renewed aggression.
The air erupted with shouted commands.
"Get him!!"
"Move!! Move!!"
Despite his injuries and the searing pain, Anthony sprang into action. His newly strengthened body, combined with his extensive combat knowledge, proved to be a formidable combination. In a remarkably short time, all nine attackers lay on the ground, moaning in agony.
Click!
Anthony's ears picked up a distinct sound behind him - the unmistakable click of a gun's safety being disengaged. For the first time since his return, he felt a genuine threat. His body reacted on pure instinct, whipping around with lightning speed. In one swift motion, he grabbed the arm holding the gun, diverting its aim, and drew his machete with his other hand, swinging it at his attacker.
It all transpired in a single second, his body moving autonomously. But just as the machete was about to make contact, Anthony regained control, freezing his motion mid-strike. The blade hovered mere millimeters from the gunman's neck, a testament to Anthony's incredible self-control. Halting an attack like that in the heat of the moment was a feat few could accomplish.
The man's eyes locked onto Anthony's, aware that his opponent was the real deal. One misstep would be fatal. As the leader of the nine men now scattered on the ground, he had more experience, but he had never anticipated facing such a dire situation on what was supposed to be a routine assignment.
The air was heavy with tension as the two engaged in a silent standoff. The men on the ground held their collective breath, afraid to make a sound. Finally, the man accepted his precarious position and dropped the gun, surrendering.
Anthony kicked the gun out of reach, his gaze and the machete still trained on the man. His cold, unyielding stare never wavered.
Anthony's eyes blazed with intensity as he demanded, "There should have been someone waiting here. Where is he?" The air was thick with his palpable pressure and bloodlust.
The man attempted to speak, but Anthony's machete twitched, barely breaking the skin on the man's neck. A trickle of blood appeared, and the man's eyes widened in terror.
"It's either the truth or your last words," Anthony warned, his voice icy and menacing. "I would be very, very careful." The man felt a chill run down his spine as Anthony's words pierced his very soul. In his mind, the machete at his neck transformed into the scythe of Death itself.
The man stuttered, "T-there was a man... his name is Ethan. We took him into custody."
"Why did you take him?" Anthony pressed.
The man replied, "All I know is that he mentioned something about the rifts. That's all, I swear." Anthony's instincts told him the man was telling the truth; he detected no deception in his voice.
"Are you cops or something?" Anthony asked, his grip on the machete unwavering.
The man hesitated before responding, "We're similar to cops, but we only get involved when it comes to rifts."
Anthony's eyes narrowed. "Cops..." He trailed off, realizing the complexity of the situation. With Ethan in custody, they could dig up his information, putting Anthony in a precarious position. He would have to go on the run or face the consequences. Either way, trouble was inevitable.
To make matters worse, Anthony was now holding a machete to the neck of a law enforcement officer, a move that would only exacerbate his situation.
Anthony's head throbbed as he contemplated the numerous possibilities and consequences of his actions. The most pressing concern was that it would hinder his training, as well as his family's. A treacherous thought crept into his mind: "Should I just kill them all?" While it seemed like the most straightforward solution, it was a perilous path.
If he chose to flee, he would only need to evade capture until the apocalypse arrived. He could continue training on his own, but his family's well-being weighed heavily on his mind. Leaving them behind would mean abandoning their training, and potential surveillance would make it impossible for him to strengthen them.
On the other hand, accepting the consequences of his actions would likely result in imprisonment – the worst possible outcome. Incarceration would rob him of the opportunity to continue his training.
Anthony's glare intensified as he turned to the men. "Why the hell did you have to point a gun at me?"
The men observed Anthony weighing his options, expecting him to realize the gravity of his situation. They anticipated that he would acknowledge the futility of his actions and accept the consequences, thereby avoiding further escalation. However, the man's instincts sensed that Anthony had reached a different conclusion.
Anthony's sigh marked the end of his hesitation. His resolve hardened, and he steeled himself for what was to come. With a newfound determination, he chose a path from which there was no return. His goal was clear: eliminate as much evidence as possible and buy enough time to survive until the impending catastrophe.
The men sensed Anthony's resolve and quickly reassessed their priorities. One of them, a family man with a daughter to provide for, realized that his life was worth more than this confrontation. If he died here, what would become of his loved ones? The risk was not worth it.
"We could pretend nothing happened," the man proposed, his voice laced with a mix of desperation and hope. He felt it was now or never. Anthony's gaze locked onto his, searching for any sign of deception.
"What do you mean?" Anthony asked, his tone neutral.
The man nervously elaborated, "We could just say we had an accident on the streets. We regained our bearings, and you just happened to arrive after that." The man anxiously awaited Anthony's response, hoping against hope that he would accept the proposal.
Anthony's eyes narrowed. "What's to stop you from changing your story later?"
The man's expression turned resolute. "My family means everything to me. I won't jeopardize their well-being by betraying you."
Anthony studied the man's face for a few seconds before responding. "And what about your companions?" He glanced at the nine men on the ground, who were all watching the scene unfold.
One of them muttered under his breath, "Damn thugs! We'll get them for this next time!" The others began to chime in, concocting a story about being ambushed by unknown assailants.
"We were jumped!" one exclaimed.
"Those thugs got away too quickly!" another added.
"We'll make them pay for this!" a third vowed.
Anthony realized they were planning to cover up the incident by blaming it on fictional attackers. He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. "What comes next?"
"You can put your machete away, for starters," the man suggested.
Anthony looked down, realizing he still had the blade pressed against the man's neck. He awkwardly sheathed the machete. "What now?"
The man hesitated before speaking. "Well...you still need to come with us."
Anthony's glare intensified, prompting the man to hastily add, "We only want to ask you questions about the rifts. That's all."
Anthony's skeptical gaze lingered, unconvinced by the man's reassurances.
"The reason we took your father was to ask him questions," The men explained. "We intended to release him afterward."
Anthony's skepticism lingered. "If it was something so simple, why did you have to be so forceful?"
The men apologized, "I'm sorry about that. People often panic when we approach them, thinking we're part of some conspiracy."
Anthony's eyes narrowed. "And you're not?"
Cough!
The men straightened up, pulling out a card from his wallet. "Let me start from the beginning. My name is Mark Harmon."
Anthony's eyes scanned the card before looking up at Mark. "Rift Management Agency?" He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Mark shrugged nonchalantly. "That's what we're called."
As Anthony glanced around, he noticed the nine agents slowly regaining their footing. They appeared battered but unscathed. He turned his attention back to Mark. "Well, Mark, what's next?"
Mark called out, "Steve!"
A muscular man approached, his expression stoic. "Sir."
Mark handed over the reins. "I'll leave you in charge. Take care of things until the rift closes."
Steve nodded curtly. "Yes, sir."
Mark called out, "Lily, come with us." One of the agents who had been knocked down slowly stood up and joined them. "Yes, sir."
With that, Mark and Lily escorted Anthony to one of their vehicles. As they drove away, Anthony watched the scenery pass by through the window.
His mind was filled with unease. He disliked being at a disadvantage, especially when someone like Mark had the upper hand. Anthony couldn't shake the feeling that Mark might betray him once they reached their destination, leaving him vulnerable and powerless.
Although Anthony was confident in his ability to defend himself against unarmed opponents, the presence of firearms was a significant threat. He was well aware that, despite his skills, a bullet could still prove lethal.
Mark caught Anthony's uneasy expression in the rearview mirror. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
Anthony hesitated before responding, "I'm sorry for what I did. I didn't mean to be so aggressive."
Lily, the copilot, turned around, curiosity etched on her face. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Anthony's response was vague. "Risking my life..."
Mark's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press the issue. "How old are you?" he asked instead.
"Seventeen," Anthony replied.
Lily's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow, you're so young!"
Mark's gaze lingered on Anthony before he spoke again. "You don't need medical assistance? You seem badly injured."
Anthony brushed off the concern. "They're just superficial wounds. A good rest will heal them."
Mark raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Alright then, if you say so..."
Anthony's gaze locked onto Mark's through the rearview mirror, his eyes piercing. "You know exactly what I intended to do, so why are you acting like nothing happened?" he asked, his tone laced with skepticism.
Mark remained silent, collecting his thoughts before responding. Anthony's eyes never left his, his expression unreadable.
"That's why I don't trust you," Anthony murmured, breaking eye contact and gazing out the window.
Mark finally spoke up, "Your actions seemed... deliberate. Not those of a crazed lunatic thirsting for blood." Anthony's response was barely audible. "Purpose..." He trailed off.
Mark's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again. "My gut is telling me to trust you," he said, his tone measured. Anthony's head snapped back, his eyes widening in surprise. "What?"
"I've lived a rough life myself," Mark said, his eyes locked on the road. "My instincts have kept me safe in tight spots, and right now, they're telling me to trust you."
Anthony nodded thoughtfully, understanding the weight of Mark's words. He knew firsthand the power of instincts, especially when faced with life-or-death situations. If he had sensed even a hint of murderous intent when Mark drew his gun, the outcome would have been drastically different.
Mark had never intended to pull the trigger; the gun was merely a means to end the fight. He had no idea that his mistake would nearly cost him his life, and potentially the lives of those around him.
The two shared a moment of mutual understanding, and the rest of the drive passed in silence. Before long, they arrived at a nondescript building with no visible signage. "We're here," Mark announced.
As they stepped inside the unassuming building, Anthony was struck by the stark contrast within. The interior was a hub of cutting-edge technology, with rows of computers and monitors deployed throughout the space. The screens displayed a multitude of rifts scattered across the city, possibly even the entire state. The sheer scale of the operation was impressive, and the workers moved with the precision and organization of seasoned professionals.
As Anthony and Mark navigated the bustling facility, Anthony's gaze landed on a familiar figure. His father, Ethan, sat at a table, engaged in a heated discussion with a group of men. Anthony's eyes lit up with relief. "Dad! Are you alright?" he exclaimed.
Ethan's head jerked up, and his face broke into a warm smile as he caught sight of his son. "You're back!" he exclaimed, rushing to envelop Anthony in a tight hug. "I was really worried!"
"I'm fine, I'm fine. Are you alright?" Anthony asked, relief washing over him.
"Yeah, everything's fine," Ethan replied, rubbing his head apologetically. "I might have said something I shouldn't have, which is why they brought me here."
Ethan's gaze then fell upon Anthony's battered form, and his expression turned to alarm. "What the hell happened to you? You're all hurt!"
Anthony downplayed his injuries. "Don't worry about it, they're just superficial wounds."
Ethan's concern only deepened. "How can I not worry? You're bloody all over!"
Anthony reassured him, "I'll dress the wounds later, Dad. I'm alright."
Ethan's eyes widened in exasperation. "Your mom can't see you like this; she'll kill us both!"
Anthony acknowledged his father's concern with a nod. "I know..."
Cough!
The men across the table interrupted their reunion, who had been quietly observing the exchange, and stretched out his hand. "You must be Anthony. My name is Kevin Lewis."