In a brief moment, Griffin found himself in a ruined world. The air tasted of dust and something acrid. Griffin squinted, his eyes adjusted to the perpetual twilight shone by the blood-red sun, eternally fixed to the western horizon. It didn't rise or set; it simply was a "weird" disc of crimson fire staining the sky in shades of plum and angry pink. No clouds were present under this alien canvas.
Below where Griffin stood with a astonished look, the land sprawled like a desiccated corpse. Cracks, wide and deep, webbed across the parched earth, revealing layers of ochre-coloured strata. Griffin noticed jagged mountains distance away, their peaks were scarred, their slopes were a patchwork of rust-coloured rocks.
Everything about this world was both unfamiliar and utterly foreign to him. From the scale of the land, the unnatural hue of the sky, the bizarre stillness.
"Where is this...? Somewhat of a living fantasy." Griffin struggled to find details of his whereabouts.
After a few moments of confusion, he scoffed. Seemingly, he might have temporarily gone insane..
"You really think I would run that distance!? What a 'dangerous' joke. Quite a good one that deserves an award, and if it's truly a quest—force me to complete it!" He spoke off-point, nothing of which he said related to the current happening.. 'Run' 'Distance' 'Quest' 'Force me to complete it' 'Dangerous joke'..
Uhn, another creation came up?
A monstrous snarl echoed in his ears. He slowly turned, his eyes trembling. What he saw was beyond his imagination: a massive, serpentine creature. Its body, at least sixteen feet long, undulated with a terrifying grace. Two large, curved horns protruded menacingly from above its crimson eyes, which glowed with predatory intensity. This inexplicable entity's gaze fixed on him like a predator sizing up its prey.
Not wasting a second, Griffin launched himself forward, running as fast as he could, never glancing back. He ran, constantly on the verge of falling and his boxer dropping inch by inch, but he drew it back and ran faster. His eyes wide with terror. All that ran through his mind was "run, run, run..."
Ten minutes later, the monstrous beast was mysteriously gone without a trace. Griffin collapsed, breathing heavily, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. Each ragged breath sent a fresh wave of pounding through him. The adrenaline in him slowly ebbed, leaving him trembling and disoriented..
Forthwith, he found himself inside his room. He instantly ran up to his workbench in search of the gem, but unfortunately he couldn't find it anymore. His first thought was that the gem might have had something to do with all this strange occurrence..
Uhn, It was here... Did someone come in and grabbed it? But my door is locked, so that can't be possible.
Not knowing what to do next, he decided to take a deep breath first and then figure out the whole situation; the memories had also halted.
Is that how it works? Think of it gone, and it will be... Think of its appearance, and it will be here right away. Seemingly, that's the only thing I can fully understand about this occurrence for now.. Griffin slowly realised that while he was running and wishing inwardly for everything to be a dream and just seize from existence, it did! He thought of it gone, and it was. But did he ever thought of its creation? No! So how?
Many questions was left without a answer, more mystery, more strange mirrors that can't be seen through came.. On second thought, he wondered if he might have been going crazy from staying inside his room for over a month now and surviving off the crumbs that he had at bay.. He only made contact with the mechanic through his window, and so did the person answered his request.
With Griffin finally coming to a conclusion - just a brief one, so that he wouldn't lose his senses alas. Dropping back onto the ground, he heaved a sigh of relief, slowly, his heart was pounding at its normal rate and he had time to calm his mind, all the intense pain gone..
Bam! Bam!
A hastened and brutal banging came upon his door. He wondered who it was this time as he wasn't expecting a visitor or delivery... Griffin's gaze swept around his room, trying to find if anything was off the charts before answering whoever was at the door. He leaved an excuse to stop the stranger from knocking, "I will be there! Getting dressed!"
Griffin quickly removed his now oversized underwear while staring at himself in the mirror, stunned by the six-pack he had. He couldn't keep his eyes off his body - falling in love with it than ever. He scurried away from the mirror to under his makeshift bed, searching for any clothing that could fit him, fortunately, he found: a dark grey jacket, and a denim jeans.
The insistent rapping at the door spurred Griffin into a hurried motion. He grabbed the dark grey jacket, the elbow patches scrapped against the rough-hewn wall as he shoved his arm through the sleeves, leaving the lower buckles dangling. Then, he took the dark denim jeans and wore it hastedly. He yanked the jacket's collar high, hoping to at least appear somewhat presentable..
"Strange; this fits me quite well, I never knew that I had such elegant dress under my junk bed.." Griffin rushed to the door, prepared to see who this rude stranger might be. His guess left him to suspect that it might be a watch..
The Watch are a paramilitary force of awakened individuals; they operate as a quasi-official bureau, enforcing law and order within the city's two District. However, their mandate is occasionally marred by a vivid bias against the citizens of the Lower District, leading to accusations of systemic subjugation...
Griffin opened the heavy metal door, unlocking the fixed key, the sound echoed in the dark alley where Griffin's room stood - it was always embraced by the shadows whether day or night as it was situated in a tight corner that made it hard for sunlight to penetrate - Standing before him was a man, his boots sunk into the shallow, rain-soaked mud – the remnants of yesterday's downpour.
"Oh, Officer Silas..." Griffin said inwardly. Silas was quite popular in the Lower District since he was the one in-charge of monitoring every teenager about to hit the age of 16; he would come preodically to confirm the age and status of each. His last check was a week before.
Silas was built like a blacksmith's anvil - broad-shouldered, mightly muscled, though not that tall. His build displayed less grace and more brute strength. His face was a expansive roadmap of wrinkles etched by the sun. A strong jawline was partially obscured by a neatly trimmed, dark beard. And his eyes was a icy blue, which held a cold and assessing gaze on Griffin. A network of fine lines crinkled around them. His skin was tanned and weathered. The brass star on his gorget reflected every little dot of light off it; this one star also singnified that he was a low-ranking watch - just an officer, not far from a recruit. Not even a feinged smile came across his lips, he simply stood there like a live statue. Silas's presence filled the tiny pace which made Griffin quiver a bit...
He dared not utter a word or sound to the grumpy officer.
Officer Silas reached into the capacious side pocket of his uniform; he withdrew a Ornithopter's, a device barely smaller than a grown man's hand - approximately 7 inches wide, 5 inches deep and 2 inches high - quite bulky if you ask.
The case itself was constructed of rusted iron, a bit scarred... Its hinges were thick and elaborately engraved, groaned like an old sea-chest as Silas raised the lid.
Creak!
Whirr!
The screen was a surprisingly modern-looking (for the current era) piece of amber-tinted celluloid, came to life with a soft orange glow. Beneath the screen lay jumble of brass gears, copper tubes, and silver wires whirred and clicked. A miniature steam engine, no bigger than a thimble; it hissed gracefully, the tiny piston pumped along. This powered multiple mechanisms: A brass-cased gyroscope, a series of interconnected levers and knobs, a small - conical glass reservoir, a punched-card reader, array of light sensors and a small hand-cranked generator.
Thaddeus Finch was the inventor of this intricately built device, a frail man from the Lower District. It was invented after the First War. Finch came from a family of mechanics that specialized on clockmaking and repairs; he dedicated himself to creating different tools, and this served as his most greatest invention. His life's work culminated in it.
Though he was a socially awkward one and always preferred the company of his inventions - a short history he had, and for a while now he has been declared missing.
Silas cleared his throat, a deep groan escaping.. He began asking the normal routine questions as he searched for Griffin's data, each tap on the device made a clicking sound - the kind a reloading glock makes.
Click! Click! Click!
Click! Click! Click!
Few seconds later, he found it then he began the real questions. "Name and current age?" His voice carried depth, seemingly like a lion's roar.
Griffin quivered, then replied, "Griffin Caravan, currently 15 and clocking 16 in a month and few days..." He awaited the next question.
Silas gave him a side eye while also confirming this information; it was correct but the weird look made Griffin think otherwise, maybe he didn't know his name and age anymore.
"Weight and height? Parent's name? Their status? Your Registration number?," asked Silas in a rushed manner, "And done. Answer the questions!"
Griffin was a bit fazed, but later put himself together and began answering the question. First, he logically calculated his current weight without the use of any tool. However, he worried that a mishap might arise from the drastic change in his last recorded weight.
After quick seconds of introspection, he finally answered with a composed tone.
"65 Kg, 5'5 (165 cm) tall!" This was actually his current weight - '65kg', "Mira Thorne and Dunn Caravan.. Status..." He paused for a few seconds as he felt a sad withdrawal through his body, later he finally answered, "Dead..."
Officer Silas didn't bat an eye to Griffin as he declared them "dead" His gaze fixed to the device.
Griffin slowly continued, "Registration number: 8909-45-689." Registration numbers are assigned to every citizen from birth, and since Griffin had a "photographic memory" he never forgot his number.
Officer Silas coughed, covering his mouth with a hand. He then looked at Griffin, nodded and turned around to leave. Suddenly, he noticed something on the device - a wrong information, or perhaps confusing..
"Why is your current weight different from the last check..? Last was 87 Kg, now this is 65... How is it possible for you to lose 22 Kg within a week!? Are you really.. Griffin Caravan?" Asked Silas in a sinister and ominous tone while staring into Griffin's eyes. His left hand instantly turned into metal - his ability, metallic enhancement.
Griffin began trembling all-over, and it was vivid...