What is that flavor…
The world before Draven suddenly blurred into view as that lone thought repeated in his mind, thrusting the unfortunate soul into a deserted wasteland illuminated only by the crimson light of the moon above him.
Slowly, the boy stumbled to his feet—surveying his surroundings through clouded eyes, only able to make out the vague silhouette of the environment.
Before him, lay a blackened world devoid of life. Pitch-dark skewers poked upwards from the Earth, their figures bent and contorted as if frozen in eternal agony; their shape reaching dozens of meters into the air towering over him by an insurmountable measure.
If he were in the right state of mind to do so, he'd have described it as a Crimson Wasteland.
Though, it had never been the boy's unfortunate location that he'd focused upon.
No, his attention was directed elsewhere.
'What is it? What is this taste…? Where did it come from, am I dreaming?'
His tongue slowly traced the outline of his lips, carefully indulging in the sweet ambrosia that stuck itself onto the surface of his visage.
A tingling sensation ran through his mind, filling him with indescribable euphoria.
Yet, as enjoyable as the sensation was, it felt wrong.
Disturbed, he pressed his fingers against his jaw.
Had his teeth always been that sharp…?
In his dazed state the boy had failed to realize the inconceivable passage of time.
The only thing allowing him to maintain his sanity was the brilliant red light shining through the dark fog. Providing contrast against the void of a landscape.
Yet, even that had begun to claw at his mind.
Thoughtlessly drifting through the barren landscape; the boy suddenly found his mind beginning to string together. His vision slowly returning to him, allowing him to form coherent thoughts.
'Get a hold of yourself, Draven. Think, what the hell is going on?'
Placing a hand on his forehead, he began to recall everything that had happened prior to this.
Theorizing what exactly it was that forced him into his current situation, and perhaps even uncovering what that strange taste in his mouth had been.
'Yeah…if I recall correctly…I was at the Shelter…'
Before those damned Raiders came.
Without warning an entirely new hatred found itself boiling within the depths of Draven's spirit, memories flooded back to him, sending him into a spiral as he found himself unable to stand for just an instant, barely supporting himself against one of the black spikes that plagued the area.
'I need…to get…back…' He winced
One moment, he was making the best of his situation supporting his family.
A life he couldn't call luxurious by any means, but it was one he was more than blessed to have.
The next, everything he knew had succumbed to the flames converting everything he once held dear to ash.
Including himself.
That final thought seemed to have cemented something for him,
'Right…this must be the Afterlife, then? Damn it…to think I'd die to a bunch of no-lives in the slums…'
Draven dragged his body through the thick fog, disgruntledly thinking about how to get back at the bastards from the afterlife.
Maybe he'd go to the top and haunt the bastards.
'Nah, no way would it be satisfying watching a bunch of men for a thousand years.' He immediately dismissed the thought.
Here, there was no pain. No hunger. He wasn't even sure if there was any other sensation besides the cold stone beneath his feet.
It was far more than simply 'cold' however, it was freezing. As if he'd been walking on the frozen tundra itself.
At first his sanity was stable, helped by the crimson light and rage. But that sanity could only last so long before the only stimuli he was provided were drowned by the ruthless cold beneath his feet.
It wasn't long before he'd begun to lose track of his steps, one turned to two, two to ten, ten to twenty.
At some point it'd become a pointless endeavor, prompting him to abandon the concept entirely. The soles of his feet had numbed, rendering all attempts at travel futile.
He couldn't even identify the source of the blood dripping down his figure. Perhaps, on the way he tore something…
After what felt like hours of meaningless travel, he felt himself drained of any energy he had remaining, falling to his knees in a painful attempt to rest.
Vision beginning to blur once more, Draven could do nothing but recall that euphoric taste that had once pleasured his taste buds.
That flavor that…even if only for a second…had provided temporary relief from the hell he was in.
'If only…I could taste it again…' Not that he knew what exactly the strange taste had come from.
Of all the ways to suffer this was the last one he'd have wished for. The regrets from the life he'd once lived, the extreme bliss he'd awoken too, and the steady downfall into what he'd now become. Without any way to escape, he felt there was only one another possibility.
'Can ghosts even be killed? Ah well, guess we're gonna find out…'
Picking up a shattered piece that's fallen from one the skyward spikes—Draven aimed the strange formation directly at his chest. Perhaps there'd be a second afterlife awaiting him, one far better than this one.
'I'm sorry, everyone. I'm sorry I couldn't get back to you…'
With that final rumination, the boy thrust the makeshift dagger into his bony chest. Ending his life in a single, painful instant.
Or at least…
It should have.
[Jumper Registered!]
[Opening Gate…]
Draven's eyes narrowed at the strange lights flashing before him, was some cruel deity looking down at his pathetic situation, jeering at his pitiful nature? He scoffed.
[Gate Opened!]
[Welcome, Jumper Draven!]
[You have earned…]
Struggling to spit in the face of whomever this cruel joke had originated from, Draven would find himself engulfed in a spontaneous flash of incandescent light.
It was time for him to wake up.
***
Wincing, Draven slowly looked over his new environment.
His eyes surveyed the area through thin slits as he laboriously worked to keep them open, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy in his recent circumstances.
First the Crimson Wasteland, now…a hospital?
'I'm just jumping all over the place today…'
With a weak grin, he supported himself on the wall behind him and slowly lifted up his torso. All around him were walls of pure white, interrupted by a motivational poster or two.
Despite it clearly being a hospital room—it had long since lost any signs of hospitality. The flowers next to him had long since rotted, and even though the various technologies were still functioning no one was operating them.
Widening his eyes ever so slightly, Draven noticed a small red button situated beside him. Placed in the center of a metallic platform on the surface of a desk he figured it was his best bet out of here.
Without much thought, he swiftly clicked the strange device,
And instantly, all hell broke loose.