Chapter 3: An Egg-cellent Encounter
Terrchel's night, if it could even be called that, was spent perched precariously on what appeared to be a memorial bench within the desolate, sprawling confines of an abandoned amusement park. Talk about comfort, he mused wryly, a phantom ache already setting into his unaccustomed human bones. As a fly, he could simply cling to any surface and drift into peaceful slumber. But enduring a human night without the sanctuary of a home was an entirely different ordeal, a harsh lesson in vulnerability he was quickly learning. Memories flickered from his past life as a fly, vague recollections of observing humans enduring similar plights. The bench, noticeably cold beneath him, only intensified the shivers that wracked his new body. Discomfort clawed at his muscles, leading to ragged, desperate hyperventilation. All through the long, agonizing hours of darkness, a single mantra echoed in his mind: "I need to get through the night and when the sun comes up, I would be able to proceed with my mission to get to New Arcadia City". A burgeoning, almost instinctual part of him knew something better awaited him there.
As the lavender hues of dawn crept across the sky, painting the constellations even at this early hour, Terrchel was abruptly roused from his fitful slumber by the cacophony of a random chicken. But this was no ordinary fowl. Its appearance was unsettlingly human-like, and it sported a worn leather jacket. Basically, like an android/chicken, Terrchel thought, his still-groggy mind struggling to reconcile the bizarre sight. This is actually insane. Was I reincarnated into some fantasy world or something...?
The chicken, apparently deciding it was time for Terrchel to rise and shine with the nascent sun, clucked insistently. Terrchel blinked, momentarily disoriented, before the jarring reality of his new existence slammed back into him. This was indeed reality, a reality he had, impossibly, asked for, yet one that now filled him with a strange yearning and profound sadness. Without warning, the chicken decided to punctuate its morning greeting by pooping directly on his forehead from its perch atop the bench. Terrchel grimaced, wiping the warm, slimy deposit away with his sleeve before unleashing a torrent of indignant shouts at the feathered culprit.
"This is absolutely amazing, honestly what I needed first thing in the morning!" Terrchel yelled, his voice rough with sleep and irritation. "Seriously! I feel like you did that on purpose! You could poop anywhere!".
The chicken, seemingly unfazed, responded with a cocky swagger. "Yeah, but I thought I'd do you a favor; you know, breakfast 'n' bench hahahahaha!". Seeing Terrchel's agitated expression, the chicken, a creature of surprising insight, suddenly imagined himself being strangled and served for dinner. He gulped, rethinking his brazen act, knowing flies were notoriously aggressive. Yet, he was also a cocky chicken, unwilling to show any sign of fear. "You know... bnb... Bed & Breakfast," the chicken continued, a hint of condescension in its voice. "I was told being in this body automatically gave you the human understanding and knowledge of its previous owner, but I guess your fly self still exists, causing glimpses of stupidity, clearly. I don't think that's a me problem if you're offended".
"You little sh—haha, I can't even muster anger; that's somewhat genius, but don't do it again!" Terrchel retorted, a grudging laugh escaping him. "Wait a minute. Did you just TALK?". He sat, head in his hands, zoning out as he frantically scoured both his fragmented fly memories and the nascent human recollections. He found no record of ever being able to communicate with chickens. Is this a new ability? Has the world evolved this much, or am I CRAZY?. What if my reincarnation is also just a figment of my imagination, and I'm actually in a coma somewhere in a psych hospital?
"Earth to flyman, with you zoning out like that, people will think you're on drugs, and that's frowned upon in Arcadia. The Arcadian Patrol are always watching", the chicken chirped, pulling Terrchel from his internal turmoil.
"You seem to know a lot for a chicken. A TALKING CHICKEN!" Terrchel exclaimed, still grappling with the absurdity.
"I'm like your celestial babysitter from the Light Realm, making sure you don't trip over your own feet!", the chicken declared with an air of self-importance.
"A chicken!?" Terrchel burst out laughing, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation finally overcoming his shock. Oh, well, I guess at this point it doesn't matter if this is real or not. I have to make the best of the crazy, too, he thought to himself, a strange sense of resignation settling in.
"Well, I sure have been contemplating if I should keep eating trash or if I should give in to the cravings I've been thinking about," Terrchel mused aloud, a mischievous glint in his cerise eyes. "You know, embrace the human in me, and chicken as a first proper meal sounds thrilling, don't you think? If I'm not mistaken, it was Arnold's favorite. His wife made it specially with a honey mustard caramelized glaze".
The chicken, clearly unnerved, visibly gulped. "You're surely an optimistic person. Don't worry, one of your abilities is environmental adaptation. Soon your cravings for the usual trash and odd odors will fade away. And on the note of you threatening to eat me, I should probably inform you that I got an upload of your life progress over here on my holographic swatch. Surely you wouldn't want to eat your only source of meaning in your dull new human life". The chicken slapped its wrist, and a high-tech swatch lit up, projecting a digital hologram that displayed Terrchel's image and a scroll of information.
"What is this?" Terrchel asked, his earlier irritation momentarily forgotten. "I don't have much to go off, only past memories and whatever I was told in the Light Realm, but certainly a lot is amiss".
"It may seem that humanity has swiftly advanced in technology. However, you should know better than anyone right now, given your condition, that everything is not always as it seems," the chicken stated, a newfound seriousness in its voice. "You died, and unfortunately, your spirit was kept asleep in The Light Realm. During this time, all these advancements were added to Arcadia by means of using forbidden celestial energy, but we will get into all of that eventually".
"Consider these exclusive statistics," the chicken continued, pointing a tiny wing at the glowing hologram. "The Arcadians don't have all this information yet; this is from my Intel received by The Light Realm General when I was told to come here on this mission. The hologram will read the stats out loud for us. And look, at least The Light Realm added a good picture of you. You should see mine! Horrible. If the Arcadians get hold of your stats and upload it onto their citizens' records, it would raise red flags. I've added a protective firewall on my swatch so the information I'm showing you cannot be leaked despite me using Arcadian Tech".
The holographic display whirred to life, its ethereal voice calmly reading Terrchel's new reality:
Name: Terrchel, a.k.a. Flyman
Gender: Male
Height: 1.75 Meters
Cause of death: Human hand swat
Age of death: Day 30
New cycle Age: 24 years old
Reincarnation year: 2050
Vessel: Arnold Maximus
Eye color: Cerise
Hair color: Dirty Green
Abilities:
* Physical Abilities
* Compound Eyesight: Increased peripheral vision and detection of slight movements
* Acute Sense of Smell: Tracking scents and detecting subtle changes
* Agility and Reflexes: Increased speed and reaction time
* Instinctual Abilities
* Fly's Instinct: Anticipation and reaction to danger
* Swarm Sense: Ability to sense and track multiple targets
* Passive Abilities
* Regenerative Resilience: Increased resistance to damage and ability to recover from injuries
* Environmental Adaptation: Ability to survive in extreme environments
Weaknesses: annoyance
Reason for reincarnation: CLASSIFIED
"You might be 24 years old right now, but I still see you as a 30-day-old fly. This makes you my subordinate, and thus you shall submit to me," the chicken declared, a note of triumph in its voice.
"I'm just going to ignore the last few words that came out of your mouth, because clearly you're delusional," Terrchel retorted, rolling his eyes. "You're telling me that I've jumped to the year 2050 and skipped a few years? That is absolutely crazy and doesn't make sense, Mr. Chicken, but these abilities sound fun. I'm intrigued by the leveling up".
"That's Master Leghorn to you, FLY! Know your place," the chicken snapped, its celestial authority briefly surfacing. "The Light sent you light-years ahead so you can fulfill your purpose in this specific time. It's not that complicated, but with a fly brain, I suppose... And as to your abilities, once we get you your own tech, then you can stay updated with your progress easily. I'll sync your device to the celestial frequency like mine for exclusive information".
"Noted, but what is this classified section? And what is the connection between Arnold and I?" Terrchel pressed, a persistent curiosity overriding his new-found obedience.
"Aren't we curiously annoying, hey? I'd say the connection is, you and Arnold both being imbeciles," Leghorn replied with a dismissive cluck. "Shall we first discuss our accommodation arrangements, unless you would prefer to stay on this worn-out amusement park bench?".
"You are surely rude for a so-called celestial being. Are you sure you're not a demon from hell instead, sent to torment me in my already existing agony?" Terrchel scoffed, genuinely perplexed by the chicken's attitude. "I planned on venturing into the city of New Arcadia. I have a feeling I own some properties or something valuable over there".
Leghorn glanced over Terrchel's shoulder, spotting a trash bag emblazoned with the words "Cybros Pizza Den". "I see you've helped yourself to breakfast, lunch, and supper with that bag of waste, but we definitely are not taking that with us," Leghorn declared, a look of distaste on his avian face. "It wouldn't be very demure or mindful of me to allow it".
"Yeah, the nicest thing happened yesterday," Terrchel said, recalling his brief encounter. "An old man gave me this after I told him I'm starving, and he didn't throw it at me".
"My friend, unfortunately, that wasn't being nice," Leghorn countered, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "If you're hungry and someone gives you their scraps, it doesn't mean they're doing something nice. They actually gave you nothing. Think about it, he would have thrown it away regardless. If he wanted to be nice, he would have given you your own fresh meal or asked if you need a place to stay".
"Oh, I guess I'm so used to getting nothing that this form of something felt almost kind," Terrchel admitted, a flicker of genuine sadness in his eyes. "I never thought of it in depth, especially because his facial expressions didn't seem unkind, nor his tone".
"It's not about the words spoken but the actions displayed. People like that will turn and tell the world he fed you, but won't say he fed you dirt. You'll understand soon as your adaptability kicks in", Leghorn explained, his voice softening slightly.
"I guess... Well, let's not waste what we have even if it was given falsely", Terrchel conceded. He shuffled through the dirt bag, pulling out a few pizza crusts and moldy crackers for himself and Master Leghorn before tossing the rest into a nearby amusement park garbage bin. A small swarm of flies immediately descended upon the discarded treasure, and Terrchel felt a pang of unexpected sadness at throwing away such a prize, yet knew they would enjoy it. Memories of being struck by thrown dirt bags and scavenging dumpsters as a fly, and of humans mercilessly trapping him inside, resurfaced, making him ponder the inherent inconsideration of humanity. They always thought only of themselves. Yet, the old man from Cybro's Pizza Den had seemed decent enough, though Terrchel now understood he had simply been going about his daily routine, and Terrchel had merely been present to receive the discarded waste. He had hoped humans would only be cruel to flies, but now, he harbored doubts. A large part of him sensed Arnold hadn't gotten along with humans either. It's as if he might as well have been a fly then, Terrchel mused to himself. As he walked away from the bin, he decided to leave the lid open. I think the flies will appreciate it, even if they can't understand it as I do now, he thought.
While Terrchel was still lingering near the amusement park's garbage section, Leghorn had already begun pacing himself towards The New Arcadia City, in the direction indicated by the sign Terrchel had seen the previous night. With his newfound speed, it only took Terrchel a few seconds to catch up to the celestial chicken.
"Hey, Mr. Chicken, guess what?" Terrchel began, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Once a human shut me close in a fridge and I nearly froze to death, but luckily I made it out alive in the nick of time, only to die later that same day, of course".
"You might not know this, Terrchel, but usually when you ask someone a question, you wait to hear if they want to participate in the conversation before just answering for them," Leghorn replied, a sigh escaping his beak. "But, it was inevitable... I'm, of course, referring to your death, I mean".
"You know, I've surely been speaking to myself a lot since my reincarnation," Terrchel mused aloud, seemingly oblivious to Leghorn's annoyance. "It's a habit I must have picked up subconsciously, with Arnold being alone for so many years as a human previously. Muscle memory, I guess?".
"I see..." Leghorn responded dryly.
"But at least I have you now," Terrchel continued, a wistful note in his voice. "As a fly, everyone was irritated by me; swatting me away all the time. I didn't understand it back then, but now that I'm human, all these emotions are added with each memory. It honestly makes me zone out from time to time and just stop and think, you know? But I need to snap out of it and focus on the long day ahead of us".
"I noticed you zone out often, yes. You also say 'I guess' in almost every sentence, and you ask questions without waiting for answers because most of the time your thoughts are racing at a speed that automatically answers it for you, and you change topics in seconds without properly acknowledging what was last said", Leghorn observed, a hint of exasperation in his tone.
"Mr. Chicken, earlier you mentioned Arcadian Patrols or something like that. Last night I saw someone watching me from a distance. Do you think it could be them?" Terrchel asked, abruptly changing the subject.
Leghorn sighed, rolling his eyes. "See what I mean... Your choice of addressing me has become a nuisance to hear. But in regards to your question, I doubt it. You haven't done anything reckless... YET... Nevertheless, it is unlikely that they can comprehend who you are, as you are still figuring that out yourself," he stated, a hint of his celestial wisdom surfacing. "The most likely answer is an admirer. There has been news about stalkers in Arcadia".
"Are you mocking me?" Terrchel demanded, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. "How could I be admired if nobody knows I exist? Oh, wait, maybe Arnold's wife!? I don't remember what happened to her, but part of me knows she was there, and then she wasn't, and there's this yearning, you know? I don't know if it's for her or something else... There's too many unanswered questions and feelings floating around. Do you think she noticed me as him, and she thinks I'm HIM?!".
"Here we go again, 'I guess' we will have to wait and see what's going on," Leghorn interjected, cutting off Terrchel's increasingly frantic speculation. "Let's not overthink and make assumptions. Now that you're human, it seems your speed ability went straight to your brain too, and damaged that".
"Keep that attitude up and I might just speed walk to the main city without you!" Terrchel threatened, though a hint of playful exasperation laced his voice. "Just know, I'm only dragging my feet for your benefit".
Leghorn, seeing the futility of further argument, simply shut his beak for the remainder of their journey, as they both chewed on the surprisingly palatable leftover pizza crusts Terrchel had salvaged.