Chapter 1: Unknown Placeplace: unknowntime: unknown
The room still beats with the echo of their closeness. The silver light of the moon slips through the half-open window, forming dancing specks across the rumpled sheets and the clothes scattered like dark petals. A faint whisper of silk as the quilt slides, a soft creak of the wood as he rises: he presses his palm against the mattress, letting out a gentle ah… that dissolves into the air, thick with heat and memory.
The sweet, almost smoky scent of his own perfume—a blend of vanilla and wood—mingles with the faint trace of his own excitement, creating an intimate fragrance that floats in the half-light. He slides his fingers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear; a shiver runs down the curve of her neck, and a fleeting sigh escapes her lips, summoning the memory of every touch.
"I never imagined I'd end up here tonight," Richard whispers, leaning his hand on the bedframe. "Just hours ago, I was lost in another world."
Rebecca, lying on her side, lets out a lazy murmur while her tousled hair spreads like a dark veil across the pillow. The white sheet arches where her silhouette rests: the contour of her back, the soft curve of her waist, the edge of a crimson bra peeking between the folds. Everything speaks of an instant stolen from the chaos surrounding them.
Richard Aiken, former special forces agent, still remembered the metallic taste of guilt: the death of a comrade he could not save had been the catalyst for his unexpected power to travel between realities.
Everything had happened so quickly, he no longer knew if what he had lived was real or just a remnant of the little sanity he still clung to. Just hours ago, he had been numbing all the pain he felt, drinking like a hopeless alcoholic.
His years of effort in the special forces had been worth nothing.He had lost his best friend, his brother in the mission and, along with him, both of his legs.He could not walk, had no family, and even less the support of the country for which he had sacrificed so much to defend.
The last bottle rolled empty at his feet, his breath reeking of fire and abandonment. He felt a void in his chest so deep he thought it would never beat again. He took one last sip, closed his eyes… and the world vanished.
When he awoke, everything was silence. A damp chill caressed the back of his neck. He forced his eyelids open: he was lying across slippery cobblestones, beneath a starry sky he hadn't seen in a long time. He wasn't in his room, nor in his messy house he had lacked the strength to clean: he was in a narrow alley, between brick walls covered in moss, with a flickering lantern a few meters away.
As he sat up, his hand ran across his torso: he no longer wore his torn uniform, but a dark shirt he didn't recognize, and not his combat pants. He turned around and discovered, hanging from a cord around his neck, a shining badge with the name:
"Richard Aiken""Bravo Team""S.T.A.R.S."
Beneath his name hung several polished metal tags, each one engraved with a different name, and next to them a photograph of him smiling at the camera—something he hadn't seen in a long time.
He was smiling, truly happy.In the photo stood a group of unfamiliar people, with joyful faces and raised glasses, as if celebrating his arrival. It seemed to be a welcome party.
It all confused him… he still couldn't believe any of it was true, everything seemed like a blurry scene from a confusing dream.
But beyond those strange images, something the cold cobblestones of the alley hadn't allowed him to notice before forced itself upon him. His legs… no longer sent him the stabbing pain of months past. An electric tingling replaced any sensation of amputation.
With his heart tightening with hope, Richard pressed his palms against the narrow brick walls and carefully pushed himself upright. A tremor ran through his limbs, and for the first time in so long, he felt his feet planted firmly on the ground. He took a step. Then another. And the world seemed to explode into a torrent of emotions: relief, disbelief, a spark of joy he thought extinguished.
His crutches were left behind, forgotten in a dark corner. With every stride, a smile spread across his face.For the first time in a long while, he felt hope again.
Step by shaky step, like a newborn learning to walk, he drew near to a small bar.With his strange gait he looked like just another drunk among the crowd, so no one gave him a second glance.
When he opened the door, a warm wave of distant music and muffled chatter enveloped him. The back of an old barstool creaked as someone set a drink before him without even looking.
"Another glass, Richard," said the man behind the counter with familiar ease, a rough-looking type with an unkempt mustache.
Richard frowned. He didn't know who this person was, nor how he could possibly know his name.
"Excuse me," he replied, incredulous, "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."
The bartender raised an eyebrow, set the glass down on the bar with a soft clack, and nodded as if nothing were out of place.
* * * *
"Another Scotch, Richard?" the bartender insisted, in the tone of someone who thinks they've recognized an old friend. "This one
Richard shook his head, still stunned. The warmth of the bar wrapped around him as the murmur of conversations grew clearer. That was when a sharper sound, heavy with res
Rebecca Chambers, leaning against a corner of the bar, was gripping the edge of her glass so tightly the wood beneath it creaked. Her half-unbuttoned uniform revealed the pale tone of her skin; loose strands of her chestnut hair fell across her brown eyes.
"Damn it!" she grumbled, not bothering to hide her frustration. "Too young for the Arklay mission… What if I've got more guts than any of them!?"
Intrigued, Richard took a step back, searching for a free stool. He sat down two seats away from Rebecca, as if not wanting to disturb anything, yet unable to look away. The bartender, seeing him still there, simply nodded and walked off whistling.
Rebecca pressed her forehead against the bar and muttered so softly it was barely audible:"They've been sticking me with desk jobs for months, and now that I have the chance to prove what I'm worth, they push me aside because I'm the 'kid' on the team."
The sound of a glass being set down with a muffled plop echoed in the room; a moment later, she lifted her gaze and found Richard watching her with a mix of curiosity and empathy. Her lips trembled in an uncertain grimace:"Do you think I'm capable?" Rebecca asked, her voice weary and drunk.
Richard looked at her solemnly, set his empty glass gently on the bar, and nodded.
20 minutes later
The last patrons faded into shadows, and the bar emptied into a hushed murmur. Richard leaned his elbows on the counter and, gazing at Rebecca softly, murmured:"If they see you as the 'kid' in Bravo Team, then let them know kids learn fast when they put their minds to it."
She laughed quietly, a spark of determination in her eyes:"I'll try. Thank you, Richard… for listening."
"Always," he replied. "Don't let anyone take your worth away."
He glanced at the bartender, who winked at them from the far end of the counter."Time's up, lovebirds," he teased. "Before the cops get here ahead of you."
Rebecca stood, retrieving her jacket from the back of a chair, and Richard followed. They stepped out shoulder to shoulder into the cool night air.