Chrono-Crossed

by P. C. Sharpe

One:

  Two Years Later?

  Bill Oakley kicks in the door to the broken-down shack in which Nat Dalton is said to be hiding out. He fires his gun without question, leaving behind a wake of shattered glass and wood. The shack is completely empty.

  A window is thrust open. Bill runs to it and peers out. Nat is riding off on horseback. Bill races outside and leaps onto his steed, darting after the outlaw. Nat turns his head to see Bill closing in on him quickly. The men are speeding down a narrow dirt trail, kicking up dust in their wake.

  Bill fires two shots that miss Nat by mere inches. Nat spins around and fires a desperate bullet at Bill that misses his head by a bit.

  “How did ya surv…?!”

  “This ends now!”

  With Bill’s claim, Nat spins his horse around to face his opponent. Both men stop in their tracks - facing each other. Their eyes are fixed in a deadly staring match. They simultaneously lift their guns and race directly towards each other.

  “Yer not runnin’ this time!” Bill yells as a loud shot fires from one of the guns.

  Not this…

  A loud explosion of blue light screens the dirt trail, and a thunderous boom accompanies the sudden burst.

  Time?!

  For a split second, Bill is blinded by the explosion of blue. He regains his sight to find that the dusty trail has completely vanished. His horse halts dead in place, tossing Bill off into a roll in which he slams head first into a metallic wall. His sight remains hazy from the mysterious blast of light and the crash. He grunts as he lies on the ground in pain and astonishment.

  “What the-?” Bill raises the upper half of his body to find that the Old West is gone, transformed into a tall, darkened room littered with hi-tech doodads and blinking lights. Nat is nowhere to be seen.

  “What the-?” Bill repeats. He continues to stare upon the foreign room. Moving gizmos twirl on the walls. Mechanisms and cogs are shifting and turning. He rubs his eyes and raises to his own feet to realize that he and his horse glowing a harsh blue. His horse jumps with fright.

  “Hold it!” A voice pronounces from across the room. Bill slowly turns to spot two men donning white fabric across from him. In the middle of the two men stands a figure encased in a strange, metal armor of some sort, complete with an intimidating mask.

  “Who…?” Bill says, “What the hell?” He shields his eyes from the surrounding illuminations. He rubs his eyes with his fingers, trying to obtain a clear visual of the strange figures. One of the men in white holds up his hand at the other two figures, and marches towards Bill. Noticing his gun on the floor, Bill slides and yanks it from the ground. He whips it at the approaching man and pulls the trigger.

  The armored figure pushes forward lightning fast and holds up his arm, which is equipped with a metallic gauntlet. A surge of energy emits from the glove, and the bullet evaporates into particles.

  “Freeze him!” the closest man in white says. The farthest man in white fires a strange-looking gun in Bill’s direction. Bill and his horse freeze in place. The cowboy is lifted off of the ground, hovering slightly upwards. The armored figure walks up to the energy field.

  Unable to move anything but his pupils, Bill notices a name engraved on the strange man’s metal chest plate: “Aeron Phoeni”. The figure places his hands to his head to retract his helmet, revealing a rugged, middle-aged man.

  “Save your energy. We’re on your side.” Aeron turns to the man who had solidified Bill in his place. “Let him go.”

  “Aeron?” the man says.

  “Do it.”

  The scientists exchange looks, and the man once again hits the gun trigger. Bill and his horse slowly lower to the ground. The horse takes off down the long facility hallway. Bill moves his left arm back and forth.

  “He’ll be fine, Bill.” One of the men’s nametags reads ‘J.J. McFlight’ and the other’s displays ‘Emmitt Zylff.’ The two men are complete opposites of each other; with J.J. being short and chunky, and Emmitt being the thinner of the two.

  “How’d ya do that? And, how do ya know my name? Am… I dead?” The men in white glance at each other.

  “You’re in the Azure Chronological Research and Development Facility,” says Emmitt, “The more pressing question is when you are.”

  “The year is 2887. You’re the third of your kind. We’ve brought you here to assemble a team of skilled individuals for a vital mission,” Aeron says. “You’ll be brought up to speed soon enough. We understand that this is all pretty overwhelming.” J.J. walks to a table and grabs a circular, clear ball filled with gooey, green liquid.

  “He is strong. He’s taking this much better than the other two,” J.J. says, tossing the ball straight at Bill’s chest. The ball sticks to Bill, and the green fluid quickly drains into his body. Bill pulls at the ball furiously to yank it off, but it is immovable. His veins glow as surges of the liquid course their way through his body.

  “What is this?! Take this off of…”

  Bill stumbles backwards, knocking random equipment off of a nearby table. His vision blurs again. The strange men approach him.

  “Take this…” He falls unconscious onto the cold, hard floor.

  “You think he’s the one?” Emmitt says.

  “He’s definitely like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” J.J. says in a quiet whisper.

  Two:

  There are Voices in the Dark

  “This is the one? The one that Aeron believes will end the war?” asks a peculiar voice. The mechanical, female voice sounds like a distorted mixture of the hissing of a snake and heavy machinery grinding. A pale-skinned figure cloaked in a white cape paces back and forth in front of a large projection displaying the events of September 16th, 1886 with Bill and Buck.

  A mysterious female figure is suspended above a large, hovering throne, almost completely shrouded in her grey robe. Both her and the pacing man are attentively watching Bill and Buck firing their guns at an awkward tree on the projection.

  “But, it’s just a man,” whispers the cloaked woman.

  “It is the one that Aeron believes will bring an end to us,” replies Malinfar, who stops his pace to face the intimidating figure that was masked in the shadows.

  “You’re sure?”

  “The informant believes it to be so, Lady Alypse.”

  The projection displays Bill’s hand fixed on his holster, and Nat strolling onto the riverbank. Projection Bill quickly turns and pushes his boy behind him. The silhouetted head of the woman twitches a disturbingly quick spasm, at an almost perfectly 90 degree angle.

  “What’s wrong, my queen?”

  A glowing, red orb sits on the arm of Alypse’s throne. Inside of the sphere twirls colored smoke. Long, spider-like, grey fingers protrude from the sleeve of her robe and grasp the orb.

  “What is it about the cowboy, Malinfar? And, the others? Why would Aeron bet it all on these weaklings?”

  “I’m not sure, your greatness. I’m just not sure,” Malinfar says. He cowers in her unnerving presence.

  Alypse’s skeleton-thin fingers clench the orb dangerously tight, her nails chiseling wood from the arm of the throne. Her head jerks another eerie jerk. Yellow eyes glow and glower from underneath the shadowing hood. Her large pupils are dilated and narrowing.

  “Find out.”

  Three

  This Strange, New World

  “We need you to wake up now.”

  Bill opens his eyelids to find himself on a cold, hard floor. The room looks like a metallic prison cell, and electric energy bars enclose the cell. Large, lifeless walls surround the room. A single, hovering chair sits in the middle of the prison. A flickering light reveals Aeron sitting in the chair across from Bill, whose vision is blurry while he glances at his surroundings.

  “Tell me. Am I dead?” Bill grunts. He notices that his own voice sounds scratchy and strange. Aeron lets out a hearty chuckle.

  “Death would proba
bly be a finer alternative, my friend. I apologize for knocking you out. We had to run a few prerequisite tests and procedures.” Bill stands up, but his legs feel numb. The cowboy collapses back onto the hardened floor. He spots a small, blue light blinking underneath the skin of his right wrist, but chalks it up to his skewed vision.

  “What’ve ya done to me? I feel weak…”

  “You haven’t eaten in weeks. You’ve been kept alive by artificially-enhanced proteins, minerals, and vitamins in the form of liquids. You’re body’s been through hell and back, but the feeling will subside in a few hours. Until then, let’s talk. Perhaps, proper introductions are in order. Name’s Aeron Phoeni.”

  Aeron holds out his hand to greet Bill, but this gesture isn’t reciprocated. Bill pushes his body off of the ground and shoves Aeron’s hand aside. Though his legs feel like mush, the cowboy limps over to the electric bars.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Aeron says, still facing the barren wall. Bill places his hands on the electric door. Electricity crackles and shoots him backwards with a mighty blast of popping light. His body lands in the same spot that he had just woke from.

  “This can’t be. I’m dead,” Bill coughs, “Where’s my son?” He lifts up the upper half of his body, still crackling with electricity, to see Aeron staring back at him. Bill notices something ragged and brown attached to Aeron’s back.

  “Name’s Aeron Phoeni.”

  “Ya’ve mentioned that.”

  “I already know all about you, Bill Oakley. Or ‘Wild Bill’ because of your incident involving Nat Dalton’s wife, Annie. Hit her with a stray bullet. Your own wife passed away giving birth to your son, Buck. Also dead,” says Aeron coldly.

  Bill shoots Aeron a hateful glance, and a single tear rolls down his bony cheek.

  “This is all in my head. Yer not real. Or are ya a spirit? A ghost playin’ tricks?”

  “Nat Dalton shot Buck on September 16th, 1886. 6:54 P.M.”

  Aeron stands from his hovering chair and pushes it aside with his foot. It zips across the floor into the side of the wall. He holds out his hand to Bill once again, offering a lift.

  “Don’t! Don’t.” Bill pushes himself off of the ground. “I don’t believe any a’ this. Whaddaya want with me?”

  “I believe I have a way to solve your problem and ours.”

  “I believe not.”

  “I know your story, and I know how it ends, Bill. It’s not a happy one.” Aeron and Bill circle one another, eyeing the other with extreme curiosity like a couple of wild animals in a bout of pride.

  “You never killed Nat Dalton. He killed you. Well, that’s how it would have happened. We took you nanoseconds before your death. You are not dead, but I know you won’t believe me. You’re searching for something.”

  “What I’m searching fer, I can’t git back.” Aeron nods his head and ceases the interrogative circular motion.

  “Let’s stretch those legs a bit. Oh, and I believe this is yours.”

  Aeron reaches behind his back and tosses Bill his cowboy hat. He catches it in midair, hesitates, and places it firmly on his head. Aeron nods, and the electric bars disappear from the door, revealing an open doorway. The man from the future exits the room. After a few seconds, Bill reluctantly follows.

  Bill and Aeron are walking down a stretched hallway with various technological gizmos and gadgets surrounding the two men. Bill notices panels of the walls moving and shifting gears. Abruptly, a round, black disk flies directly at Bill’s head, and he swiftly jerks his head to the right. The disk darts to his immediate left and continues to soar through the hall.

  “Sorry ‘bout that. Faulty hoverdisk. I’ll get Otaku to check that out,” Aeron states as the two look back at the hovering disk. Aeron sees Bill’s wide eyes filled with disbelief.

  “We need your help. I know this is a lot to take in, but time waits for no man,” says the man from the future.

  “What are you talking about? What is this place?!” Bill yells. Aeron stops in front of a door.

  “Go ahead. Open it. You don’t believe me. I can tell. You’re not dead. Open it,” Aeron says. Bill quietly stands staring down both Aeron and the door. He raises his hand slightly towards the door, but pulls it back down. Out of curiosity and confusion, he places his hand on the door, and Aeron also plants his hand against it. The door shoots out a blast of sparks, and Bill is blinded. There is a whirl of light, followed by a harsh landing on solid ground.

  “I should have mentioned that the landing’s a little rough. Here.” Aeron once again thrusts out his hand to pick Bill up. This time, vision distorted beyond comprehension, Bill accepts the gesture.

  “Where are we now?” Bill climbs to a stance and rubs his eyes. His vision slowly clears, and he notices something disturbing. There is a barren, dead look to the surrounding area. The ground is coated in a grey ash, and the sky is displaying a strange twist of orange-red and black. There is a river of dark tar substance, and a tiny shrivel of a tree stands a few yards from the men.

  “You should know. Look familiar?” Aeron points out to the open area. The revelation hits Bill like a swift uppercut with a hammer.

  “The river. What happened here? But… I was just here. Not long ago,” Bill questions the strangeness of the sight. Nothing was making sense. This was the very spot where Buck had died. Bill was sure that this had to be Hell.

  “You were, and you weren’t. This place is now perpetually stuck in a state of timeless standstill. This very spot is very peculiar, indeed. I know what you’re thinking. It all seems kind of ridiculous, huh?” Bill lowers his hand to the ash and coats his hand with a steely color.

  “This is the world today,” Aeron seeps in a saddened voice.

  “Return.”

  More sparks follow, and the men are zapped back into a whirlwind of light. Bill and Aeron are standing in the hallway once more. Bill’s stomach is churning from the travel. He can’t help but to vomit mere inches away from his own boots.

  “Uh… let’s continue,” Aeron says. Bill wipes his face with his sleeve, and the men continue their walk down the endless hallway. His mind races with questions and confusions.

  “We need your help,” says Aeron. A futuristic soldier whizzes by on flying boots, and Bill’s eyes grow large.

  “How is he doing that… and, what makes you think I’d help you?”

  “You’d be saving thousands, maybe millions of helpless individuals who can’t fight this fight. You’re reckless, an asshole maybe, but not completely self-centered.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will soon enough. You’re the one we’ve been searching for. We ran advanced tests for over 46,000 candidates throughout the past. Only one person fit the bill. Pun not intended.”

  Bill stops in the middle of the hall. A group of three soldiers sit on a bench alongside the hall’s walls, with oddly-shaped weapons and oversized robotic gloves. They look exhausted, sweating and barely able to keep their heads up.

  “The men today are downhearted, and weary of battle. Many have abandoned all hope of winning this war, have fled, and went into hiding. People are dying by the minute. This war has only amplified over the last few weeks.”

  “The future? So… you can bring back my son? Since you brought me here?”

  “It’s more complex than that. You must know, we can’t send you back to your time. To 1888. This was a one-way trip.”

  Aeron turns to show a large, clear wall in the hall that reveals the outside world. Bill shadows this motion, looking outside at the peculiar sights. The view shows a beautifully damaged world: destroyed buildings, flying cars, hovering cycles, and soldiers with futuristic weaponry. Explosions and fire saturate otherwise dark, purple skies.

  “Earth in 2887 is a different place, Bill. These are harsh times we live in. You wouldn’t want to bring your son into this torture anyway. First, the elderly began to die off. Then, the children. Kids like Buck are being killed daily. That�
��s where you come in.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Aeron shoots Bill a melancholy grin.

  “You’ve mentioned that.” His eyes are fixated on the outside view, never glancing at Bill.

  “When you see someone steal something, do you deem that right or wrong?”

  “Wrong.”

  “What if you steal to feed your family? With no other option? You’re a thief, but providing for your family like a respectable man should.”

  Bill stands silent as a flying motorcycle zips past the window leaving behind a trail of blue light in its wake.

  “The very rules of right and wrong are not quite so set in stone, my friend.”

  Aeron’s head dips, lost in thought.

  “I, too, have lost loved ones, Bill.”

  Aeron lifts his head to make eye contact, and Bill recognizes the sadness painted on his rough face. It was a look that Bill was all too familiar with. Aeron’s voice grows more silent and sympathetic.

  “No one should have to watch their children gunned down as we have. I have placed my faith in an idea - an idea that men such as yourself can save us.”

  Aeron turns from the window and motions for the two to move on. They continue their walk down the long hallway.

  “I believe you can stop the Scythes from exhausting our world.”

  “This is about a fight? A war? I’m no good to you, and I have little need for more difficulties.”

  Aeron stops at a door made of energy and light, and Bill soon stops alongside of him. Holding up his hand, Aeron causes the door to vanish.

  “I need you and the team to steal a vital object from the Scythes. An item of incredible, mysterious power. An item to turn the tide in this war. I believe the four of you can accomplish the things that men today cannot.”

  “Four?”

  There are sounds of blasting and voices booming from inside of the energy door.

  “It’s important that you meet the others. Come with me.”

  Four:

  Project: Chrono-Crossed

  Aeron and Bill enter a large room with minimal lighting. The room is barely lit, but a thin, massive box of energy lights the area. There are three figures moving frantically within the walls of light, and Bill spots Emmitt and JJ in the corner of the room, whom are taking notes on their respective computers. Bill, who has never seen a computer much less any of the other technological advancements of this world, unleashes a confused look. Aeron acknowledges Bill’s curiosity with a nod.

  “Take a look,” Aeron says in the calmest of voices. Bill walks up to the large imprisonment of energy. The walls are making crackling noises. The wall of energy is foggy but transparent. Bill peers in to see the commotion taking place inside of the box.

  There are three silhouettes bouncing around the area that appear quite strange to Bill. One of the men is wearing a helmet that shields his face, and he is deflecting projectile beams with futuristic katanas made entirely of negative light, which look like shadows to Bill. He is a bit bulky, but is rapid with his arm movements.

  The other man is wearing a different kind of hat, but his face is visible, though Bill can barely see it. The man weaves in and out of the oncoming projectiles. He outstretches his arm to grab a glowing ball that is swinging from an electric rope. A projectile flies past his head, and he misses the ball that dangles from the roof. This man is much thinner than the other man - his body movements are extremely quick. There is a much different finesse in this man. Whereas the other seems to be a wall-like defense, this man is tremendously agile.

  Bill is in awe. An even thinner figure slides across the ground directly in front of him. The female figure is hooking turret guns with her grapple and pulling them to the ground. She’s nimble, but harsh with her movements. Each gun she yanks to the ground hits harder and harder, as if she’s acting recklessly. The woman flips and slides her way around the dangers of the enclosed room. A voice breaks Bill’s intent concentration.

  “Crank up the intensity. Level three. Hazards enabled,” the voice comes from Aeron, who is also peering inside of the enclosed area. His face is cold and focused. Bill notices the two scientists in the corner hitting switches. This amplifies the speed of the projectiles. The three inside hasten their movements. They are communicating, but Bill cannot hear what they are saying.

  “What is this?” Bill asks. Aeron’s head never shifts, but he answers regardless.

  “I’ve been withholding information. I apologize for that. You deserve to know.”

  “Who are they?”

  Again, Aeron’s head is steady.

  “The others. You’re the last piece of the puzzle. Together, you make up Team: Chrono-Crossed.”

  There is a moment of silence. The two men stare inside at the struggling three. Bill is bewildered. There is a rush of absolute confusion and awe. Perhaps, he was dead.

  “Chrono-Crossed?” The words erupt from Bill’s mouth without much thought.

  “That’s correct. Time-crossed individuals, like yourself. Fulfilling Operation: Chrono-Crossed.”

  “But why? I don’t even know what the hell this is. I could use some answers. Are you killing them?”

  In a quick response, Aeron turns to Bill. He hits a button on his strange wristwatch, and a hologram appears behind the two men. Bill turns to see the projection.

  “Not too long ago, 4 years, 3 months, and 12 days to be exact, Earth discovered a rift between our world and another.”

  Bill flinches as the hologram shows a rip of energy shredding the air with a crackle. A figure tumbles out of the opening, and lifts his head up to reveal harsh, beady yellow eyes. The eyes hypnotizes Bill when it blinks. The figure lifts from the ground and creeps toward Bill. Bill stumbles backwards. The hologram retracts back into Aeron’s wristwatch. Aeron sees Bill’s horror over the image that felt real.

  “Don’t worry, that was just a recorded memory. It can’t hurt you. I always forget that you guys are new to this technology.”

  “What was that?! What was wrong with that man?!” Bill’s heart beats fast. This was too much for any normal man such as himself. Surely, this was Hell. The ridiculousness and strangeness of everything Bill had just seen was too much to bear. No man in his right mind would believe any of this.

  “That man? That was no man. That was a Scythe. The first of many. They arrived, waging war on Earth in search of something. Their desperation is apparent. In their short time here, they have ravaged our world, and killed millions of helpless individuals. They are advanced, but hateful. They are clinging to the death of their race, so they are dangerous in their fear.”

  Bill was overwhelmed. Why was he here? Is this some form of cruel punishment for his years of anger? His mouth speaks before his thoughts can catch up to him.

  “Wh- Why not travel back in time and stop them?” Bill was surprised at the words that erupted from his own mouth. Was he acknowledging that this world actually exists? It felt real. Strange and stupid, but real. Even Aeron laughs at Bill’s words.

  “Impossible. We’re not time travelers. Merely grabbers, so to speak. To transport something from the past requires absurd, taxable power. There are only seven talismans in the entire known world that contain that sort of kick, and we have three of them. Three of the Power Orbs. When one orb is used, that particular energy is drained from them, although their other power remains intact. One orb… one person through the Chrono-R.”

  Aeron points his head towards a mechanical archway that has a thin, blue screen of energy inside of it.

  “I came through that? I… remember.” The memory of his jolting arrival hits Bill hard.

  “It’s a one-time use deal, and we can only transport people from the past. Not vice-versa. There’s no sending anyone back or forward. We can only bring individuals from the past. The future hasn’t been written yet, so that’s out of the question,” Aeron says.

  “You used an orb on me?”
<
br />   “Correct.”

  “But why? Why me?”

  Aeron merely smiles.

  “I know everything about you. Your entire past. And yet, there’s something even I can’t answer. You were shot. Today, people survive gunshot wounds all the time. In the 1800’s, however, not as likely. You should be dead. And, here you are. Unscathed. A vital chunk of your past. Deleted. How?”

  “I can’t answer that, because I don’t know. I woke up far from where I was shot. My arm was scarred, but no bullet. No blood. No memory of how or why. So, I sought out Nat. Felt it was a message from God. That I had something to finish. That it was not my time.”

  “Exactly. It’s not your time. That’s the beauty of Project: Chrono-Crossed. I have the notion that the men of today cannot do what is necessary. I believe you can.”

  A sense of guilt rushes through Bill’s body.

  “I failed in my day, I would fail in yours.”

  “Failures make us stronger, Bill. Problem is, we aren’t sure why the Scythes are collecting the orbs. They are curious items, and wickedly powerful, but even I do not understand why they’d want them. They can’t use the Chrono-R. We are the only known unit with the advanced tech for time retrieval. That is why this facility is so well-hidden and well-protected. No one enters or exits those doors without serious damage to their well-being. We couldn’t risk losing that information. If they were to break into our files, or figure out the complexities…”

  Bill had forgotten about the figures in the enclosure until he hears a loud thud. The thinner of the two men misses the glowing ball again and is hit directly in the chest with a projectile, which flings him back and stuns him. The female runs to aid the downed figure, but she is also hit in the shoulder with a shot. Both are immobile. The heavy man sprints towards the ball but is shot in the leg. All three lie motionless on the floor. The training ceases, and the wall of energy dissolves away as if it were a thin sheet of ice in brutal, boiling temperature.

  Aeron looks over at Emmitt and J.J. who are busy typing away at their virtual, touchscreen computers. A strange, mechanical voice shocks the already puzzled Bill.

  “Chances of mission success based on test results: 36%.”

  This seems normal to everyone but Bill.

  “They’re not ready. Run it again.”

  “They’ve been at it for hours,” mumbles the lanky Emmitt.

  “They will die if they’re not fully prepared. Run it again”

  “No. They need rest, Aeron.”

  Aeron glances at both Emmitt and J.J. and shifts his eyes to the three people that lie motionless in the room. Aeron dips his head to the ground.

  “One hour,” he mutters.

  “Are they… dead?” Bill says out of sheer curiosity.

  “Not yet, they are simply stunned. This is Team: Chrono-Crossed. Except, for Kara, she’s one of ours. But, she’s damn fast,” Aeron says.

  He walks over to the center of the room where the three are grounded. He whips out a peculiar, slick black gun from his belt and blasts the three with it. Bill jumps back. Much to his surprise, the three spring back to life. Aeron holds the gun up to show Bill.

  “Called a Stunshot,” whispers Aeron.

  “How the hell am I supposed to grab the orb if you can’t even watch my ass?! Do you know where I was shot? In my chest! Directly! How did you miss that one?!” yells the thinner man to the thicker man. They all spring to their feet and dust themselves off.

  “I’m deflecting everything that comes my way. I can only hold them for so long,” calmly replies the thicker man. The woman merely shakes her head at the two squabbling.

  “You two girls let me know when you’re ready to go again,” she says with a smirk. She swings her grappling hook, it wraps around her arm, and she catches a glimpse of Bill. There is an awkward moment of eye contact. Bill notices something familiar about the look in her eyes, but his concentration is soon broken by Aeron’s voice.

  “Kara Azlynn. Infiltration specialist. Master of the Power Grapple. As I said, fast as a bullet and twice as deadly. She’ll be helping you infiltrate the orb’s location.”

  Aeron then nods at the two men who continue to bicker about the training simulation. He points to the thicker man.

  “Otaku Kojiro. Defense specialist. His Anti-BeamBlade skills deflect projectiles at an unreal rate, and his samurai skills certainly don’t hurt your chances. Been with us a year. We pulled him straight from Japan in the early 1800’s. Moments before he was to be assassinated.”

  “I’m beginning to see a pattern,” Bill replies. Aeron points to the thin man.

  “Jean Latif is a thief - plain and simple. His weapons of choice are the dual WristCannons. A bloody pirate in his day. Sailed around the oceans, snatching up treasure and wooing women. He’s the retrieval guy. He’ll be the one grabbing the orb from the Scythes. No one is better at what he does. He was the first. Been here almost three years, and we still can’t straighten him out.”

  The argument between Jean and Otaku has escalated into a yelling and shoving match. Bill could overhear them bickering about who failed more at the task. His curiosity at this entire situation had peaked.

  “So… what am I?” Bill blurts out. Once again, the words don’t coincide with his inner thoughts. Aeron shoots Bill another mischievous smirk.

  “The offense,” Aeron says, tossing the Stunshot to Bill. The gun flies at his head, but Bill quickly performs a wicked twist and catches it.

  “You’re a quick shot.”

  “Not the quickest, though,” Bill’s thoughts travel back to that clash with Nat Dalton. Nat always was faster than Bill. Better even, thought Bill. Yet, it’s Bill that stands before these strange people.

  “I’m not one of these people. This is not me. I’m not one of you… whatever you are. I’m normal,” Bill says.

  “You don’t believe your own words,” replies Aeron. The woman struts up to Bill and Aeron during their conversation. Her hair is black as shadow, but her eyes are an innocent blue. It was quite a contrast. There are bags under her blue eyes, but she remains beautiful, despite the battle scars on her face. Bill noticed a particular scar that was placed around her neckline. She had a trim figure in her tight black outfit, and her legs were obviously quite strong.

  “This is him?”

  An awkward moment of silence transpires amongst the triangle.

  “I expected more,” she says. Her voice is snappy, but soft.

  “Watch it, sweetheart. Perhaps, you didn’t just hear that I’m trigger happy. I’d hate to demonstrate,” Bill says. Her skeptical face is soon turns a half-smirk.

  “I like him. He’s retro. I guess we’ll have to see what you’re made of, Cowboy. Can I call you Cowboy?” she asks inquisitively.

  “No… and I’m made of gunpowder and fire, Doll-face. Not a great combination,” Bill says briskly.

  “Easy there, Cowboy. Easy to get hurt this day and age.”

  Aeron clears his throat. His eyes are wide open at the exchange. Kara shoots Bill a wink, and walks off, swinging her grapple around in a stylistic, arrogant fashion. Before she exits, she turns around and performs a saucy bow, right before she backflips out of the room.

  “She’s a firecracker. Sh… she grows on you,” Aeron stutters.

  “Right.”

  “Anyway, you may notice that Jean and Otaku are wearing variations of the headgear from their corresponding eras.”

  Aeron gestures to the two, quarrelling men.

  “The headgear is implanted with technology to allow for instantaneous, internal translation.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Communication is essential for any good team. The hats make everyone on the same page, speaking the same language and dialect. You may have felt your own hat having a similar effect on you,” Aeron says.

  Bill hadn’t thought about it, but it was true. His words did come out slightly different. He hadn’t noticed
it, but his voice was changed somehow. Bill’s fingers lightly stroke the edge of his cowboy hat. Jean and Otaku break out into a full-fledged fist fight. Aeron merely sighs and shakes his head.

  “Plus, they look damn cool,” Aeron says.

  “Do they always fight like this?”

  “Actually… yeah. Hey!”

  Jean trips Otaku, who hits the ground, but throws up an explosive kick at Jean’s chest, sending the pirate downward as well. Aeron breaks up the fight between the samurai and the pirate and lifts the two men to their feet.

  “Save it! We’ve got to get it together! Break! Now!”

  Jean dusts himself off again, and spits on Otaku’s shoe. Otaku glances down and shoots Jean a stern look.

  “Lily-livered mother f…” Jean mumbles as he exits the training room.

  “He’ll get us all killed.” Otaku shakes his head and exits the door as well.

  Aeron pulls out a black handheld device and a clear ball. He hands them to Bill, and hits a different button on his watch. A doorway shoots out of the watch. There is a light peaking from the crevices of the door.

  “Shall we train the rookie? Step in,” Aeron says.

  Bill’s head is racing. All of this has left him with a pounding headache, and his energy is at a low. Thoughts of the world he once knew filled his mind. He was just spending time with his son. Shooting, fishing, and running from the threats of the past. He had failed his son, and this was his punishment. It was his fate to die a stranger in a strange world.

  Buck had been an innocent boy, caught up in his father’s mistakes. He paid his father’s debt with his life. The world that Bill knew had passed. No more dusty trails. No more horseback ventures with his son. No more misguided fatherly advice. What he would give to do it all over and right the wrongs of the past. Nevertheless, that was the life of old. A strong, inescapable, real feeling overcomes Bill.

  “This all seems incredibly ridiculous,” blurts out Bill, his thoughts stirring. Aeron nods his head, and his eyes squint.

  “Agreed. Then again, the world is ridiculous.”