You wake up in another world, darker, more mechanical. You can feel it in your bones as kind; warm hands catch you as you tumble out of bronze.
You did not anticipate ever awakening again, and the fear of the moment grips you. A gentle voice leads you patiently out of a labyrinthine enclosure, what can only be the Warehouse. You sense its hatred for you even now, what has to be years after you wronged it. You don’t smell apples; you don’t feel content. Everything puts you ill at ease. You don’t have much time, there’s fighting and the startling (and oh so loud) boom of an explosion.
Your feet feel leaden under you, each step a laborious process that reminds you how long you were trapped inside your own head, inside your own thoughts. You’ve plotted novels, revenge, served it cold and tried to undo it; time and time again.
There is another voice now, this one gruff, English, familiar. You can hear just enough of a variation in his near-perfect usage to know that he is probably not a Londoner, but that’s as far as your memory will take you. Your head is reeling from the uncertainty of it all, from the shock of being alive again. It hurts; you can’t even think everything is so loud.
Its dark, your eyes hurt even under the blanket covering you. There’s a low rumble, a gentle lull as you feel yourself begin to move, away, faster than you’ve ever gone before.
“You are going to help me change the world,” The man says, his voice is quiet, almost angst-ridden. You wonder what he’s done to fill him with such sorrow.
You want to respond, but the words will not emerge from within you. You wonder if you will be like this forever. You don’t want that. And besides, this is just the first step of the puzzle. The rest will come later, when you’ve had time to evaluate this man further, to see how he fits into the grand scheme of things.
Somewhere nearby, you have a feeling that they are watching you.
They see you settle down deeper into the seat that you’ve been bundled into and they wonder what your purpose here is. There is no way that James MacPherson could know what you could do to this world, no one could truly know. They could not foresee your plot arching quite this far in advance. They’re cautious, as always. You know that they will be. They think they are in control, but they are so easily corruptible, it is almost comical.
Your revenge will be at its best.
The Warehouse is going to need a second investigative agent, and soon. It was a foolish and inadvisable venture to go to using only a single agent, but the perfect partner for him was not ready at the time when he needed the Warehouse.
She is not quite ready now.
Time will heal all wounds, no matter how great or how small. And yet, there is a disturbance in the natural flow of things. Events set into motion faster than anticipated.
They turn as one and head into nothingness; this requires looking into.