Encounter [PART 2]

Alexander surveyed the tense standoff, acutely aware that despite gaining the ability to communicate, he had made little progress in securing his freedom. Desperation clawed at the edges of his consciousness as he realized he would need to resort to more... unorthodox measures.

Fixing the primitive woman with a steely gaze, he spoke in a low, menacing tone. "If you don't let me go willingly, I'll have to use my trump card." As he uttered these words, he summoned forth his "killing intent" that caused the woman to take an involuntary step backward, her grip tightening on her makeshift weapon.

"I knew it," she hissed, her eyes darting frantically about the clearing. "You're one of them!" Her posture tensed, as if anticipating an ambush at any moment.

Seizing upon the momentary distance between them, Alexander steeled himself for what he was about to do. It wasn't dignified, certainly, but survival trumped pride in this savage realm.

[Are you going to?] the disembodied voice inquired, a note of disbelief coloring its tone.

"Yes," Alexander replied tersely.

[But...]

"I know. But it's the only way."

[Nooooo...]

In an instant, Alexander's demeanor underwent a startling metamorphosis. Gone was the hardened scientist, replaced by a visage of heart-wrenching vulnerability. His eyes, once sharp with determination, now glistened with unshed tears, wide and luminous like those of a wounded puppy. His lower lip trembled ever so slightly, a masterful touch that added to the illusion of abject misery.

"I really am not one of them," he whimpered, his voice cracking with feigned emotion. Crystalline tears began to trace delicate paths down his cheeks, each droplet a testament to his apparent anguish.

The primitive woman's stoic facade cracked, her expression wavering between suspicion and an unmistakable flicker of sympathy. Yet, she visibly steeled herself against his performance, unwilling to be so easily swayed.

"Then how come you can speak their language?" she demanded, taking a hesitant step closer.

Inwardly, Alexander allowed himself a moment of satisfaction – she had taken the bait. Redoubling his efforts, he launched into an impassioned, tear-soaked narrative of captivity and torment.

"Those people had captured me," he wailed, his voice rising and falling in a masterful crescendo of anguish. He wove a tale of unspeakable horrors, of brutal labor and unrelenting cruelty. With each fabricated detail, he watched the woman's resolve crumble further, her eyes widening with a mix of horror and dawning empathy.

"...and then, one day, when they forced us to work by the ocean, I saw my chance," he continued, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "I jumped into the waves, praying that death would be kinder than the life they had condemned me to."

Pausing for dramatic effect, he blinked up at her, his lashes still heavy with manufactured tears. "When I woke up here, I didn't know where I was. And when you captured me..." He trailed off, allowing a shudder to run through his frame. "I thought you were one of them. That's why I tried to imitate their speech – it was all I had ever heard."

[How crafty. If I didn't know any better, I would have believed you,] the disembodied voice remarked dryly.

"Shut up," Alexander retorted silently, tamping down a flicker of irritation. He had sacrificed his dignity for this performance – if it failed, he might as well embrace the sweet release of death.

For an agonizing moment, the primitive woman stood motionless, her expression unreadable as she processed his tale. Alexander's heart hammered in his chest, a cold sweat beading upon his brow as he awaited her verdict.

And then, without warning, she dropped her club with a resounding thud. In a blur of motion, she flung herself towards him, enveloping his bound form in an embrace so fierce it nearly drove the air from his lungs. Her calloused fingers brushed away his tears even as her own began to fall, her voice thick with emotion.

"You went through so much," she sobbed, her earlier suspicion shattered by the weight of his fabricated suffering. "I'm so sorry for doubting you!"

Alexander blinked, momentarily stunned by the efficacy of his ruse. Was it truly that simple? Had a few crocodile tears and a well-spun yarn been enough to overcome the deeply ingrained suspicions of this primordial warrior?

As the woman continued to weep against his shoulder, mumbling apologies and words of comfort, Alexander allowed himself a moment of quiet triumph. He had survived – not through brute strength or technological prowess, but through the age-old art of manipulation.

In this savage world, it seemed, the most potent weapon was not the club or the fang, but the ability to sway hearts and minds. And armed with this knowledge, Alexander knew he stood a fighting chance of not merely surviving, but thriving in this strange new reality he had inadvertently created.

…

A few moments later.

Alexander perched on a nearby rock, the very picture of a rescued damsel in distress. His eyes remained reddened from his earlier performance, a faint flush still coloring his cheeks. From his vantage point, he observed Lucile – the primitive woman whose name he had recently learned – rummaging through her belongings some distance away.

After a thorough search, Lucile triumphantly held aloft her prize – a chunk of meat so massive it bordered on the comical. The sheer size and perfectly clean cut of the meat struck Alexander as oddly reminiscent of something one might encounter in a cartoon or a video game item. Its vibrant red hue and precise edges hinted at a level of technological sophistication he hadn't expected from this era, prompting him to wonder if these people had already entered an Iron Age of sorts.

Waving her prize jubilantly, Lucile bounded back to Alexander's side, settling herself next to him on the rock. With a warm smile, she proceeded to tear the meat apart with her bare hands, effortlessly splitting it into two equal portions. Alexander's eyes widened in disbelief, his scientific mind reeling at the display of raw strength. Were the people of this time truly so physically powerful?

[Of course not,] the disembodied voice chimed in, answering his unspoken query. [The singularity didn't send you back in time; it overwrote the existing timeline. And with how unstable the laws are, it's tending towards destruction.]

"What laws?" Alexander asked, his curiosity piqued by this cryptic statement. But the voice merely dismissed his question with an air of casual indifference.

[Well, just think of this as one of those fantasy worlds with swords and magic,] it offered by way of explanation.

Surprisingly, this revelation didn't shock Alexander as much as one might expect. During the creation of the particle accelerator, he had entertained similar possibilities – not of time travel, per se, but of the experiment granting them some form of superhuman abilities through the study of the infant universe.

As he mulled over this new information, Alexander realized that the rules governing this reality were far more malleable than he had initially assumed. If Lucile could casually rend meat with her bare hands, what other fantastical feats might be possible in this rewritten world?