Awakening

Clint was on his way home riding his bicycle as usual. The air was humid and the streets seemed dreary. He was lost in thought while turning around a corner. He keeps muttering, 'Who runs the world? Girls!', multiple times. He was quietly singing, probably.

"What should I eat for dinner?", he asked as if somebody would answer him, still lost in thought. He was driving almost on autopilot all the way home. Unaware of his surroundings, almost two blocks away from reaching his front gate, a pickup truck came ragingly around a curve hitting an electric post beside Clint.

Clint's eyes dilated after the incident seemingly in shock of what happened. He said under his breath, "I almost got isekai'd while thinking about dinner. What a shame.", shaking his head as if disappointed.

Clint checked on the person driving the truck with a glance and went on his merry way as if nothing happened. A block from his house and he's home. Clint slowly clutched on the brakes and slowly came to a stop. Pushing his bike slowly across their gate when a dump truck uncontrollably burst through the gate in reverse, hitting Clint in the process. 

There was blood everywhere. Clint's chest was impaled by his bike's rusty handlebar. Blood oozing from his mouth, he was facing the front door of his house. He was living with his parents but no one seems to have noticed what just happened. 

The driver of the dump truck noticed his mistake and hurriedly checked the damage he caused. Witnessing the gruesome scene, the driver stood dazed and stayed still for what seemed like an eternity for Clint. Getting off his daze, the driver checked whether the boy was still alive and in panic, flagged down a vehicle to bring the injured boy to the nearest hospital.

The scenario in the hospital was even more appalling. Doctors and nurses are gawking at the boy who was brought in with a bicycle handlebar sticking out of his back. The doctors were almost certain of the harrowing chances of survival by the patient. 

Clint's parents were on their way to the hospital, filled with worry and panic. They never would have known that this would happen. Especially, not in front of their residence, and them not being aware of it happening made it even worse.

The medical staff in charge of Clint were doing their best to stop the bleeding from the impaled region by using compressions around the area. They seem to find it a hopeless endeavor to try removing the object stabbing through his heart since it will only make it worse. He would immediately die if they were to remove it.

The parents are adamant, crying, a faceful of snot, begging the doctors to prolong his life by whatever means necessary. They almost begged on their knees until the doctors gave an alternative that was neither good news nor a reliable method.

They proposed the need for a heart donor and the simultaneous removal and transplant Clint's heart. Burdened by the requirements, the spouses had a long and hard conversation regarding the plight of their son. 

Unbeknownst to the husband and wife, and even Clint himself. A miracle is waiting to blossom. A past that is prophesied to once again come to life; a future that is determined soon to be altered. Clint's fate was sealed with this oncoming events.

A medic van with its siren blaring came rushing in through the gates of the hospital, carrying various medical supplies. It carried multiple boxes and coolers containing differing necessities. One of the boxes seems to be glowing with amber, sometimes, milky white light. 

An armor. It was a tiny armor shoved in ice cubes, that looked like it was from some ancient era. It has this Roman-era type of design, looking like a plate mail. It kept glowing until a medical staff took the box away and the glow faded. 

Bringing in good news, the doctors informed the parents that a delivery was made and that the heart needed for the transplant was available and asked for their consent to proceed with the operation. They also made them sign a waiver about the possible repercussions of this transplant like compatibility issues. 

After the transplant, Clint remained unconscious. His parents were on edge thinking that the operation was a failure. 

Outside the hospital, the world continued its indifferent march. The hum of traffic, the distant sirens, and the occasional murmur of voices created a surreal backdrop to the unfolding drama. Little did anyone know, the ancient armor in the glowing box held secrets that transcended the boundaries of time.

In the depths of his mind, Clint was navigating through a labyrinth of dreams. The faces that had haunted his thoughts now morphed into surreal landscapes, each more fantastical than the last. Whispers of voices he had never heard before echoed in the recesses of his consciousness. Scenes unfolded like fragments of memories from a past life.

As time ticked by, Clint's mental journey became increasingly tumultuous. The dreamscape seemed to warp and twist, threatening to consume his sanity. He was trapped in a kaleidoscope of emotions, his mind teetering on the edge of both wonder and madness.

But suddenly, the images came to a standstill. The voices quieted down. The faces converged into a rainbow of colors above his head. 

The world became silent and placid.

The sound of a vacuum was suddenly heard as if a blackhole had torn down the atmosphere.

And then, he awakened.

Clint's eyes fluttered open. The once despondent parents now held their breath, their eyes fixed on their son. The doctors, caught between skepticism and awe, witnessed the inexplicable: Clint, awakening from a state that defied medical logic.

The room bathed in the sterile glow of hospital lights, felt charged with an otherworldly energy. Clint, his gaze flickering between the worried faces of his parents and the perplexed expressions of the medical staff, slowly sat up.

A calmness, an aura of transcendence, surrounded Clint.