Formless (Part 1)

He couldn't remember how many days he had been wandering. He couldn't recognize anything around him like everything seemed so alien.

Maybe he is the alien.

From the moment he got up from the endless grassland, he had been heading east, following the sun in the morning and following his shadow in the afternoon.

He remembers seeing abandoned, dilapidated houses. When he tried going into one, he was greeted by the stench of decaying flesh and he immediately took off.

In the last five days, all he had was several pieces of moldy bread and what he hoped was clean bottled water.

It looked clean and he did not feel poisoned.

Yet.

His knees might give out any minute.

He had not seen any humans.

He looked back and saw the sea of grass stretching far into the horizon. The sun was setting.

The nights were terribly depressing. Faces of his companions kept appearing in and out of his awareness, like they were still there but when he tried speaking to them, they did not answer back.

He slumped down into the ground, not quite sobbing but close to it.

At the end, they had a name. The Coder called them Manlalakbay. Ice might know what that meant.

He missed them.

Especially her.

He buried his head into his knees and kept them there for a long time.

"Hey, you don't belong here, buddy."

He looked sharply at the voice, startled to hear a human voice.

All at once, the noise assaulted his senses. It was unbearable.

After a week of not hearing anything resembling human noise, the indistinct babble is so much to bear.

Not only because it was sudden but because it did not enter his awareness gradually. It was like a speaker turned on at full volume.

He found himself in the middle of a busy sidewalk.

The sea of grass was replaced by a sea of people. They were everywhere.

The lights are beginning to fill the surroundings. Night is descending and the city is coming to life.

He got up in amazement while the one who called his attention was looking at him suspiciously.

He is back. The Coder and Tarayon called this the Broken World.

The one who called him was slowly backing away and pretty soon, he was part of the flow of the uncaring mob.

John breathed deeply and recognized at once the undeniable scent of a city.

He could not see the stars when he looked up but he knew they were there.

He walked confidently, joining the slow race to nowhere.

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Vince glanced left and right before putting his hood. If John could see him now, he might not be able to recognize him. Except for the tattoo at the back of his palm, everything about him is different. He is obviously bigger now and his previously unsure gait was replaced by a resolute but hurried movement.

He now sports a goatee not unlike John's. His eyes still have that naive and innocent look under the right circumstances but tonight, they are alert and untrusting.

He sighed. After all these years, he still remembers them vividly.

For a brief moment in his life, he was part of a unique group who had a unique experience. They were not together for a long time but it was by far the most important part of his childhood.

He brought out a key from his pocket.

This used to be a sword.

He clutched at it tighter. It was called The Kampilan. It opened a future so bleak and dark that he sometimes wanted to throw it away in disgust.

But something tells him he shouldn't.

From the moment he and Lam-ang turned the key, his life spiralled down into hell.

He spent a long time floating in space, almost insane with fear and loneliness. It was as if he was drowning but he could breathe. It was the absence of pressure around his body that frightened him the most. He floated for a long time like dust among the stars.

Then when he thought he couldn't bear it anymore, he was back.

Just like that.

Back in a world that did not know him, that he did not know. The only thing that was familiar was the lack of connection to anybody.

He begged for food and shelter. It was difficult for him to find a job. At that time, he didn't know it yet but the world economy was at the brink of collapse.

A new currency was slowly creeping into place and it rendered the old financial systems obsolete.

Not having any means to get back to his old hometown, he fell into odd company. These are people who, like him, were disenfranchised by the new system.

They scavenged for food when they could not ask anyone to give them leftovers.

"Hey man, you got any with you?"

The old man startled him. His toothy grin disarmed him and he calmed down.

He thought it was the police again.

Being dragged to the police station wouldn't be the worst that could happen but it will be bad for the people who depend on him.

"No, old timer. I am on my way to get some and if I have enough, I will come back for you."

The answering grin hurt him to the core. These people got it worse than him but they still smile like everything's okay. It's the same with the old folks in the shelter. When the world turned bleak, it was as if they carried with them a magic from the old times. It was from them that he learned to shrug off some of the blows.

He thought of John and the others. Memories of them strengthen him to some degree. They'd certainly carry that same magic with them.

He missed them.

He even kinda misses the way Ash called him 'Wetpants'. If she could see him now, would she still call him the same?

Probably.

He smiled at that thought. Some things are probably unchangeable.