Roads Untraveled

I woke up to the laughter of children and the sting of disinfectant. Blinking against the sunlight that streamed in through a crack in the shutters, I groaned. My body ached, each move sparking a new wave of pain, a vivid reminder of my encounter with Ivan. I was lying in a crude metal bed, the sheets clean but worn thin.

A woman entered, her face lined with age but her eyes sharp and alert. Her graying hair was pulled back into a simple bun, and she wore a white lab coat over her modest clothes. She moved with the confidence and efficiency of someone well acquainted with her craft.

"Easy now," she cautioned, gently pressing me back onto the pillows when I tried to sit up. "You're in no condition to move."

I grunted, wincing as pain shot through my side. "Where am I?"

She dabbed my forehead with a cool cloth, wiping away sweat and grime. "My home," she replied. "I found you floating in the river. Couldn't just leave you there."

I tensed at her words, trying to piece together fragmented memories of my fight with Ivan. "Who are you?" I managed to ask.

She smiled, a warm, comforting gesture. "My name is Helena. I used to be a toxicologist before all this...madness. Now, I just try to keep my kids safe. You're lucky, you know. The river was poisonous to humans. Had you been any longer in that water and..."

She trailed off, the implications clear. My eyelids drooped, fatigue pulling me under. But before I surrendered to unconsciousness again, I managed to whisper, "Thank you, Helena."

My eyes fluttered open to an odd sensation. I was being watched. Startled, I turned my head, locking eyes with two young children peering at me over the edge of the bed. They shrieked in delight when they saw me awake, tumbling over each other in their haste to escape.

As they scampered out of the room, their laughter echoed through the house, a melody of innocent joy starkly contrasted with the harsh reality of our world. With great effort, I shifted myself to look out the window.

The outskirts of Paradise City stretched out before me, the city was in the distance, a vista of stark desolation softened by the dimming light of the setting sun. Beyond the fields of arid desert, the toxic river trickled down to a stop, forming a small pond fringed with struggling reeds and shrubs. The landscape was harsh, relentless, yet oddly beautiful in the dying light.

Helena returned to the room, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming soup. Her eyes softened as she caught sight of me struggling to sit up.

"You're awake," she said, a hint of relief in her voice. "You scared those two quite a bit, you know."

I managed a small chuckle, the effort sending a wave of pain through me. "Seems like we scared each other."

Helena set down the tray and moved to prop me up against the pillows. "You should rest," she insisted. "Your body's been through quite a lot. You'll recover, but it'll take time."

Her words, although well-intentioned, pricked at my growing sense of impatience. I didn't have the luxury of time. But my body was stubborn, and right now, it was calling the shots.

The room now bathed in the soft glow of a solitary table lamp. Helena was seated by the window, engrossed in a tattered book. The sight was eerily domestic in the otherwise bleak world we inhabited. I shifted, wincing as fresh waves of pain shot through my body.

She glanced up, her eyes widened a fraction. "You're staying up?," she asked, her voice softer than before.

I mustered a weak smile. "Seems I will. I didn't properly introduce myself earlier." My voice sounded raspy, foreign to my own ears.

Helena moved closer, her gaze cautious but not unkind. "I know who you are," she said. "It's not every day you fish out Alexander the Great from the river."

I chuckled, the sound more like a grimace. "Well, in this life, I'm just Alexander. The 'Great' part doesn't quite fit here."

She tilted her head to the side, studying me. "What brings a man like you almost drowning to the end of Paradise City's haunted river?" Her words were casual, but her eyes were sharp, full of curiosity.

"Let's just say I bit off more than I could chew," I replied, my mind drifting back to Ivan, to his unhinged savagery. Helena didn't need to know about that. Not yet.

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the book in her lap. "Well, Alexander, you have my home for as long as you need it. Just promise me one thing," she said, her eyes meeting mine again, "No trouble. I've got the kids to think about."

I nodded, grateful for her kindness. "I promise, Helena. And thank you."

She simply nodded and turned back to her book. And for the first time since this ordeal began, I felt a sliver of hope. Despite the pain, despite the looming battles, I was alive. And as long as I was alive, I still had a chance to make things right, and Ivan.

I noticed a small plate sitting on the floor beside my bed, holding a piece of stale bread and a glass of murky water. It wasn't the feasts of my past life, but it was the most welcomed meal I'd seen in days. "Thank you," I said to Helena, though she was already absorbed back into her book. She nodded without looking up.

Carefully, I broke off a piece of the bread and took a small sip of the water. The food was plain, yet somehow satisfying. I let myself eat slowly, savoring every morsel, before my eyelids grew heavy again and I succumbed to sleep.

A deafening roar filled my ears as I stood on the battlefield, the ground slick with blood beneath my feet. It was a scene all too familiar, a scene etched deep into my memories. I was in Persia, at the heart of the great battle of Gaugamela.

The sound of clashing swords echoed around me, the metallic scent of spilled blood permeated the air. Darius III, my greatest adversary in Persia, stood at the center of it all. But something was wrong. His face was twisted into an expression of sheer madness, eerily reminiscent of Ivan's. He was laughing maniacally, an uncanny resonance to the dissonant music of war.

I rushed towards him, my trusty kopis in hand. But as I drew closer, the faces of the fallen began to shift. They were no longer the faces of soldiers but of my dear friends, Hephaestion, Craterus, Ptolemy... and more.

Horror gripped me. "No!" I screamed, my voice swallowed by the chaos around me. I looked down to see a blood-soaked tunic; the blood was mine. The pain was a distant echo but the despair, the guilt was unbearable.

I tried to run, but the ground beneath me turned into a river of blood, pulling me under. I was drowning, drowning in the blood of my friends, my soldiers, the ones who had trusted me, believed in me.

I woke up with a gasp, sweat drenched and heart hammering against my ribs. The nightmare had ended but its echoes still reverberated in my mind. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room. I was still here, in Helena's house, a world away from my past. But as I learned, some things, no matter how far you run, still manage to chase you down.

Sleep was reluctant to claim me. The pain, though lessened, was a constant reminder of my reality. I lay back against the thin mattress, the quiet murmurs of the children in the other room lulling me into an uneasy sleep.

The dreams came swiftly, as they always did, but this time they were different. No heroic battles or victorious cheers. This time, I was back in Babylon. The sweet scent of wine and perfume filled the air as I reclined on my throne, the sounds of laughter and music fading into a dull murmur.

My heart pounded in my chest, a dread I couldn't explain settling over me. I saw my own hand reaching out for the wine cup, watched as I raised it to my lips and took a long sip. Suddenly, I felt an intense pain ripping through my body, my vision blurring as I collapsed onto the cold marble floor.

A voice whispered in my ear, its tone cold and cruel, "Death comes to us all, Alexander."

I woke once more, with a cold sweat trickling down my face. The room was still, the only sound was the distant murmurs of the children and Helena flipping through pages in her book. I closed my eyes, trying to push the nightmares away.

The next morning was a quiet one. I woke up to the soft rays of sunlight filtering in through a makeshift curtain hanging over the window. My body felt stiff, but the pain had subsided somewhat, replaced with a dull ache. As I tried to sit up, my hand bumped into something warm. I looked down to see Helena, her head rested on the bed, hand still holding mine.

She had stayed the night, keeping me company through the torment of my nightmares. I couldn't help but feel a pang of gratitude towards her. It was a strange thing, waking up to such a sight, in a home that was not my own, surrounded by the comforting presence of a stranger.

As the movement of my hand stirred her from sleep, she blinked up at me, her eyes still bleary. "Ah, you're awake," she muttered, quickly withdrawing her hand and standing up, "How do you feel?"

"Better," I replied, "thanks to you."

Helena nodded and began to straighten her clothes, her cheeks gaining a faint pink hue. "You know," she said after a moment, "you remind me of my eldest, Elias."

A pang of sorrow clouded her eyes, and I instantly knew what it meant. "I'm sorry for your loss," I said softly.

"He was brave, like you," Helena said, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen on her face, "Wanted to make the world a better place, stood up to the corporations. But it cost him his life..." She trailed off, looking away.

"Helena," I said, reaching out to her. She looked back at me, her gaze meeting mine. "I promise you, I will do my best to honor your son's memory."

Helena nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know, Alexander. I believe in you."

And at that moment, despite the agony that still pulsed through my body, I felt an odd sense of peace. I had found an ally, a friend. And with that, a renewed sense of purpose. I was not just fighting for myself or the anomalies nor the city; I was fighting for Helena and her children, and for the memory of Elias, a soul that resembled mine. For a better world that they deserved.

Two weeks passed in a strange rhythm, a rhythm that had become both familiar and comforting. The mornings started with the distant laughter of children, Helena's youngest pair, Felix and Clara, rambunctiously playing around the house. Their innocence provided a stark contrast to the cruel reality we lived in. Despite the circumstances, they managed to find joy, and it was infectious.

My recovery was slow but steady. Helena, with her extensive knowledge as a retired toxicologist, brewed herbal concoctions that numbed the pain and facilitated the healing. Every morning and night, she'd carefully clean the wound, a grim reminder of my encounter with Ivan. Despite the harsh reality that lurked outside the safety of her home, she never let worry mar her face. Instead, she carried a serene smile, a beacon of resilience and hope amidst the chaos.

During the afternoons, I'd often find myself helping around the house, despite Helena's initial protests. It was menial work, fixing a broken door, helping her collect and filter water from the river, teaching Felix and Clara how to defend themselves, but it provided a strange sense of satisfaction.

We'd spend our evenings huddled around the small dining table, exchanging stories over simple meals. Helena, a brilliant storyteller, would weave tales of a time before the corporations took over, when the world was greener, the skies clearer. Felix and Clara would listen in awe, their eyes wide and sparkling, as if they could see the world Helena painted with her words.

With each passing day, I felt a piece of my old self-returning. The constant, dull pain was now merely a whisper in the background, drowned out by the sounds of laughter and the warmth of newfound camaraderie. But as my strength returned, so did the reality of the fight that awaited me outside the confines of Helena's home.

Yet, the memories of Ivan's attack were a haunting reminder of what I had faced, and a foreboding premonition of the war that still lay ahead. Despite the tranquility that the past weeks had offered, I knew that it was temporary. There was still much to do, much to fight for, and I could not – would not – let this respite make me forget my mission. For Helena, for Elias, for all the people of Paradise City, the fight was far from over.

The cool morning air was slightly biting as I found myself out in the front yard with Felix and Clara. The pair was as lively as ever, their youthful curiosity an endless spring. Today, I held in my hands not a broken door or a faulty water pump, but weapons, wooden replicas I'd crafted myself. Today, it was time to teach them something that would ensure their survival in this ruthless world.

"Remember, Felix, Clara," I began, my tone steady and serious, "the weapon in your hand is an extension of you. Do not let it control you. Instead, you control it."

Clara, the youngest, seemed to take in my words with a level of focus that I hadn't expected, her eyes wide and determined. Felix, however, just seemed excited. "Like a superhero!" he declared, brandishing his wooden sword with gusto.

"No," I replied with a small smile. "Not like a superhero. Like a protector. Like a guardian."

As we continued practicing, Helena watched us from the porch. I could tell she was conflicted. She found solace in the fact that her children were learning to defend themselves, yet the need for such lessons in the first place was a grim reminder of the reality we lived in. After an hour or so of instruction, Helena beckoned me over.

"Alexander," she started, her voice calm but her eyes somewhat sad, "I know you'll be leaving us soon. You're healed, and there is something you have to do back in Paradise City, isn't there?"

I nodded, unable to deny the truth in her words. I was grateful for the sanctuary her home provided, but I couldn't lose sight of my mission. The regime, the corporations, Ivan...I had unfinished business with them all.

"I'm sorry, Helena," I said sincerely, feeling the heavy pull of my responsibility. "I promise I'll do everything in my power to make this world safer for you and your children."

"I know you will, Alexander," she replied softly, placing a comforting hand on mine. "And for that, we'll forever be grateful. Just...promise me we'll meet again."

"I promise you." At that moment, I realized how much this humble family had grown on me, how important their safety had become. And I knew that they were not just another reason to fight, but a reminder of what I was fighting for. A world where innocence and hope could flourish, a world free from fear. With a heavy heart and a newfound resolve, I made my promise to Helena. But I knew promises weren't enough; it was time to leave.

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon with warm hues of orange and red. I stood at the edge of the desert, with Paradise City in the distance. I could see the cloudy silhouette of the city, the ominous corporations, the regime, and a myriad of unfinished battles waiting for me.

I turned back to see Helena and her children. They stood by their humble abode, looking at me with a mix of sadness and admiration. Felix and Clara clung to their mother, eyes sparkling with innocent wonder and curiosity. It was hard to bid them farewell, but this wasn't goodbye.

"You're like the heroes in the stories mom tells us," Felix said, eyes wide with admiration. He ran up to me, handing over a photograph that was taken with all four of us smiling. "Please don't forget us, and beat all the villains over there!"

"I can never forget you all, just remember what I taught you, okay?" I bent down to their level, my gaze serious, "And look after your mother and sister for me. While I go beat all the villains."

Helena held out a necklace, a simple leather string threaded through a weathered bronze medallion. "This belonged to Elias," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the desert wind. "He always believed that it brought him strength and peace in times of darkness. I want you to have it, Alexander."

I looked at her, overwhelmed by her kindness, and took the necklace, carefully placing it around my neck. "I'll treasure it, Helena. And I promise you, I'll come back."

"And we'll be waiting," Helena said, her voice firm despite the tears welling in her eyes. "Be safe, Alexander."

I looked at them one last time, their faces etched into my memory, a beacon of hope in a world overshadowed by darkness. As I stepped into the vast desert, I felt the weight of the necklace and photograph against my chest, both a symbol of my promises I intended to keep. It was time to go home, time to face my battles and carve out a future, not just for myself, but for Helena, Felix, Clara, and everyone else living under the tyranny of Paradise City.

The desert stretched out before me, a barren wasteland untouched by the iron fist of the corporations. I moved ahead with determination, the dust swirling around my boots with each step. Each footprint left behind marked my journey, a testament to my survival and a vow to continue my fight against the oppressive regime.

The sun was my only companion, casting long shadows and baking the sand beneath my feet. I used the remains of ancient, dilapidated structures as my guideposts. They were skeletal reminders of a time before the corporations, before Paradise City was drained of its resources, innocence and beauty.

In my backpack, I carried what little Helena and the children could spare: a canteen of water, some dry bread, and a few apples. But the most precious gift was the necklace around my neck. It felt like a protective amulet, carrying the spirit of Elias, Helena's son. It was more than a symbol of hope; it was a connection to the humanity that still managed to persist in this broken world.

I trekked through the desert during the cooler hours of dawn and dusk, seeking shelter from the scorching sun during the day. I was no stranger to harsh environments, having led my armies across diverse terrains in my past life. Yet, there was something innately challenging about this journey, a solitude that was both a blessing and a curse.

When the lights of Paradise City flickered in the distance, I knew I was close. The dystopian cityscape stood out like a sore wound in the midst of the desolate desert. I gazed at the city, a titan's labyrinth of corruption and deceit, knowing full well the battles that awaited me.

As I neared the city, my pace quickened. The weight of the world seemed to press against my chest, but I pushed through, driven by my vow to Helena and the children. I would fight, not just for myself, but for those who couldn't.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I crossed the city's threshold. I was back in Paradise City, ready to face whatever awaited me. I had returned as Alexander, the conqueror, the protector, ready to reclaim this city from the clutches of tyranny. The necklace around my neck seemed to pulse with a newfound energy. I gripped it tightly, drawing strength from its symbolic power. I was back and ready.

I was now deep within the outskirts of Paradise City, amidst crumbling warehouses and half-abandoned factories. There, in a tiny, run-down market, I found a hooded jacket and a mask. They were shabby but would serve their purpose. I pulled out some of the money Helena had given me and handed it to the old woman behind the counter.

"Careful now, young man," she said, her eyes squinting at me with an almost knowing glint. "Things aren't as they used to be around here."

"I've noticed," I responded, forcing a smile as I pulled on the jacket and fitted the mask onto my face. "Just passing through."

"Well, good luck. You're going to need it," she said, her voice trailing off into a faint whisper.

As I made my way to the nearest train station, the echoes of her words clung to me. I caught glimpses of my reflection in the stained glass windows of the closed shops. The man in the reflection was a stranger, hidden behind the cloak and the mask. But underneath, it was still me, Alexander, trying to navigate my way through this dystopian labyrinth.

Upon reaching the station, I purchased a ticket to the city center. The train, a grimy, metal beast, creaked into the station with a screech, disgorging a horde of tired-looking faces before I stepped on. It was nearly empty now, which was a relief. I found a spot in the corner, away from the view of the security cameras.

A young boy sat across from me, his curiosity piqued by my attire.

"Are you a bad guy?" He asked, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination.

I chuckled, "No, kid. I'm just...trying to survive, like everyone else."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. As the cityscape whisked past us, I felt a peculiar sense of calm. The train moved relentlessly towards my destination, and with it, I moved closer to the battles that awaited me.

The train rumbled forward, casting long shadows as it streaked through the deteriorating landscape. Amid the silence of the near-empty carriage, the shrill ring of the station announcements felt jarringly loud.

As I turned my attention back to the boy, I noticed a commotion at the other end of the carriage. A group of thugs had cornered a stranger, a man old enough to be my father. I stood, ready to intervene, when a slender figure in a heavy coat stepped forward.

"Leave him alone," she said, her voice steady and firm.

The thugs laughed. One of them sneered, "Or what?"

In response, the woman only pulled back her hood, revealing a face as stern as it was beautiful. The thugs didn't seem to recognize her either, but the tension in the air was palpable.

"No, don't worry about me, Mulan, this is nothing" the old man whispered, fear etched on his face.

She didn't respond. In one swift motion, she had swept the legs out from under the nearest thug, sending him sprawling onto the floor. The others barely had time to react before she disarmed the second, using his momentum against him, sending him crashing into his friends.

The whole carriage fell silent. The woman—Mulan—turned back to the old man, helping him collect his belongings without a word.

As she passed me on her way to the exit at the next station, she glanced at me briefly, her eyes hard and calculating. But there was something else, something that looked a lot like recognition.

"You fight well," I found myself saying. She paused, a small, almost wistful smile playing on her lips.

"Not well enough, it seems," she said, before stepping out onto the platform, disappearing as quickly as she came.

As the train pulled away from the station, I couldn't help but wonder who this Mulan was, and whether our paths would cross again in the labyrinth of Paradise City.

As the train continued on its track, the sprawling outskirts of the city gave way to towering, jagged skyscrapers of Paradise City's center. The carriage was virtually empty now, save for the old man and a young girl, likely his granddaughter, sitting opposite me. The man was telling her a story, his words barely audible above the rhythmic clatter of the train.

"A long time ago," he began, "there were four great warriors, one of them was a woman who could command the winds and the waves..."

"Like a superhero?" the girl interjected, her eyes wide and full of wonder.

The man chuckled. "Not quite. They were real people, real leaders, warriors and kings."

As he continued with his tale, I couldn't help but smile. It was a story I knew well, a story I was a part of. But to hear it from the mouth of a stranger, in this desolate city, it felt oddly comforting, even hopeful.

"And then what happened?" the girl asked as the train began to slow down, indicating the upcoming station.

"Well," he said, looking over at me, "why don't you ask our friend here? He looks like he knows a thing or two about history."

I gave a small laugh. "Maybe another time," I replied, standing up as the train came to a stop.

The man nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. As I stepped off the carriage and onto the platform, the old man's words echoed in my mind. I couldn't help but wonder if there was still a place for us, the warriors and kings of old, in this new world. But for now, I had more immediate matters to attend to. I had to find Qin and the others, and bring them up to speed on what had transpired.

I had taken barely a dozen steps outside the station when I heard the commotion. The sharp cry of a warning siren mingled with the low grumble of discontent from a crowd. Across the street, I saw them - three police cyborgs, their metallic bodies glinting under the harsh neon lights of the city. They were encircled by a group of thugs, the same kind that the girl on the train had effortlessly dealt with.

It was a delicate situation. On one hand, I couldn't afford to attract attention, not when I was so close to the hideout. But on the other hand, the police cyborgs were clearly outnumbered and struggling. I recalled the tactics from my days as a commander, mulling over the possible strategies.

Deciding, I shrugged off my jacket and stepped forward. "Oi!" I shouted, drawing the attention of the thugs. "What's the fun in ganging up on a bunch of machines?"

The nearest thug turned around, an ugly sneer on his face. "Who's gonna stop us? You?"

"Perhaps," I responded coolly. "But let's make it fair. You against me, one on one."

His sneer turned into a laugh. "Alright, pretty boy. You asked for it."

The crowd parted as the thug stepped forward. As we began to fight, I could see the cyborgs regrouping, using the distraction to their advantage. I didn't need to win the fight. I only needed to buy them enough time.

By the time I was done, the thug was down and the cyborgs had managed to regain control. I slipped away quietly, making my way back to the hideout.

"Your assistance was not required, but it is appreciated," the central cyborg intoned. His tone was flat, but I sensed a note of gratitude.

"You fight well, stranger," the police leader said, his scanners analyzing me.

"I have had some experience," I replied, keeping my responses as vague as possible.

"In these times, experience in combat is a valuable asset," he said, "Stay safe out there."

"I intend to," I replied, before turning away and continuing my journey back to the hideout. As I walked, I couldn't help but feel a little better about the city. If there were still those willing to fight, to protect the innocent, then maybe, just maybe, there was hope for Paradise City yet. The ironic revelation being it was the pure machine cyborgs that cared for protecting the people, and not the humans who worked for the regime's central police force.

The encounter had been a delay, but perhaps it was necessary. After all, in this city of chaos and corruption, every act of resistance, no matter how small, mattered.

The lights were off in the hideout when I entered, a deliberate precaution to keep unwanted attention at bay. I had taken two steps into the darkness when a shape lunged at me, a metallic glint whizzing past my ear. I narrowly ducked, my heart racing.

"Musashi, stop!" I shouted, rolling away from the figure.

The figure halted, the glint of a katana held aloft in the dim light. "Alexander?" Musashi questioned, his voice filled with disbelief. "Is that really you?"

"Last time I checked, yes," I replied, sitting up and rubbing at the spot where the blade had just missed me.

Musashi sheathed his weapon, rushing over to help me up. "We thought you were dead," he confessed, his grip tight on my arm. "Or worse, captured."

"Well, as you can see, I'm very much alive," I said, a lopsided smile on my face. "And free."

He let out a breath, sagging in relief. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We... we didn't know what to do. You were gone, and... and..."

"I know," I cut in, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know, Musashi. But I'm back now. What's the situation?"

A sense of urgency hung in the air as Musashi and I sat across from each other, a table laden with maps, notes, and a forgotten cup of tea in between us. The dim light in the room threw long shadows on his face. His face was more lined than I remembered, the burden of leadership weighing heavily on him, but his eyes were burning with a fire I knew all too well.

"Right," he began, his voice even and focused, "It's been a hell of a two weeks, Alex. After you disappeared, things went downhill quickly. Qin found the secret facility Cyrene mentioned, where the regime seems to be holding the other anomalies."

His statement sent a chill through me. "Where is it?" I asked, my thoughts already turning towards rescue plans. "And where's Qin?"

Musashi shook his head, his hands clenched into fists. "That's where things get messy," he said, a grimace on his face. "Qin killed Ivan in the Industrial District and was able to locate the facility somehow, but... he didn't make it out. It's very likely Evelyn's cybernetically-enhanced officers got to him. He called us before he was captured, but the signal cut off before he could tell us the location. He could be anywhere."

I felt a cold lump settle in my stomach. "So, we're fighting blind?" I asked, frustration creeping into my voice.

A sharp exhale left my lungs. That was unexpected. "And you've been looking for him?" I asked.

"Joan and I, yes," he confirmed, meeting my gaze once more. "Every lead, every hint, every whisper we could gather. So far, we've found nothing. The Industrial District is empty"

"We're trying our best," he replied, his gaze meeting mine. "Joan and I have been scourging the rest of the city, trying to pick up any leads we can. We're not going to leave Qin in the hands of those regime bastards."

I nodded, clenching my own hands in resolve. "Then we'll look harder," I declared, my voice firm. "We'll find Qin, and we'll save the others."

Musashi looked at me, his dark eyes filled with determination mirroring mine. "Agreed, Alexander. We can't afford to lose any more of us. Not now."