The New World
I woke up to a soft, humming sound. The world was blurry at the edges, and my head felt like a drum being hit with a hammer. I was lying in a bed, a clean, white sheet pulled up to my chin. The room felt familiar, but I couldn't place it. The walls were a muted, sterile color, and a small monitor with flashing green lines sat on a table next to me. Where was I? The question was a dull ache behind my eyes.
I tried to sit up, but the headache intensified, a wave of nausea rolling over me. I fell back against the pillow, my mind reeling. I looked down at my arm and saw that I was hooked up to a machine with a series of wires. I had to get out of here.
The door opened, and I flinched, my heart pounding in my chest. But it wasn't Edwin. It was a woman. She was young, maybe twenty-five, and she was beautiful, with kind eyes and a warm smile. She looked at me, her eyes lighting up.
"Oh, hello," she said, her voice soft and gentle. "You finally woke up."
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice a dry, rasping whisper.
"Sorry," she said, stepping closer. "My name is Sophie."
My mind raced, trying to put the pieces together. "Where's Edwin?"
A sad smile touched her lips. "Sgt. Edwin is out on a classified mission," she said. "He put me in charge of taking care of you while he's away."
Sgt. Edwin? That couldn't be right. "Wait, he's in the army?"
She laughed, a small, pleasant sound that brought a sense of calm to the room. "No, not the army. Well, kind of. It's a long story." She shrugged. "A lot can happen in a day, right?"
"A day?" She looked at me, puzzled. "Yeah, a day," I insisted, my panic rising. "I was only out for a day. I can't have missed much. Plus, what happened to the demons? It's too quiet for the end of the world."
She just stared at me for a long moment, her beautiful face a mask of concern. "Sir," she said, her voice hushed. "You have been in a coma for three months."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Three months? My heart leaped into my throat. The questions I had fought so hard to answer, the horrors I had witnessed, the moment I had found my strength—all of it had happened so long ago? I started to talk, a torrent of words pouring out of me. "What? Three months? What happened? Where was I? What about the demons? Are they gone?"
My mind was a whirlwind of panic and stress, a chaotic storm of unanswered questions. She must have seen the fear in my eyes. She grabbed my shoulders, her hands firm, and looked at me with a steady, unflinching gaze.
"Look at me," she said.
I stared into her eyes, full of a life and a peace I had never seen before. Her presence was a calming balm to my panic. All the fear and anxiety that had been building inside me for the last three months, everything I had witnessed, every question I had asked, seemed to quiet down in her gaze. I fell silent, my rapid breathing slowing to a steady rhythm.
"It's okay," she said, her voice a soft, gentle whisper. "You're okay. And Edwin is okay. Everything is okay."
She pulled me into a gentle hug, her arms a comforting embrace. I held onto her, my mind reeling, the world an even greater mystery than it had been before.
now. It was a silence filled with the weight of that message. A threat veiled in the language of a public service announcement. The mark wasn't a gift of salvation. It was a brand. And the "Third Kind," the demons that had so recently been a terrifying, world-ending plague, were now a tool of social control. A private security force for a world that had willingly given up its soul for a semblance of peace. My heart sank.
The world wasn't saved. It was owned. And I, without a mark on my hand, was now an different.