Chapter Three - Three days later
Three days passed.
Three long, surreal, and meticulously planned days.
On the fourth morning, the door to my room slid open with its customary whoosh. In walked (Dunkey), my supposed friend. He stopped just inside the doorway, his frame blocking the dim light from the corridor. He looked at me, his head tilted, an expression of pure, unvarnished surprise plastered across his face.
"Okay," he began, dragging out the word. "You're starting to act weird. Literally. What's wrong with you, man? Are you sick? I know we've been going to a ton of classes for more than a year now, but that doesn't mean you have to go crazy. Right?"
I was silent. I let his words hang in the recycled air of my claustrophobic room. I then slowly swiveled in my chair—the stool attached to the desk emitted a long, protesting screeeak—before I looked at him.
I let out a sigh, the sound heavy with fabricated weariness.
"Alright, (Dunkey). I have some… things I'm busy doing. So I can't go out with you. Besides," I added, pitching my voice into a tone of earnest, if slightly bored, advice, "I advise you to take Mr. (Kane)'s words seriously. He's working for our benefit."
The expression on (Dunkey)'s face shifted from surprise to something more complex—confusion mixed with a dawning suspicion. He seemed unsure of what to make of this new, studious, reclusive version of his friend. He opened his mouth, closed it, then just shook his head.
"Whatever," he muttered, turning to leave. But just before the door slid shut, he paused, stuck his head back in, and said, his voice lowered, "Listen to me. You need to take a deep breath. There's something you're taking to stay in this state, and you need to stop. You're starting to become like a different person."
Then he was gone. The door sealed with a soft clunk.
I sat back on the squeaky stool, the sound echoing his departure. I brought up the System screen with a thought. A series of transparent panels appeared before my eyes. My specific abilities. Some information. But there was no new change. It seemed nothing had altered in the three days since I'd entered the world of The 100. It seemed only a few short days remained before we went to Earth.
(Before I go with the group of the Hundred.)
The thought was unsettling.
I reached for the cup of water near me—a small, dented metal tumbler. I filled it from the tiny, rationed sink faucet, the water issuing forth in a thin, pathetic trickle. I drank calmly, feeling the cool liquid soothe my dry throat, restoring some semblance of moisture.
Finally, I let out a sigh, a little cold from the chill of the water.
"All my preparations are complete," I whispered to the empty room. "Even if I don't remember the entire series… because I watched the series literally in a single week at a very high speed, making me unable to remember the greatest details… I still know some important things. And I know exactly where the weapons are stored inside the dropship that will take us to Earth."
My gaze swept over the scene on my desk. There were many notebooks, filled with densely packed writing. But they weren't in English.
In (Jordan Peterson)'s previous life, he had been an anime fan. So he had learned Japanese. He knew he couldn't use English because everyone in this place could read his notes. So he decided to write them in Japanese. At least there were very few people on this ship who still spoke the language—at least without using a translator.
Furthermore, based on the information I had gleaned about the person whose body I now inhabited, I knew he hadn't been that interesting. He was, at most, a minor troublemaker. But not a big enough problem or nuisance to make his life on this ship—at least in the few days before going to Earth—bad enough.
Additionally, (Dunkey), who was apparently (Jordan)'s friend, wasn't that annoying. He seemed to dislike studying, but he wasn't a problem-maker. On the contrary, he just liked having some fun. But in these three days, I hadn't gone out with him.
I had been busy writing these detailed notes. Notes about locations, particularly the weapons I remembered from the show I watched, plus some information that could help me on the journey.
Without (Jordan) knowing, several footsteps approached the door.
Knock. Knock-knock.
The sound was sharp and impatient against the metal.
I lifted my head and looked at the door, my brow furrowing.
"Who is it?" I called out. "Is it possible it's someone who knows me? (Dunkey) just left. Who would come to me? No one but (Dunkey) has come to me since I transferred into this body. And according to the information I got from the ship's system, specific to each person, which knows the info of the person living in the room… it doesn't seem like (Jordan Peterson)'s parents are still alive. They died a long time ago, when he was 12."
Anyway, I didn't continue with my thoughts. I said to the person behind the door, pitching my voice to sound irritated.
"I'm busy right now, so I can't talk. You can come back later."
I said it, choosing my words carefully. Additionally, I put on an annoyed, slightly sarcastic tone to make my demeanor fit (Jordan Peterson)'s personality. I didn't want to raise too much suspicion, especially since I'd been focusing so hard lately and not skipping class like he used to. In the end, I wanted information about survival, and Mr. (Kane) and Ms. (Griffin) had a lot of useful information I could easily obtain.
"Oh, it seems you're still cooped up in there. Isn't that right? What's wrong with you these days, little (Peterson)?"
The voice behind the door sounded arrogant, mocking. But there was a strange hint in it. (It seemed like a 'Are you okay?' but in a more… I don't know. The way it should be said wasn't clear.)
I contemplated for a moment before going to the door and opening it.
When the door slid open, a young man stood before me. He looked a little older than me, maybe 18 or 17. He had jet-black hair, striking blue eyes, and a face that resembled a smug, predatory owl. At least, that's how it seemed to me. He was one of my favorite characters from the show, one I'd always focused on in a weird way. I'd waited for him to die in Season One, then he showed up again in Season Three, and then he started getting deeper, bouncing around in later seasons.
Standing before me was (John Murphy).
One of the characters from The 100 was standing in front of me, and he seemed to know who (Jordan Peterson) was in some way.
He looked at me and said, a smirk playing on his lips, "Look at you. Seems like you don't care at all. Are those dark circles from staying up, or are you sampling the forbidden goods?"
He laughed sarcastically before giving me a light, dismissive shove on the shoulder and striding past me to sit on my bed. The thin mattress crinkled under his weight.
"What's wrong with you? Why do you look so surprised to see me? I thought you'd be happy, buddy. I don't know what's been happening to you these days. In class, you seem like you're focusing way too hard on Ms. (Griffin). What's going on? Could it be you've gone crazy? You actually want to study hard?"
He laughed again after saying these sarcastic words.
But in contrast to the posture of the young man in front of me, I was very calm. I just stared at him.
How could I not? Black hair, blue eyes, a face like an owl… at least to me. He was one of my favorite characters in the series. I had always focused on his presence in a weird way. I'd waited for him to die in the first season, then he appeared in the third, and then he started getting deeper and moving between places in subsequent seasons.
(John Murphy) was in front of me, and he seemed to know (Jordan Peterson) in some way.
"Come on, why don't you sit down?" he said, staring at me while pointing to the second stool.
I looked at that stool for a second and then sat down quietly.
After that, I tried to imagine what words the real (Jordan Peterson) would say. But I couldn't find anything in my mind. In the end, I hadn't been able to access video files illustrating his personality, as happens with all transmigrated people (meaning the original (Jordan)'s memories). So I was literally trying not to suddenly seem like a different person. I didn't like the idea of everyone paying attention to me at this moment, especially with my desire to focus on remembering future events specific to this world. At least to survive the explosion and the radiation that would happen at least seven months on Earth—if we landed correctly, or at least if I wasn't killed like one of the characters at the beginning of the series.
I met (Murphy)'s gaze, my own face a carefully constructed mask of mild annoyance and boredom.
"What do you want, (Murphy)?" I asked, letting a fraction of the real (Jordan)'s probable defiance seep into my voice. "I'm busy. Unlike some people, I'm actually preparing for the ground."
(Murphy) leaned back on my bed, his arms behind his head, the picture of casual insolence. "Preparing? For what? To be the first one to hug a radioactive tree? Relax, (Peterson). You're thinking too hard. It's giving me a headache just looking at you."
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End of Chapter.
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From the Ark's Anonymous Log:
The plot thickens!(Jordan) has his first real encounter with a major player—the one and only (John Murphy). With his secret notes and his Dean Winchester face, can he navigate this snake pit without getting bit? What do you think (Murphy)'s real game is here? Just checking on a fellow delinquent, or does he sense something's off? And how long can our hero keep up the "studious jerk" act? Share your survival strategies and predictions in the comments!