That's All It Is Garrett...

Garrett Thompson stared down into the infinite hole leading into the abyss. His heart fell to his testicles. The same cold wind feathered down his spine and his mouth went dry. Suddenly his ragged old purple monk clothes felt like cement and the beautiful mountain in the distance looked like his final resting place. As far as he knew, this was the hole. This was the cliff. Yet his familiar terror he felt told him otherwise. No...this is...this is madness. This is insane!

More insane than fighting post-apocalyptic bandits? More insane than fighting hoverboarding gangsters? Or how about being stranded on an earth where all minorities were extinct leaving him the only-the only black person on that planet? 

Yet as Garrett felt saw images of old life-threatening scenarios and triumphs blitz through his mind, nothing compared to what he was about to do. It was not the first time he was up here. For almost an entire year, Garrett sprinted up the same mountain, as told by his teacher Master Richard, to meditate and stare down at that same cliff.  He came to the same conclusion: nothing-not robots- not zombie superheroes- not even talking dinosaurs and slimy aliens compared to this. He put himself in danger plenty of times before. This? This was -

“Suicide. This is suicide. Omigosh.” Garrett turned around and went back into the woods, where he would find a clearing that would lead to an old stone path that would take him down the mountain he sprinted down a hundred times before. He stopped mid-stride and thought to himself. He would go down the mountain then what? Help the same warrior monks that helped the same strange boy, clearly left for dead from an unknown dimension, rebuild the home he was responsible for destroying? I mean if it wasn't for him, an army of mercenaries from an alternate realm wouldn't have attacked their village. Right?

Yes, they won, but at what cost? Hundreds dead, cold magazine shells and amputated arms and blood that won't come off, no matter how much soap and scrubbing the monks did. Richard...oh god Richard.

He found his mind-melting until he was back to that night. 

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He was in bed. A flat (and extremely uncomfortable) bed, resting up a full day after completely recovering from his final fight in the tournament. He fought well, Richard had said, even the eldest masters were impressed by the newcomer. Didn't stop him from feeling a sense of failure at the hands of Vokan. Yet, as Garrett laid in the moonlit room, he felt a twinge of victory. Because he pushed through something that was guiding him invisibly for almost his entire life: fear.

He pushed himself further than he ever thought possible. He lost yes, but he was one of the greatest fighters there. He’d proven that., but not for them. For himself. He could do it. He knew that when the time came when he and Victorious would throw down, that he’d be the victor.  He closed his eyes, letting the image of his fist, shattering the genocidal bastard's helmet just to see his ugly face, whatever it looked like under that helmet...

He thought it was a fireworks or a crashing tree. The second explosion told him otherwise. His room shook and his sleep was interrupted with screaming. Garrett quickly rose and dressed, slipping out of his room to see his friends, his fellow monks rushing from their room and racing to the one place where it was safe: the armory. He tried to grab and question monks, but they all ignored him, leaving him no choice but to follow.

He joined the crowd of monks, sprinting down the ancient corridors, until they crossed the courtyard, now a flaming battlefield. Garrett stumbled backwards. The old Buddha statue in the center was wrapped in flames as monks around him were falling. He felt the sharp cracking in the air and his brain finally caught up to him as to the ones responsible: bullets.

He ducked behind a pillar and scanned his surroundings. The rest of the monks were quick to retreat, while others either fought, leaping on top of shadowy men with rifles, or were blown to bits. Garrett eyed the other side of the courtyard and scanned his surroundings. A group of monks tag teamed a few soldier's and by god, it looked glorious in the back of his mind. The way they dismantled the man’s weapon and quickly disposed of him with their bare hands.

It was like the old comic books he used to read.

An explosion rocked the sky, lighting it in fire and sending Garrett backwards. His ears rang loud enough that he could hear the maelstrom of bullets tearing down the last of those monks. His instinct kicked in and he scurried across the courtyard, past bloodied corpses, until he was stumbling up and running into the smoking hallways of the monastery. Richard...Kimmy…

Old memories pulled him down a hall, and a few turns later, he was colliding with a monk. They crashed into each other, causing one another to fall. Garrett barely felt the pain, instead of feeling terror as behind the monk, a gunman was walking towards them, his red laser sights were targeting them. Richard’s training flashed through his mind: In battle, there is no time to think. This is where your greatest weapon-the body- comes in.

Garrett was on the gunman before he could fire. He moved fast enough to surprise himself. He sent flurries of hits, but it was like punching concrete. Padded armor feels like that. The rifle was out of the gunman’s hands, and the two were wrestling. Garrett quickly switched to grappling and flipped the heavy man over and it was a ground game by then. The gunman went for a side pistol, but Garrett gripped his arms just in time and sent a sharp elbow in the gunman’s exposed face. His black mask soaked with blood before he lay unconscious.

Instead of wallowing in his quick victory, Garrett turned to see a dozen lines of lasers turn a corner, but by then, he was tackling the door into the next room. He was getting closer to the main quarters where the masters resided, and alongside his rendezvous, more explosions, and bullets, shattered his eardrums. He would have thought it was an earthquake if not for the falling debris and dust clouding his path. 

He was a blur, rolling around corners and sweeping a soldier or two before he heard the scream. His first thought was to Kimmy, but she didn't sound like that. He turned to the source and in a room, with a laser pointing in their direction, were the young children.  Garrett didn't think, just charged the faceless enemy. He struggled to yank the rifle out of the gunman’s grip until a hard foot sent the gunman to unconsciousness. He looked up and Kimmy- battered, bruised, her long black hair a matted mess, but alive and wide-eyed looked at him.

She took his hand before he could even say anything and they raced off further into the monastery. Garrett felt confused. It was like the enemy was coming from everywhere. He and the girl ducked and covered as their old friends were gunned down. A few monks found swords and spears and sunk their last breaths into slaying their foes, but with every dead soldier was just three more, defenseless monks. Garrett felt his stomach twinge with each gunshot after that. Somehow, he and Kimmy made it back outside and into a near desolate courtyard, where they covered over quickly. It seemed the explosions laid back in the distance behind clouds of smoke and flames until a gunshot rang closer to them.

They didn't notice it until a bullet shattered the wooden pillar right next to them. They turned a corner and Garrett came to a stop, a cackling echoed through his ears.

He recognized that laugh. 

No…

“GARRETT THOMPSON," the robotic distorted voice said. Kimmy yanked him to keep going, but Garrett yanked his hand back. He took a deep breath, then turned the corner to meet Zephyr. Short for Zephyr’s Blade. He was a stout assassin in metallic crimson and silver armor, from head to toe strapped with ammo and grenades and a sword across the back of his waist. His helmet’s eyes glittered blue as he slipped one of his two shapeshifting guns back in their holsters. Garrett would have laughed to see the assassin flick his white scarf back in place around his neck. He was straight out of a Youngblood comic.

Garrett instead stood tall and faced the mercenary. “I thought we had a long talk about this Zephyr. But this-”

“Is a contract-”

“IS A MASSACRE!”

“Like I told you last time kid,” The mercenary started walking towards him. “I’m not here to convince a kid. I came here for one thing. “ Zephyr pointed a finger at Garrett then drew a line across his throat. 

“These people were innocent!”

“Once again. I’m not going to argue philosophies with you. Come quietly, or I shoot your new pretty girlfriend.”

Kimmy appeared behind Garrett with a bo-staff. He eyed the mysterious alien then looked back at Garrett. Zephyr sighed then held back a laugh. “I’m impressed. You know how to get around don't you kid. Sasha that weirdo, now a monk-girl. Got interesting tastebuds now don't we?” Zephyr was a blur, drawing his pistols and aiming them at the two teens. The Crimson pistols morphed until they were plasma caliber, bulky but still small enough to be considered pistols on an alternate earth where war became a sport. The guns whirred with raw blue energy, ready to decimate anything in its path. “I should do it right here, right now. No more running. Come with me. Now.”

Garrett nodded. His mind raced alongside the adrenaline flooding his body. The tightening in his stomach was a noose and he felt his muscles harden. Only one thought came to mind: Fight.

He nudged Kimmy to the side. “Find Richard.” his voice changed from the squeaky weasel to unfamiliar. Kimmy went to speak up but Garrett cut her off. “GO.”

He grabbed the Bo-staff from her and didn't turn to see her runoff, to find their master. Zephyr laughed. Really laughed. He laughed for a good moment before he could muster the words to speak. You could always make me laugh kid. You think one-year training under a few Jackie Chans and Jet Li’s make you a Baki the Grappler?”

Garrett started walking towards him. The staff twirled in his hands at its favorite wielder. 

Garrett kept walking. Zephyr understood. The mercenary put his guns away and unsheathed his long, barbed blade, permanently stained with old contracts. Under the helmet, he couldn't help but smile. “You underestimate me,” Garrett muttered.

The two charged each other.

Besides the heavy armor, Zephyr lived up to his name. He was fast, fast enough to duck and evade every blow from the staff. And Garrett was underestimated. Fueled by adrenaline has its perks. He swiped from and evaded the mercenary’s blade, cold steel barely missing him. They were down the corridor and halfway into the fight, Garrett could tell that it wasn't in his favor. Monk shoes didn't make a dent in the merc’s armor, and each fist would just rattle his bones, a sign of pain later on. If he was to survive.

Zephyr was good with the blade, one arc later, Garrett’s bo staff was split in two. Yet he found himself boosting with energy. He changed his style, from Bojutsu to Kali, and danced his batons across Zephyrs body. The merc’ was surprised. Garrett decided to grow upon him. He was impressed. But he came for a contract. Dead or alive. Guess the boy chose death.

He butted the end of his blade into the boy and Garrett’s brain rattle. He was stripped of his batons and was crashing against a wall, nearly bouncing off it to meet a fist to the gut. It took the air out of him. A switch went on in Garrett’s mind: now or death. 

He sent a finger into Zephyr's eye socket, giving him enough time to roll out the way and barely feel the sharp slice of his flesh meet the merc’s blade. He felt the warm red liquid run down his back, in the cold air, but ignored it, as that would be nothing compared to what was coming next. He pivoted around a corner right before Zephyr’s shapeshifting pistol obliterated the corner where Garrett used to be. Garrett was sprinting down the hall, over dead bodies and grabbed a sword along the way. He wasn't taught how to use swords yet, but it seemed simple. Then again he was known for seeing everything from an ignorant nerd's lenses.

A blast of blue light appeared, and Garrett ducked in time from the plasma blast that left a rupturing hole in the wall that Garrett dived through. He was in the middle of a battlefield.

Monks sliced and speared into enemies and the soldiers could be any faster to reload before they were taken apart. In the center, a figure appeared. Garrett’s eyes widened. The tall slender figure in the overly large orange robe with long flowing black hair looked back at him. A grin appeared on Richard’s face.  He was a dancer in that crowd of fighters, hopping from enemy to enemy. His hand glistened in the fire and Garrett looked close to see the robotic hand clench a soldier and snap his neck. Garrett almost forgot about the foe behind him. Almost.

He ducked in time to avoid another bright blast of energy and scurried into the battlefield towards Richard. Richard pummeled a path for him and by the time they met, A circle of monks surrounded them. Garrett grinned. “I knew it! I knew you weren't from here!”

“What gave you a clue?” Richard grinned. His grinned faded however as Zephyr appeared on the field and bright bursts of energy disintegrated monks.

“Who is that?” Richard pointed. “Oh him. Some asshole.” Garrett turned to his sensei. “This is all my fault. They’re here for me!”

Richard nodded. “Or me. Let's assume for all of us.” and Richard grabbed the sword from Garrett. Zephyr approached with interest. He rubbed his eye. “That. hurt. For that kid. You’re dead.”

Richard whistles. Zephyr looked over to Richard. The sensei wave a robotic finger at the mercenary. “We haven't met.”

“I know. And I don't care!” Zephyr raised a weapon and Richard was on him. Before Garrett could join the fight, something happened. Behind him, a hard thud to the head sent him to unconsciousness.

He blacked out for what seemed like hours, until he returned to be on the ground, surrounded by fallen friends and foes with Richard and the mercenary in the center fighting. Richard was an animal. As tough and intimidating as Zephyr was, he was a child compared to the robed fighter. His blade left his hands and his helmet was cracked to reveal a bald, pale man, who was sweating with rage under.

Garrett felt pride. But that was short-lived. He saw it, but there was nothing he could do. In the midst of the bloodshed, a soldier rose in the corner of his eye. He found a weapon, yanked a rifle out of his dead comrade’s hands, and pointed it towards Richard. Garrett was running towards him but that's the thing with time: It always escapes us.

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Garrett turned back toward the cliff. His duffel bag felt like an elephant on his chest as he walked towards the cliff. That night, Richard was one of the fallen. Kimmy survived but changed. As for the rest of the monks, they were scared, frightened of the next attack. An unknown alien enemy, marching on their mountain only to gun them down? It was too much stress for them. Garrett felt his stomach quiver. He was on the precipice of tears. Too many people died and he blamed himself.

He came stranded on that world, alone and broken. The monks helped him, healed him, and had him find himself so that he could stand today, contemplating suicide?

No...this isn't suicide.

Garrett felt it. Felt the abyss call to him. He was found there that day on the mountain. Alone and literally broken, physically and mentally. The void opened a portal and flung him here. That was for a reason. If it could bring him here, then it could take him away from there. Towards home. Towards his family. Towards. The void was the unmanifest world that led to all possibilities. He And Richard suspected this. If Richard found it and could map through it, then so could he. Right? 

But there was no A.D.ON.N.A. No artificial intelligence to guide him across the wide multiverse. No Sasha, no Guilden, no friends. He was alone again for the first time in a very long time. His terrors of the dark sent a shiver through him. 

No...There is no choice. Garrett walked away from the cliff until he was back on the edge of the trees. Victorious was still out there. His family-his entire earth was still out there. 

I’ll be back. And your earth, your favorite home is next.

Victorious’s words echoed in Garrett’s mind. It was up to him to even the odds. Too many people were depending on him. His dad, his mom, his sister, his friends, Sasha…

He turned back to the cliff. Strong focus on what I want…

He started to run. In those seconds, images flashed through his mind. Of monsters, demons of some of the multiverse’s greatest horrors. But they changed. His family appeared. They smiled at him. Come home…

He took a leap of faith.