Chapter One

He could see only blackness as he regained consciousness. Fletcher groaned. His head felt like it was on fire, being crushed, shattered and torn to pieces all at once. He raised a hand to rub his temple but found it was blocked by something. What, he wasn't sure. He groaned again.

'Frankie, I swear to god if you've stuck my head in another bucket I'll kill you, your family and never speak to you again.' It came out half mumbled as Fletcher tried to take whatever it was off. It didn't feel like a bucket, more like a helmet but he wasn't too sure. Whatever it was refused to budge so Fletcher let his hands drop. His head was still on fire and any thoughts he had were sluggish and jumbled. Fletcher tried to stand but hit his head on something. Hard. He shouted in pain and sat back down again.

'Ow.' Again, he tried to rub is head but was once again blocked by the unknown object on his head. As he sat back, he could make out a small flicker of light filtering in from an unseen source. The light offered some illumination for his prison. Fletcher could just make out several screens, most of which were black or showing static. Those that were working displayed error messages. Nothing useful. And then, as though woken by his presence, four small green lights faded into existence. They looked familiar, but Fletcher couldn't place them. Almost on instinct he reached out and smashed the first. There was something that sounded like a sharp crack as he did. He repeated the process on the remaining lights. Each smashed light was followed by the same sharp crack until a hiss filled the enclosed space. Fletcher drew back from the wall in front of him, not sure what would happen. What happened next made him jump as the entire front wall was launched away from him with a loud explosion. Familiarity filled his mind again but he tried in vain to place it.

'Frankie?' Fletcher called out; panic began to creep into his voice. 'Are you there?' Silence answered him. No, that wasn't right. He could hear the creaking of wood and the ticking of cooling metal. But no human noises.

'Seriously Frankie, this is beginning to get a little creepy.' Still nothing. Fletcher debated whether he should move or stay. As his eyes adjusted he saw he was inside a wooden home, a little smaller than he would have expected and filled with small bird houses. Deciding it would be best to leave the thing he was sat in Fletcher reached up to the newly created edge and hauled himself out. Vertigo gripped him and he reached for the nearest object for support, waiting for what seemed like hours for the floor to stop spinning. The feeling subsided but didn't go away. As he waited, Fletcher turned to see what had been holding him prisoner. It was about the shape of an egg, albeit huge and made of metal. He reached a hand out to touch it and found it was warm. It was maddeningly familiar and Fletcher scrutinised it closely. The pod was devoid of any markings he could make sense of or see from his position. Deciding that he could stand without any support, he pushed off and examined the remaining sides but it proved to be futile. There were no distinguishing marks and his sluggish mind refused to tell him where he had seen it before. Fletcher grunted in annoyance before returning to the interior. There was a single seat still warm from his recent occupation, a bank of monitors that were broken, and a series of compartments along each side of the chair. He opened the smallest one first and found it was filled with half a dozen boxes marked MRE. The next three yield similar results with the fifth containing a small stove and some pots to cook in. Fletcher shrugged ad opened the containers on the opposite side. Whilst the right side had five compartments of equal size the left side had only two. A long one taking up four fifths of the available space and a single one beneath that. Fletcher opened this one first. Expecting more MREs, he was taken aback by what he found.

'Grenades?' he whispered to himself. There were six nestled in the box. 'Why the fuck have I got grenades?' His mind drew a blank. Fletcher stared at the explosives a few seconds longer before tentatively reaching to open the last container. With a click it popped open. Fletcher felt his mind rebel. Inside was a long rifle and a powerful looking pistol alongside dozens of what Fletcher assumed were magazines for the weapons. He stared at the rifle. Like the pod, it was tantalisingly familiar yet eluded him. It was long and bulky with a scope mounted on a carry handle. A small glow diverted Fletcher's attention. Gingerly, he picked the weapon up and found to his surprise he automatically shouldered it. The glow revealed itself to be an ammunition counter. The display read thirty-six in luminescent blue numbers. Fletcher felt his mind speed up, finally taking into account what he was wearing. It was a deep matte black with gunmetal grey plating covering his chest, abdomen, upper and lower arms, thighs, shins and feet. Pouches for magazines, grenades and other supplies covered most of his torso and upper legs. On his right shoulder was his blood type and name. Fletcher, Michael. A+. NKA. His mind changed up a gear and he suddenly remembered where he had seen the pod, the guns and the armour from. But that was impossible. They didn't exist in real life. And if they did, how could he have gotten them?

'What the fuck is going on?' he asked to the air around him. Nothing answered him.

'What the fuck is going on?' he asked again, his voice nearly a scream. The silence was deafening. But then it wasn't. Fletcher heard voices outside the house he was in which grew louder the longer he listened. Some kind of combat instinct kicked in as Fletcher ducked and span to find the source of the voices. They were coming from beyond what he assumed was the front door. Keeping the rifle shouldered, he moved along the wall, crouching under windows. A quick glance at the sky showed a heavy carpet of clouds that threatened rain. He reached the door. It was lower than he had expected, but then the entire house was smaller than he would have been used to. Fletcher reached for the handle with his left hand, his right staying on the trigger of his rifle in case he needed it. His headache returned with a vengeance as some small part of his mind asked how he knew what to do with the rifle and an even smaller part was still trying to process his situation. The door was unlocked and swung out. Despite the heavy cloud cover bright sunlight flooded into the room and assaulted Fletcher. He squinted as his headache worsened and his vision blurred. The first thing he registered was vague colours. To Fletcher's left was a strip of dark green on top of a brown strip on top of a lighter green stretch. He guessed it was a forest. To his right was an expanse of green with small dots of darker green. Fields, he reasoned.

Slowly, his vision returned and Fletcher was able to confirm his suspicions. It was a forest to his left, and fields to his right. A simple dirt path split them apart. Now outside, Fletcher took a better look at the sky. It only added to his confusion. The forest to his left only had patches of clouds drifting lazily along whilst the fields to his right were covered with cloud, looking fit to burst.

'The fuck?' His mind offered no explanation, logical or otherwise. Then he remembered why he had come outside in the first place. Fletcher felt his headache grow and the feeling of vertigo returned with equal measure. He forced himself to look around. He saw a collection of creatures ahead, roughly six of them and a variety of colours. His vision swam as he stumbled towards them. They seemed to back slowly away from him. But if they did anything else he didn't remember as his headache reached a critical mass and he blacked out.