Gauntlet

Part 1: Chapter 2

I had a thought. It didn't matter much what that thought was, only that I wasn't having thoughts a second ago. This - partnered with the strange pressures around my upper arms, legs, and torso - helped me come to the conclusion that I hadn't died.

So, logically, I opened my eyes to look for an explanation for where I was and what happened. Strapped down horizontally to a metal platform, I found myself in a poorly constructed wooden shack of sorts. From the awkward angle I was left to work with, all I could make out was a cluttered workbench in front of me with a metal arm on it.

None of that gave me answers. But I did notice that whoever got me here made the odd decision of putting a small sheet over my left arm.

A small sheet over my left arm.

Suddenly, I remembered. Memories of what happened to make me think I was dead in the first place flooded in from the dam my brain was desperately trying to patch up. I tried to reach over and pull the sheet away to see what I knew I didn't want to, but the straps were just too tight to break free.

A door flew open from behind me, shifting my focus to the footsteps that approached. As they went past the side of the platform I saw a woman with red skin and black markings all over. Her dark hair was braided into a crown, and she wore a green-and-black coat baggy enough to hide her build.

The woman carried herself as if to demand control. Her authoritarian glare stared at the sheet over my arm. She nodded, before marching to the workbench and dropping her posture significantly as she rummaged through different items on it.

"Do not worry about your arm." She spoke sternly, but her voice was tired and disinterested. "Let me take your mind off of that for a moment. My name is Corru, and what might yours be?"

"M- My arm . . ." My voice wavered.

Corru corrected her posture and turned to face me. "Yes, you do currently have one arm, as your statement would suggest."

"Where is my arm?" I asked, more stern this time.

She turned back to the workbench to pick up the metal arm, and presented it to me. "Here it is," she said plainly, before putting it back. "Now, I will ask the question again in the hopes that you will answer it this time. What might your name be?"

"Give me my arm."

"That is quite the strange name, even if that sounds hypocritical."

There was no winning, so I gave in, the full effect of my loss still showing in every skewed part of my face. "Hunter Wulf."

"Now was that so hard?" Something about that statement in particular triggered my all-too-familiar tears to pour out.

"I shall take that response as a yes," she said, no fluctuation in emotion, "which worries me. If stating your name proves too difficult, then there is potential of you not being able to carry out what I require from you."

During the silence that came from my attempts to find some way to respond to that statement, she reached into her coat and pulled out a small remote.

"Maybe this will help." She pushed one of the buttons. My platform raised almost vertically, and the sheet gracefully slid down, revealing a plate of metal bent over my stump, very neatly bolted.

My breakdown getting worse seemed to contradict her statement, but her expression didn't shift in the slightest. Her thumb just moved to a button further down on the remote, and the leather straps burst open.

Gravity brought my feet to the ground rather quickly. Just standing like that for the split second I was able to felt oddly nostalgic, but I flopped onto my stomach, because why would that have worked? Hope was lost again before I even properly found it.

"Right, well," Corru began, caring negative amounts that I didn't feel like talking, "were you able to feel anything different with regards to that experience?" My head lifted from the puddle my tears were working tirelessly to form, putting my emotions on hold to consider what she said.

"I- I did!" I had such a stupidly big smile, the tears might as well have been called tears of joy without anyone batting an eye. Because I did feel something. I still did. And something was quite a long lost feeling in my legs. Whoever Corru was, and wherever I was, I felt ecstasy in that moment, because a trade was forced that I was perfectly fine with. Who needs a left arm anyway? That thing couldn't even write properly.

"Normally it takes longer to change a subject's mood, but who am I to complain?"

With a small laugh, I tried to get up. But I could barely move my legs at all, nevermind control their movement.

"They also aren't usually this quick to accept their new reality," she said, and I started thinking she was speaking more to herself than me, but how could I really tell? Her voice used the bare minimum fluctuation. Any less, and she would have to communicate in morse code. "And now I can inform you that you will unfortunately, at least for me, be stuck here, as were the three before you."

And it was funny. It didn't bother me. In fact, I felt a kind of peace I had only seen other people in my life experience. A kind of peace they'd get from being debt-free, or having their crush tell them the feeling was mutual. But this couldn't be right. Why didn't I care? I forced myself to think about other factors that I'd now never see again.

My parents. Out of everything I considered, they were the only part that bothered me. But not even that much. I just felt 10 again, and went on a holiday without them.

And so I still smiled, I was still happy. Happier than I'd been in a while.

Corru turned to her workbench as her posture fell again. "You are different to the rest, " she picked something up from the messy table again. "I need time to think, but why should I make this about myself? Let me instead put it this way. I will gracefully give you time to come to terms with this new situation" She turned to me, posture restored once more, holding a firearm.

And then I remembered why I needed that pesky left arm. Crawling away. Which I did at a rate that complimented a snail.

I heard her load something glass into the gun as I got to the door. The door handle was too high to reach. This was a revelation I made shortly before I felt a stinging pain in my shoulder. Call it desensitization to situations exactly like this one, but I didn't fear the syringe injecting bright green liquid into my blood stream.

All I felt was the kind of lightheadedness you'd get from, I don't know, a loss of blood after your arm getting lobbed off. That makes twice. I assured myself that I would wake up again, and lost consciousness with a laugh.