Warsman leapt to his feet in an instant, bear claws extended with a steely shing, and then--
Nothing. His immediate surroundings were entirely empty.
Swaying uncertainly, he scanned the area. It would have been wrong to say that the field- no, baseball diamond- he stood in was completely barren, because he could still detect life in the city beyond the steel loops of chain-link fence and thick concrete wall surrounding him. So was it Earth, then? It wasn't one he readily recognised, but...
The way the area hovered between fullness and emptiness, strangeness and familiarity, set him on age and made him feel as though he were being watched- and he had to be, didn't he? Someone had brought him here for a specific purpose, that was how it always worked, and he would have to fight to free himself.
He'd stood up too quickly, but there was no way he could wait to recover. Slowly, he became aware that his vision seemed lopsided, and then that was swaying. His knees, dusty with greying chalk, threatened to buckle under his own weight. Whatever they'd done to bring him here, it had really taken it out of him; as he took a few faltering steps across the grass his feet felt as unwieldy as boats. But it was only when he reached home plate that they finally gave out entirely, toes catching on heels, and suddenly Warsman found himself sprawled across the dirt with a wheezy, metal gasp.
July 8th, Noon
Warsman leapt to his feet in an instant, bear claws extended with a steely shing, and then--
Nothing. His immediate surroundings were entirely empty.
Swaying uncertainly, he scanned the area. It would have been wrong to say that the field- no, baseball diamond- he stood in was completely barren, because he could still detect life in the city beyond the steel loops of chain-link fence and thick concrete wall surrounding him. So was it Earth, then? It wasn't one he readily recognised, but...
The way the area hovered between fullness and emptiness, strangeness and familiarity, set him on age and made him feel as though he were being watched- and he had to be, didn't he? Someone had brought him here for a specific purpose, that was how it always worked, and he would have to fight to free himself.
He'd stood up too quickly, but there was no way he could wait to recover. Slowly, he became aware that his vision seemed lopsided, and then that was swaying. His knees, dusty with greying chalk, threatened to buckle under his own weight. Whatever they'd done to bring him here, it had really taken it out of him; as he took a few faltering steps across the grass his feet felt as unwieldy as boats. But it was only when he reached home plate that they finally gave out entirely, toes catching on heels, and suddenly Warsman found himself sprawled across the dirt with a wheezy, metal gasp.