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I was shocked...dazed. A steel knife eased past my clavicle, grating sickeningly. I felt clammy sweat trickle down my face. Watching the knife rotate slowly, I could nearly feel myself grow paler. I looked up, eying the brunette who stood behind the knife, dark brown hair swept into an immaculate ponytail. His eyes, which could have been charming and mirthful, were chillingly stony. His suit was the color I would imagine a personified Midnight wearing. It was black, with a blue sheen if the right light caught it. I shuddered as the knife made another quarter rotation. Stumbling backwards, my gaze was locked onto the hilt protruding awkwardly from my shoulder. Thick blood gurgled slowly out of the wound, and I staggered back further, until my head connected with the brick wall behind me. I felt uneasy, because I should have blacked out by now, or died, or felt something. But the splitting pain that usually accompanies a knife stabbing a pressure point was absent. I fixed the strange man with my fiercest glare, backing it up with every ounce of hatred I could muster. He spun quickly on his heel, and strode away rapidly. I was, if possible, more stunned by this gesture, and nearly started to run after him, but my legs folded under me and I crashed to the ground. I tried yanking out the knife, but my hands were limp. I tried shouting a challenge to my yet unknown assailant, but my voice had abandoned me. As darkness consumed my eyes, the only word I could call to mind was long, slurred “hello?”
When I awoke, I found myself in a lop-sided sitting position. Still leaning against the wall, I blinked the blackness away, trying to focus on my surroundings. Another stranger crouched in front of me, applying gauze to my wound. My blurry vision told my weary brain that this was the man who had stabbed me. I raised my right arm slowly, and slapped him open handed across the face, with a satisfying smack to accompany the gesture. He flinched, unaware that I had woken. As my sight settled into its normal setting, I could see that this was not the man who had left a knife in my collar bone. He looked at me with a guilty, hurt expression and moist brown eyes. I pulled my fist back for another punch, but he caught my hand, pushing it away gently.
“Can’t you get this blasted knife out?” I snarled at him, sounding rather furious.
“Well, not exactly, no,” he said softly, continuing to tend to my wound.
“What? What do you mean? Of course you can!” I snapped back, grabbing the handle of the weapon and tugging. It didn't move in the slightest. I fumed under my breath, twisting the blade as hard as I could, but no matter how much I jerked on it, it didn't budge. I immediately thought that the wound was going to be hard to cover up. What with three inches of solid steel sticking out of my shoulder, I was not the image of “well-camouflaged” or even “conformation to society.” The young man looked away, eyes hiding under wavy charcoal locks. He seemed to be seeing a different world, his vacant eyes unfocused and half closed.
“What the heck did you do to me?” It sounded like more of a statement, really, but I didn’t care.
“Nothing! It's just your reaction to the knife,' was his reply
I decided I would squeeze a reasonable answer out of him later.
“That’s a load of bunk,” I spat back, practically hissing through my clenched teeth. He looked as if someone had slapped him. Then I remembered that I had slapped him. Ah well, it was too late to rectify that, unless I decided to apologize. He straightened up, looking quickly to the left.
“Come on,” he said, extending a hand to help me up.
I looked pointedly at it, then refused the obvious invitation by climbing unsteadily to my feet without help. “Where are we headed?” I asked, slightly cautious.
Several minutes later, we were standing in a welding shop that looked like it was older than Abe Lincoln. I was sweating lightly, perhaps nervous that the building might collapse. I knew I looked ridiculous in what was practically a trench-coat, although the high collar was extremely helpful, as my face was redder than a cherry in the intense heat.
A burly man in leather chaps stepped out behind a leather curtain. He took one glance at my...swollen...shoulder, and then turned to glare at my unnamed companion, who started examining his own shoes with an incredible intensity.
The blacksmith tossed a rather rubbery apron to me, which I caught and donned quickly. I had an idea of what was going to happen. And I doubted that I’d really like it that much.