The gun was gone, as if it hadn't existed, but the footprints weren't. How did they move that fast?!
Hazel felt something tracing patterns along his chest. He froze in fear as the fingers made their way around his pectoral muscle… his collarbone… his neck.
Cold, hard, metal. Hazel felt the circular blade encircle his throat, he briefly wondered what weapon his attacker was using. No! Now is not the time for that, brain! He chastised himself.
Hazels mind raced, almost reaching his computational limit—or a checkpoint along the way to it. Do I run…? No, all directions are blocked, I'd slit my throat running left, right, or forward and I have the attacker to my back.
Do I attack? It might be my only way to escape… but thinking about how fast they moved, I don't stand a chance.
Should I try to reason with them…? Probably, experienced fighters know the best way to fight is through words. But there's no guarantee they speak English.
He knew it was a gamble—in multiple ways—but Hazel opted to try and talk his way out of the situation: "The heck are you groping me for?" He asked. The blade dug further into his neck.
"OK, OK, my bad! Please don't kill me!"
The assailant's guard slipped—for a mere second—but that second was what Hazel was waiting for. He brought his elbow back as hard as he could, the momentum from the swing carrying his body backwards and into the enemy's.
She?! Let out a grunt of pain as the pair collided. As he fell, Hazel quickly brought his left foot back to stabilize himself. With the maneuver being a success, he quickly stood; I now have the advantage… no, I'm ten times weaker than they are. I don't have the advantage, I have the superior position. It was some what of a harsh realization. Even in the superior position, there was no way he could win.
If the battle were a game of chess, Hazel would have narrowly escaped a checkmate. He hadn't lost, but he was still cornered.
Now that they're—she's down, I could run… but chances are she'd catch up to me. If I continue to attack… I'd lose. No doubt about that.
Wait…
The sand!
He quickly spun, using his feet to bring a large amount of sand with him… only to watch it hit the girl's shins ineffectually.
"Oh." He said, followed by an awkward silence from the both of them. Hazel took a minute to assess his attacker, she was about twenty-three or twenty-four if he had to guess. Long, blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders. A tight, black bodysuit clung to her, accentuating her perfect proportions. The skin that was exposed was tanned… and there were those startingly fierce green eyes. Hazel couldn't look away, they were like brilliant gemstones infinitely refracting light, large tempests sucking him into their vortexes.
"You gonna stop staring or what?"
"Uhh," Hazel tried to come to his senses, "sorry," he managed. His eyes fell to the sharp sickles clutched in each of her hands, they were sparkling in the sun and wickedly curved. The gun she'd pointed at him earlier was holstered at her waist, she must've done so when she got behind him.
"Where are we?" Hazel asked, tensely. He was still on guard.
"Last time I checked we were near Cairo, ab—."
"Excuse me, what?! Did you say Cairo?! Like, the one in Egypt?!" He couldn't believe it, he'd woken up in the middle of the desert, sixty-five hundred miles away from home.
"Yeah, Cai-ro, what other 'Cairo' would I be talking about?" She sounded out each syllable of the name to him, as if he was a preschooler.
She was behind him again without a sound, the only trace of her movement being the sand kicked up by the maneuver. He felt the sickle blade slide into place around his neck again.
"Did you kill him?" She asked in a conversational manner.
"N-no! I swear!"
"You were holding the cleaver, standing right over him. I was hired to find out who offed this guy, and it's seems like your the person I'm looking for." She whispered into his ear.
"This is gonna sound really stupid, but I just woke up in the middle of this desert! I was walking… and I stepped on him."
There was an awkward silence, Hazel could feel her eyes burning holes into the back of his head.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Yeah."
"Then I guess you're just a loose end I'm gonna have to tie off." The ultimatum seemed to echo through the heavy silence. Hazel could feel the sickle digging into the soft flesh of his neck. Hazel closed his eyes, this is really it for me, huh?
Am I just gonna… die? Really?
Do you want to die?
Have I ever truly wanted to die?
The sickle dug in farther, he felt a trickle of blood run down his bare chest. He was truly, deeply, thinking about the question. He came to an answer;
No, I don't want to die!
"Wait!" He exclaimed. The girl froze, "last words?"
"What's your name?" Hazel asked, almost calmly, the tremble in his voice was barely noticeable.
"Why would you ask me that?"
"I think it's proper to at least know the name of my killer." The wind was picking up, Hazel felt a painful stinging sensation as small grains of sand hit his body. The sun had been blinding earlier, but now a large shroud of clouds was preventing the light from reaching the pair.
"Kaitlyn." It was a simple statement in a matter of fact manner.
Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn….
He repeated the name in his head over and over again. It was a nice name… so, at least his killer's name was memorable.
Hazel's mind was racing, he had to find a way to get out of the situation. He wasn't going to end it here, not in the middle of a meaningless desert.
Was my life worth living? What did I do? Have I done anything? Have I made a difference? Will I be remembered? Was I loved?
He couldn't remember, it had always been this way, but… he just couldn't. Even now, in his last moments, nothing had changed. He still didn't know who he was, who he had been. It was like a part of him was missing, in essence, that was the case.
So who do I want to be?
"Well, Kaitlyn, let's make a deal."