Initiative [A]Live Chapter 0: And No Way To Tell Time

It’s an old-fashioned smoke room. Its well-lit interior consists of many elegant and fanciful furnishings. Two red velvet, camel-back couches with gold threaded side trims face each other from across the room. Each couch has one traditional wooden end table with two pull-out drawers to their left; they are identical as so are the couches. Laid on top those end tables are lit, emerald green, glass blown banker lamps. Their cords are plugged into an outlet on the backside of said end tables. One round and large polished solid oak coffee table sits in between the couches. A decadent, glass-beaded pendant chandelier hangs directly over top it. The floor is carpeted; it bleeds a deep red from its underlay. Many full and tall handcrafted bookcases line the adjacent walls, fitting into the floor’s quarter round like a glove. Curiously, a large vase sits atop only the bookshelves lined on the back wall; there is no vase on the top wall’s bookshelves. The walls that don’t include bookcases are wooden still, with rectangular engravings that repeat perfectly on each square, totaling four walls to the room. There are no windows, no sunlight, no vents, no obvious airflow and no way to tell time. There are two doors, one to each wall without bookcases. These are the left and right walls, or perhaps more eloquently, the partition ones. The room’s symmetry reads as if one side is a mirror of the other.

On the couch to the back wall is a young man, asleep and placed precariously upon its edge. This is Oki Ishiiko: a white, five foot eleven, eighteen year-old male with short, dark brown hair. His outfit is unusual as it is eye-catching. On his torso, he sports a vertically striped black and white long-sleeved button-up with cuffs, a collar and a visible red handkerchief folded neatly within his patch pocket. His black dress pants are spotted with white, uniform polka-dots held up with a black leather belt and a silver buckle. On his feet, he wears white, cotton crew size socks underneath shiny, black dress shoes with white midsole trims and aglets. On the side of the round coffee table, lays a slim, black gambler hat with a flat brim and a diagonally striped black and white band. To Oki’s front and back are the walls with bookcases. To his left and right, are the partition walls.

Oki rolls over to his side, falling flat onto the floor face-first— instantly awakened.

“Ack— God! What the—?!” He winces in pain. “Ah, dang it, my head…”

He rubs his eyes and forehead with his hands as he attempts to sit up off the floor.

“Man, I gotta’ stop pullin’ those all nighta’s.” He gives a sigh. “What does Amelia always say: ‘You should really work on ya sets durin’ the day.’ Yeah, yeah.”

Oki has a yawn, takes a deep breath, and is now awake proper. Immediately afterwards, he realizes his unfamiliar surroundings.

“Wait just a minute… What in the—?” He does a double take. “What is this place?” He sounds more inconvenienced than concerned.

Finally noticing his hat sitting on the table, he quickly grabs it and promptly situates it atop his head. He does more observation.

“Alright, well, I’m not in San Fran— an’ this certainly ain’t the Hilton…” He gives a slight facial gesture of approval. “Although…” He snaps himself out it. “—Now hold on!”

Alertly, he darts for the left partition wall. He reaches for the copper doorknob and jostles it in an attempt to open it. He cannot.

“Oh, please don’t tell me…”

He rushes over to the right wall and attempts the same thing. The knob doesn’t budge.

“Shoot, no dice.”

Oki, visibly frustrated, returns to the center of the room. He decides to pace around the coffee table to recollect his thoughts. The footprint of his shoes indent the plush carpeting below him as he mumbles to himself with his eyes closed. Suddenly, he turns around and snaps his finger.

“Alright! Here’s what I know: Woke up with a poundin’ headache on the floor of room I don’t recognize with the only two doors locked up tighta’ than Fort Knox. Huh, y’know, I’ve been ta Fort Knox actually, an’ it’s a lot easier ta get into than ya’d think, I mean— okay, hold on, lemme set the scene ‘ere: It was Octoba’ Fest in the year—“ Once again, Oki snaps himself out of it. “Ah—! No, no, no, no, no! Ya doin’ it again Oki. You gotta remember what they tell ya, you hafta’ focus.”

He sits himself on the velvet couch he was originally on and begins contemplating.

“Right. Now how’d ya get inta’ this place?”

Oki tips his hat’s brim over his eyes and begins tapping his right foot.

“Alright, c’mon, focus, focus, focus…”

He remains in this state for approximately half a minute before speaking again.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me— this is just that time in Reno all over again!”

He stands up and starts shouting at the doors.

“Sanchez! Amelia! Can you guys hear me?! Are you around ‘ere?! I swear to all things— if you let at those Arnold Palmers again— You know what those things do ta me! I had so many one time I tried ta backflip off a bar counta’ cause some local drunkard bet me a Kennedy half dolla’! Used it ta help pay my medical bills that night. Ha, good times.”

As Oki was readjusting, leveling his hat and patting himself down, he heard a weak groan come from behind the couch adjacent to the one he was just sat at. This obviously grabs his attention, since before that moment, Oki had thought that he was the only one in the room.

“Uh, someone behind there?” He cranes his neck to see better as he didn’t want to move in closer just yet.

What emerges is a younger boy. This is Aaron Kenji: a white, five foot six, fifteen year-old male with short, brown hair. The physical comparisons between the two are immediately apparent. Whereas Oki’s outfit is unique and presentable, Aaron’s is drab and mostly unremarkable. On Aaron’s torso is a horizontally striped grey and maroon short-sleeved t-shirt with an empty chest pocket. He also wears a pair of beige cargo shorts that reach past his knees and maroon colored micro-crew socks underneath well-worn light grey tennis shoes with red accents and frayed laces. Lastly, he’s notably dotted with a multitude of different adhesive bandages varying in size, color, and brand on his person. Particularly, there’s a dark taupe colored bandage strapped across the bridge of his nose.

Holding onto the couch’s backrest for support, Aaron is panicked and disoriented. Oki is physically taken aback by the boy’s surprise presence as if it almost proves the severity of the situation to him. Oki is the first to speak.

“What the—?!” Aaron cuts him off.

“Wh— what?! Where am I?! Who are you?! D— don’t come near me! Please don’t come near me!”

Oki puts his hands up in front of himself.

“Woah, woah, woah, kid— easy! I— I ain’t gonna hurt’cha! I woke up ’ere same as you, ya see? I’m on your side ‘ere! Imma’ friend, swear on all things!”

Now away from the couch, Aaron takes note of the door on the right partition wall and tries it for himself. Oki lets him have his space as not to encroach, lest the boy feel more even more endangered. Aaron, just as Oki, was unsuccessful in opening it. Aaron turns around and speaks again, this time in an even more wavering voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m s— so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this, I— I swear! I don’t even know how, but—“

“Whoa, whoa, what?! Slow down, waddya talkin’ about?! It’s alright kid! I don’t think you did this, ya couldn’t’ve, jus’— try an’ settle down, yeah? Ain’t no one gonna harm ya. I put that on my mudda, ya see?”

Oki’s trustworthy demeanor shines through to Aaron. He begins to calm down and gain control his breathing. Oki observes this and mentally whews a sigh of relief.

“Alright. Now then, you okay? Ya look pretty banged up. Someone else didn’t do all that to ya, did they?”

“… Uh, n— no. These are just from— accidents, but I’m fine, really. I was actually more worried if— I had hurt you or not.”

Oki is very confused.

“Wait— what?! How?!”

“ Um, well, it’s just this— thing I have. It’s like a kind of— bad luck… I guess. It affects me a lot— and when people get too close to me, then it’s almost like… it attracts to them as well.”

“Bad luck? Is that what’cha sayin’? Ah, c’mon, y’know that stuff ain’t really for keeps, right? Life’s only what’cha make of it an’ so on.”

Aaron sighs.

“P— please, believe me. I’ve— wanted that to be true for a very long time now…” Aaron looks dejected.

Oki isn’t quite sure how to grapple the mentality Aaron is displaying. It’s forcing him to become more contemplative which is usually outside his comfort zone.

“Oh— jeez, where are my manna’s, I haven’t even introduced myself yet. Uh, do you wanna have a seat? You can have that couch ova’ there if ya like.” Oki points to the couch by the front wall. “I’ve got my seat ova’ ’ere.” He returns to the couch by the back wall.