Waking Up

Ichiro's eyes shot open, and he gasped for air as his body shot up into a sitting position. He flinched. The lights above were bright enough to make his eyes water. After a moment, they adjusted enough for him to make out his surroundings.

Where the hell am I?

He sat upright on what looked like an examination table. The room it occupied was sparse and clinical, containing only some cabinets on one side and a small side desk on the other. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed just loud enough to bother him, and his head throbbed. None of that told him where he was, however. From the looks of it, it was a doctor's office or something similar. If this is a doctor's office or a hospital, surely there are nurses or other people around, right?

He looked down at his body and ran his hands over it. He was definitely intact, and besides the headache, otherwise unharmed. He still wore his school uniform, though it seemed his jacket was missing. His arm was still bandaged. He reached into his pocket for his cellphone, but it wasn't there. In fact, all of his pockets were empty, including the one that had held the letter from Yukiko.

And the scrap of her yukata.

That realization unlocked a flood of memories. The park, the light of the fireworks dancing in the reflection of her hair, the look in her eyes when she told him she loved him... the flash and explosion... the fire. He remembered the elevator ride to the 30th story of his apartment complex, and the whistling of the air as he rocketed 30 stories headfirst back towards the pavement below.

All at once, something in his head broke. First came the vomit, then the tears, then the screaming, then the staring blankly at the ceiling. Then more screaming and crying.

Seemingly in response, he heard the faint click of approaching footsteps. They drew up to the door on the far side of the room, and a second later, it swung outward.

A young woman in a long white lab coat strode through the door, her head bent to look at something on a clipboard in her hand. She wore over-ear headphones blasting loud electronic music around her neck, held some kind of pastry in her mouth, and carried a baseball bat in her off hand. Her hair was short and disheveled, her clothes looked purpose-built for mechanical work, and she now wore oversized circle lens glasses. Seeing his best friend in this state, particularly looking as different as she did, was enough to snap him out of his hysteria.

"... Amelia?"

She did not reply. She instead calmly set the clipboard and pastry on the nearby side desk, turned, and hefted the baseball bat. Before he could open his mouth or react in protest, she swung it at his head.

When Ichiro finally awoke again, his headache was far worse. He was also strapped to the table now, a fact he only discovered when he tried to move. There were so many of them on him he couldn't do more than twist his hands and ankles. He laid still, staring up at the lights, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He'd seen his dream girl blown to pieces in front of him, jumped thirty stories to his death, and not only had he somehow survived, but now he was being held against his will by his best friend, who'd just gone full Ohtani on his skull with a Louisville Slugger.

This really was just not his day.

Something shifted out of sight by the side desk, and Amelia stepped back into view. She stood slumped in front of him, hands stuffed in the pockets of her lab coat. She had dark circles around both eyes, and an expression on her face of absolute boredom. She looked... older, somehow. Maybe his age or a little older. He noticed with more than a little apprehension that she still held the bat.

"Done being hysterical?" She asked.

"Y-yes, ma'am." Ichiro said, then grimaced.

Yes, Ma'am? What are you, five?

"You're alive." She said.

"I think so?"

"That was a declarative statement, not a question," she said flatly. "Hungry?"

"That depends." Ichiro said. "Are you gonna use my skull for batting practice again if I give the wrong response?"

Amelia shrugged.

"Who's to say."

Ichiro eyed her warily.

"Then yes."

Amelia nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait! Amelia, what is going on? What happened to me? Why am I here?" Ichiro asked, then after a moment added, "HOW am I here?"

Amelia stopped.

"You died. You're not dead anymore. You're here and alive because I'm a goddamn genius," she said. She turned to leave again, then stopped and added, "You're welcome, by the way."

Before Ichiro could say any more, she was gone.

When she returned a short time later, she released him from his straps enough for him to sit upright and set a bowl full of noodles in front of him.

"Eat."

Ichiro did as instructed, cracking apart the disposable chopsticks and tucking in. It probably wasn't poisoned. Maybe. Then again, the person giving it to him was currently holding him hostage and had a penchant for casual assault, so the odds were not great. Even if it was, suddenly complaining about being murdered shortly after unsuccessfully trying to kill himself seemed a bit rich, even for him. After a few bites, Amelia rolled over in the desk chair, rotating it enough to use the seat back as an armrest.

"Now. You have questions. I have answers. Go." She said.

Ichiro opened his mouth to speak, but his stomach got the better of him. After a few mouthfuls, he set the bowl down and looked at Amelia.

"Okay. How am I alive?" He asked.

"I told you. I saved you." Amelia said, seemingly annoyed by having to repeat herself.

"Okay, yeah, I get that, Mel. But how? I may not be a genius, but even I know there's no way to survive a fall like I took."

Amelia shifted in her seat. She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a long moment as she looked at him, seeming to mull how to best respond. After a moment, she walked over and undid the rest of the straps holding him down.

"How about I show you?"