Reality Heist by Geordi Riker (e manga reader .txt) 📕

...and I wake up gasping for air in the middle of a busy road. A truck slams on it's brakes, the driver swerving in an effort to avoid me. A form suddenly scoops me up and moves me to the side of the street with lightning speed, or at least faster than the truck could stop. Brown eyes wrinkle as Jesse smiles down at me, “You've got to be ready to move the moment you stop falling.”
He lets me sit up, and a hand flies to my throat. It comes away with no blood, even though I can still feel the coppery taste in my mouth. I blink rapidly. Jesse kneels on the pavement beside me, tilting my chin so that I'm looking at him, “Hey, you okay?”
In response, I turn my head to the side and puke. Jesse leans back a little, with a smile, “Well, at least you're normal. If you had gone through a Slide unaffected, I would have been worried.” He helps me to my feet, and I realize that people are staring. “Don't mind them,” Jesse says, “You almost died, I can't see them holding this against you.” He loops my arm over his shoulder. I'm grateful for the help, my legs feel like jelly, more from the near death experience than anything else.
“What happened?” I manage to choke out.
“We just Slid. We're now in a...” he hesitates, looking around, “To be honest, I have no idea. My money's on a Five, but this could be a Seven just as easily. Only one way to find out. Pardonnez-moi,” he begins, addressing a woman close by, “Ou est-que nous?”
“What the heck? Do I look like I speak French, man?” the woman angrily demands, before barging off.
“Well, I guess we're in a Seven. That's weird. We don't normally bounce back here so soon, we were barely in Six for a day. Wonder what year it is?”
Just then some sort of flying saucer zooms by overhead, high above the pedestrians. Jesse smiles as if seeing an old familiar friend. “Speak of the devil. It's a Chaser '95. I thought those were pieces of junk. Must be 1996 or something, judging by the way that it still looks new and yet no one's giving it odd stares. Except for you, anyways.” He grins at me, making the comment non-offensive. “It can't be '96 if there's freaking flying saucers going around.”
“It's a Chaser '95, not a flying saucer from outer space,” Jesse corrects me, “And it's totally legit for it to be around. It's the first public model of such technology. Before the automobile makers got ahold of the plans, it was going to be a first rate fighter jet, until the engineers realized that it wouldn't be suitable for the conditions they were going to send it in for. Plus the war finally ended before the first one could be tested. So these Chasers are used by big tycoons so far. Limo sales went way down, I can tell you that much.”
I withdraw my arm from around his neck. I still feel a little dizzy, but strong enough to stand on my own. “So... we're in one of my dimensions, but not in my time-line?”
Jesse winces at my choice of words, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But don't say that around the others, or Amaar in particular will be all over you about how it's not your time-line. Your time-line is whatever and whenever you are, blah blah blah. Anyways, you should probably sit down. I'll go grab the stuff you left in the street.” He helps me sit down on a bench before ducking back into traffic.
I shiver and wrap my arms around me. Then it hits me- where's my backpack? That thing's supposed to come with me, right? An instant later, Jesse is beside me, wearing a long black over coat. He takes one look at me before he digs into the pack he's holding.
He pulls out a black jacket, made of some sort of leather, “Here, you look like you're going into shock.” He hands it to me, and I waste no time in shrugging into it. Jesse shoves a bundle of clothes into the backpack, “You aren't a neat freak, are you?” I shake my head. “Good.” He hands me the bag, “Try to hold onto this thing, you've got a computer in there that's top of the line in any dimension. I don't think it's even been made here yet.”
My backpack looks exactly like the one he's got on. “Thanks.” I drop the bag beside me, still not ready to get up. My fingers start playing with the zipper on my bomber jacket, and the texture makes me take a closer look. One first glance, the jacket looks like it's made of leather, but I can see the threads.
Jesse's eyes follow my gaze, “Oh, it's bulletproof. Made of some sort of super Kevlar polymer.”
“Is yours bulletproof too?”
He grins, “Yep, and they found a style I like a lot.” He does a twirl for me. I laugh and applaud him. My breath is moist in the air, leaving a little fog that soon disappears. I shiver and blow some air on my cold hands.
Jesse holds out a pair of gloves and a hat, and I pull them on, gratefully. The gloves and hat are made of the same fabric as the jacket. “Let me guess, these are bulletproof too?”
“Yep. If there's anything good to say about the Black, they take care of their Sliders.”
“You look weird in an overcoat, like you're headed to church or something.”
“Actually, this coat is part of my disguise. When you're not looking, I book it to Tokyo and pretend that I'm the Black Reaper. But my mask smashed recently, so that's kind of out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dang,” he sighs, a little deflated at my reaction, “I was so sure that you were into anime.”
“I am, but I just have no clue what you're referencing.”
“Any true fan of the genre would. Oh well, the plots kind of depressing anyways. I watched it during one of my 'funks' as Chase calls them. Speaking of which, we should probably go find the lot of them.” He helps me up and gives me a once over. I tuck some loose hair sticking out from underneath my hat back in place at the nape of my neck. Jesse grins, “You look like you're about to rob a bank or something, with that toque and everything.”
“What's a toque?” I ask, slinging my bag up and onto my shoulders as we start walking down the street.
“This,” he replies, yanking my hat off and dangling it in front of my face. His eyes dart to my hair, “Yikes.” he hands the toque back, “You better keep that on for now. You have a really bad case of helmet hair.”
“But this isn't a helmet,” I retort, shoving the hat back on to hide the messes up hair style.
“It's more bulletproof than the stuff they used during World War Two, so I consider it to be qualified enough to be classified as a helmet. On a different note, what kind of anime are you into, if you've never heard of the Black Reaper, a.k.a. BK-201?” A sudden thought hits him, “Please tell me that you're not into stuff like Sailor Moon, are you? Some shojo I can live with, but not that one.”
“Are you kidding? Do I look like I'm five?” I demand, feeling embarrassed.
“Okay, just checking. It's good that you haven't, otherwise I would start to think that you're a little too fruity for this kind of work.”
“I can't stand animes that can't keep an accent straight for the life of them, changing nationalities with every single word.” I growl defensively.
Jesse breaks out into a grin, “Actually, it's every other syllable. I can't stand that kid either. What's her name? Madison?”
“Molly,” I correct him automatically.
Suddenly, I freeze as it hits me. Jesse bursts out laughing. “Got you good there, didn't I, Brandee?” he teases before singing out, “Brandee likes Sailor Moon, Brandee likes Sailor Moon, Brandee has a crush on tuxedo mask.”
I slug him in the arm, “Ow, hey! That hurt.” He massages the spot, grinning to show that the punch didn't affect him at all. I shoot him the nastiest glare I can, trying not to laugh with him.
“For your information, I watched that one with my sister Will during spring break. We had an anime marathon, and she go to choose the subject matter.”
“We should have our own anime marathon, maybe some of the others in on it. It'd be great,” he suggests. I try to picture Dutch or Amaar or even Ky plopping down on a couch beside us and watching some cartoony show with a crummy plot.
“Yeah, I have a hard time picturing that,” I point out.
Jesse laughs, “Well, a marathon can still be a marathon with only two people. We could alternate between dark and funny.”
“Yeah, sure, maybe.” How could he be talking about this stuff as if everything was normal? We just got attacked by that chic, and she had killed me... “When we slid, did you see anything weird?”
Jesse snorts, “No, you just slide. One moment you're here, the next moment, after a sudden bout of cramps, you end up somewhere completely different. It's normal. Why, did you see anything?” His interest is piqued.
I shrug it off, “No, just wondering.” He hadn't seen anything. Not the forms, not the girl, not the attack, not my death. So that meant that the vision was for me alone, right? But what did it mean? The first time I had seen her, she had seemed excited, pleased to met me, even. Trying to get to me. Was she trying to kill me then too? Why? What did I do? What possible threat could I pose to her? “Do you ever get weird dreams when you Slide?”
Jesse's eyebrows crease, already telling me what I need to know before he opens his mouth, “No. The Slide is an instantaneous thing. You're here at point A and then wham, you're at point B. The only thing that gives away the fact that you just slid was that right before, you get a small sharp pain in your gut, and then afterward you're slightly disoriented. That and the fact that you're suddenly surrounded by a different location and vibe, and the pressure looks different. That's normally a dead giveaway.”
“So there's no in-between stage?”
“Not that I'm aware of.” He glances at my face, “Why?”
“No reason, just curious is all.”
He laughs, “You're a really bad liar. But I won't press you. I'm sure that you'll tell me sooner or later.”
“How do you do it?”
“Hmm?”
“We met just a few days ago, and you're already acting like we've been in the same gang for years, like we've known each other our entire lives.”
“Yeah, Chase claims