1:1:1 Lore

Damp. They weren’t quite sure where they were but it was most certainly damp. For that matter, they weren’t quite sure who they were either. A cursory glance at their surroundings told them almost nothing; they could have been anywhere, almost. They were most definitely underground and there was some form of light in the distance. An amber glow that seemed to seep into every crack and crevice of the rock surrounding them. Curiously, they floated towards the source of this light. As a moth to a flame, they drifted closer and closer and as they did, the light grew brighter and the cave wider. They then came to a mouth. The cave had truly opened up. Before them a crevice some twenty miles in diameter and at the centre, suspended by four enormous chains, a town. The chains weren’t the only thing connecting the floating island to the walls of the cave. At regular intervals, equidistant from two of the chains, wooden bridges could be found. As they neared them, they began to see the imperfections that distance obscured. While initially they had been confident, that had changed. The closest bridge was centuries old and it showed. Years of use and decades of neglect had taken their toll with the ropes anchoring the walkway to the mainland being frayed leaving barely a handful of loyal strings to maintain the bridge. Apprehensively, they took their first step. When they didn’t immediately fall, they took a few more. Burst by burst, they crossed the bridge.

It was quiet but there were definite signs of life. The local signage was of no use. They weren’t sure what languages they spoke but they did know that it wasn’t any of the ones used wherever they were. Still following their instincts, they ventured further into the town, keeping to the wider main roads while avoiding the slow moving rickshaws that trundled around them. Despite the activity, they still had no idea what the locals looked like, or even what they themselves looked like for that matter. It was as if there was something in the back of their head saying they didn’t need to know or they wouldn’t like what they saw, compelling them not to look at their reflection. They did anyway. They started at the feet, fighting with their spine to see more. Their footwear was appropriate for their locale, strong and sturdy yet small and manoeuvrable. The hiking trainers sat at the bottom of a pair of stick thin legs. These were accentuated by the cut of their trousers. A hardy material and covered in pockets, they were somewhat impressed by their forward thinking. On their hips rested a shoulder bag. There was nothing remarkable inside apart from a small wrappage of dehydrated bread rations. The thought of them made them salivate. Moving upwards, things got tighter. An armoured, compression style tee sat underneath a matching breast plate, finally topped with a leatherette jacket. While most of the materials used  felt thin, something about them was reassuring, they were nothing if not comfortable and a cursory glance at some of the labels reassured them of their protective prowess. Each item carried a slightly different protective rating so as long as they weren’t stabbed in the sides or electrocuted, they’d be fine. They could have stopped there but they didn’t. Despite waking up in a cave and despite not having a clue who they were or where they were, they were clean shaven. Their skin felt mostly smooth but there were imperfections. Each time their finger ran over one, the stubble dug in like a needle, pricking them and turning their stomach. They continued further and took in the whole face. They shook their head. They had hoped that this moment would jog their memory but… nothing. Seeing their own face did little to remind them of their identity but it did add to the mystery. That wasn’t their face. Although they knew little about themselves, they knew that. There was something wrong but they couldn’t quite put their finger on it. Their eyes were opened wide, allowing a breeze to enter their soul and then, themselves. They stared into the stone grey circles and saw nothing. Nothing but their own reflection. The eyes looked correct though. They didn’t recognise their own face but they did recognise their eyes. After the thorough investigation, they lowered their gaze down their scrawny frame and turned to their possessions. They began with their knee pockets, which each housed a sheet of armour plating and an uncomfortable quantity of red sand, before moving up. The closer they got to their bag, the more useful the findings became. A hair pin, a small cog and a key were all that was left hidden in their trousers. The findings didn’t improve too much as they began to search their bag. More cogs and a piece of thin, corrugated, plastic tubing. They shook their head as they moved on.

The quiet streets of the outer ring quickly and jarringly transitioned to the wall of sounds and smells that was the town centre. Faceless people darted to and fro as they conducted their business before returning home. They took a moment to take in their surroundings. It had been too much. A feeling like a finger running up their spine sent their head spinning to the right. They turned but, there was no-one to be found. They took a breath before continuing. They had taken a quick scan of their surroundings while they were trying to calm themselves but they knew that there was no guarantees they would meet anyone who spoke their language. A nearby stall, they thought would be the best place to begin getting answers but, as they approached, the Shopkeep behind the stall stepped away and fogged their visor. Whatever they managed to glimpse of the Shopkeep’s face was swiftly masked by the swirling, grey smoke that now filled his helmet. The Shopkeep tapped at a sign showing a bipedal organism with a strike running through its centre next to some text written in the native script, similar to what they had seen reflected in the house window. The helmeted employee tapped at the sign again and pointed towards the centre again. They obliged before travelling along the path he appeared to recommend. The more and more they walked, the more and more they saw the same image from the sign. While most shops proudly displayed this symbol, there were a few that didn’t. A new pattern emerged, shops with the sign were fully staffed with faceless beings whereas, those without suffered and fell away. They noticed that the locals were exchanging goods for the cogs they held in their pocket. At the nearest stall that looked somewhat friendly, they pointed to something interesting before moving in closer. They held up their cogs as they gave their warmest smile. While the effort was there, the result was poor. As they placed the cogs on the shop’s counter, the Shopkeep vanished. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the Shopkeep returned. He took a sign identical to the one they were trying to avoid and used it to swipe their money from the table. Catching the small handful of cogs before they hit the ground, they decided to just move on and head deeper into this town.

The sign had become a rare sight but so too had people. The faceless beings that seemed to call this place home didn’t seem to extend that courtesy to the area they were currently in. The buildings were empty, save squatters and everything was noticeably older. While the main market square had shared an aesthetic with Tudor England but in space, they would be forgiven for thinking that they were time travelling as they walked. The metal recreations of fifteenth century architecture grew in accuracy until they reached an anomaly. Surrounding this peculiarity were two wooden houses, both with peeling paint, falling plaster and generally in disrepair; but between them, a perfectly preserved pub. As though ripped directly from the past, and another planet for that matter, a pristine English pub stood. Its stained timber frame puffed proudly, contrasting the white wattle and daub walls. They checked the windows. They checked the doors. They caught their reflection but apart from that, no ‘no outsiders’ signs or anything resembling one could be seen.
Slowly, they parted the mahogany doors. They felt the quality, alien to the time frame they emulated, and thanked them for that. Splinter free doors open, they proceeded inside. Time appeared to shift as while the interior kept a lot of the design cues from the era, there was no denying the modern influence; gambling machines whirred in the corners and the bar was equipped with more than enough taps. They were about to question that when they felt something hit their shoulder.
“Sorry.” One of the helmeted locals nodded, flashing a digital smile to them. They nodded back before finding a seat at the bar.
“What can I do you for?” The barkeep tapped at her helmet twice. The first tap lit the whole thing up but the second resolved their issue. The same digital smile they had just seen was mirrored on her face. They assumed it was like that for every one of their species but wondered what they looked like under the helmet. “You wanting a drink?”
They blinked slowly. Their mind abuzz with questions. They settled their cogs on the bar, “what would this get me?”
She was taken aback. “Stabbed. I’d put that away round here.” She hurriedly swiped the cogs onto their lap. She left two of the smaller ones. “That’s enough for a drink so, what do you want?”
“Water if you have it.” Their voice was hoarse and made them twitch. They hadn’t expected it to sound like that.
“Coming up.” The barkeep took one of the cogs and replaced it with a tall glass of water.
The glass was chilled but the drink was not. It made for a weird drinking experience but they didn’t care. Their throat was a sandpaper sponge at this point and with every gulp that passed their lips, it further returned to its natural, soft state. First pint necked, they requested another. The barkeep took their glass but not their cog. When the glass came back full, and this time garnished with ice, they waited but still, no payment was taken.
“Here.” They pushed the cog across the bar only for it to be returned to sender.
She shook her head. “We refill water for free here. Especially for folks in your boots. You look like you’ve travelled a long way down some bad roads.”
They looked themselves up and down. Admittedly, they weren’t as clean as they could have been. “Suppose you’re right.” Their voice had shaken some of the gravel loose. “Don’t quite know what roads they were but they must have been rough.” The two shared an awkward smile before the barkeep returned to her duties and they returned to their water.

Three pints and just over an hour in and they were beginning to feel alive again. They had no recollection of how they usually felt but, from their limited frame of reference, this was better. They had just set their glass down when their wrist began to vibrate. Catching them off guard, their arm jumped followed swiftly by the rest of their body. The violence of this interaction sent their glass off into the air. Under normal circumstances, the sudden acceleration of the glass would have been met with an equally sudden deceleration however, something bizarre had intervened. For just a moment, while they frantically scrambled to catch the glass rocket, time had ground to a halt. Patrons froze mid digital expression and fluids remained trapped in the drinking hoses the locals used to consume their beverages. Flapping their arms even faster, they didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth. Either they were hallucinating from the rapid rehydration and they looked like a loon surrounded by shattered glass or they would emerge victorious with the empty, yet whole glass in their hand ready for a refill. The latter and more favourable option won. The moment their fingers wrapped around the glass, it began to move again. Like a ferret, it resisted their grasp but it was unsuccessful. They returned it to the bar enthusiastically whereupon they immediately realised their mistake. A small chip had been created at the base of the glass and, as they lifted it, the culprit was revealed. A small, metal cog glinted innocently back at them as they chose a new location for their glass. At this point, they had completely forgotten their watch ever vibrating but the message it had received wouldn’t go unheard.
“Lore?” A familiar yet distant voice pierced the hustle and bustle of the pub. “By the gods, you’re alright. Here again.” The voice ran at them, arms outstretched. “What happened? Are you alright? Why weren’t you answering your Breacher?” The voice was more than that now. Attached to it was a deceptively thin figure. They managed to get a good impression of their assailant, with the hug affording them an opportunity to inspect them more thoroughly. They were wearing a similar undershirt to them however, the hugger had additional armour layered over the top. Their clothing was also significantly cleaner. “Lore?” They took a step back.
They looked to the newcomer with a raised eyebrow. “Are you talking to me?” Something within their eyes died.
A deep breath, a gulp and welling eyes preceded speech, “I’m Crait. You’re Lore.” Crait smiled then took a breath. “We’re colleagues? More than that but…” They moved in for a second hug “I know you’ve not got the best sense of humour but feigning amnesia hasn’t been funny for decades.”. Crait’s embrace now took on an entirely different feeling. It smouldered around Lore. It felt as though there had once been something significant between them but, whatever it was, it had grown cold. Crait planted an equally cold kiss on their temple.
“I’m sorry,” Lore pulled themselves away. “I honestly don’t have a clue who you are.” They shook their head. Crait’s face dropped.
“Damn Quatarrians.” They muttered under their breath.

Crait stood Lore up and took them to a booth, affording them more privacy than the bar could. “We should probably start from the beginning.” Crait took a breath. “As I’ve said, I’m Crait. A human, like you, who works for the United Earth Protectorate. We’ve known each other since we were old enough to walk and we’ve trained together since then?” They paused. “Jogging any memories?”
“We were close?” Lore began, “not just like that but close close?” Lore hoped they got what they meant.
Crait nodded. “It’s a relatively new thing. We started dating when we were fifteen. Nothing too serious then but we’ve had our ups and downs and our on and off times.” Lore nodded along. “Then you had that fling but that isn’t for now…”
“Okay…?” Lore nodded for them to continue.
“Anyway.” They recomposed themselves. “Our job is to protect the timeline from potential threats, past and future. You took my place on a mission to Quatarr to investigate a potential breach of our treaty. They must have really gotten to you though.” There was concern in their eyes as they scanned Lore’s. “We should get you to the infirmary, like now.” Crait waited for Lore to move but they seemed to be waiting for them. They hushed their voice. “Your Breacher?”
“Breacher?” Lore shrugged. Crait looked around the near empty bar, saw no-one was looking then grabbed at their wrist. Encircling their rat-like wrist, a black rubber band loosely held closed with a metal butterfly clasp with a flashing red light.
“Explains why you missed my message then. This is your Breacher. Protect it with your life. It’s the most advanced watch you’ll ever wear. I’ll get to the rest later.” They smiled. “Let’s get you looked at.” Home.