Kaotic Beginnings

Kaotic Beginnings Part 3

The suns and their radiating warmth broke through into the mostly empty room and Anar woke with a start, almost reeling from the possibility that this was still Purgatory, and he was back in that old Hellscape with familiar terrors and challenges. He sat bolt upright in the spacious, comfy, barely-broken-in bed with a tangle of musty sheets at his ankles and a bead of sweat at his grey aged brow. His resurrected heart hammered, and his throat swallowed awkwardly. With a guttural exhale he shuddered with relief.

It was all over. He was in his new private quarters now, alone. Back on the mortal plane, on the Black Planet, in his new temporary workplace. He could breathe now, (quite literally, in fact,) he was a free aardvark. Well, free-ish. Free-er than he had been under that Damned contract at least. He glanced down at the bedside table where he had placed his phone and instinctively jabbed it on with a trembling grey finger. It was dead. There were no USB ports to charge it with here. Come to think of it, there were no satellites to connect to, neither. No signal, no wi-fi. It was like going back to the heady days of 1994 all over again but with less Thundercats on TV.

He let himself slump down again onto his pillow.It was soft and plump, exactly how a pillow should be. The mattress beneath himwas firm yet springy, just as the expensive ones in Ikea are that you alwaysvow to buy one day, but never actually do. The sheets, before he had soakedthem with perspiration, were soft and sumptuous. Back at the High Riseapartment it hadn't been too difficult to pull himself out of his bed in themorning as it wasn't all that comfortable. Too long of a lie-in just gave you anumb bum. But this... this was like a hotel room bed. 

He idly wondered what curious creatures he would be having dealings with on this bizarre world? Back at Infernal Holy College he'd seen some unusual and rare specimens, even his hometown had its fair share of anthro people to choose from. Were there any humans here? Or other anthropomorphics like himself? He'd soon be finding out. Once he'd cleaned himself up, been for a piss and grabbed some clothes that is. What even was the time? No use looking at his watch, that was set to the Underworld. He slipped it on his wrist anyway, for the familiar feeling if nothing else. Funny how missing one little accessory out could leave you feeling not properly dressed. He slid out of the bed, albeit a little reluctantly, and padded to his bathroom. The shower had been used the night previous and he was still clean enough, so he made do with a flannel for a quick wipe around and kept his gaze low to avoid meeting his awful reflection. He wasn't ready to think about that today. He'd got enough on his plate. As he flushed his toilet he wondered where the water came from exactly, as they were in the middle of a big desert. Always a few mysteries wherever he ended up.

He remembered he had his own little kitchen space and nosed about in there, too. The tiles were cold here and he flexed his clawed toes, enjoying the sharp temperature contrast. He flicked on the kettle and grabbed his canister of coffee. Everything he needed to start the day off right: one orgasm and caffeine. Clothes! Knew he'd forgotten something. As the water boiled noisily, he dug in the largest set of drawers and pulled on his new uniform. No more stuffy shirts, ties and long sweeping capes, this was more like it; vests, t-shirts and combat trousers. Green probably wasn't his colour but he pulled them on anyway and tucked himself in, yanking the belt tight and giving his small stomach a pat. Rave was always poking fun of it, wasn't he? Well he was sure to lose it now; if the army didn't fitten him up then nothing would. He'd make sure to employ gym trainers that belonged in the World Wrestling Federation, big hulking bastards that would give Mr.T a run for his money. 'Drop and gimme twenty!' sort of thing. Mind you, he'd just drop. And expire. Again.

Coffee was drunk and actually savoured as just for once he didn't feel as though he would crumple into a depressed bundle of sobs without it. He tried to stand up a little straighter; stooping and skulking were no longer necessary for the job. He was General Warlock now. That meant a proud stance, a confident air. It was worth a try, right? Probably last right up to the point Rave laughed at him. It was going to happen. No point kidding himself. He rinsed his empty cup out in the stainless-steel sink to use again later, still desperately trying not to catch sight of his face that was being reflected back at him. Rave didn't need an excuse to laugh at him, he'd been turned into an old bugger, hadn't he? Did it serve him right? Probably. Who messed with the Underworld? Only idiots, and idiots got laughed at.