The persistent, rhythmic drip of water echoed in the darkness, a relentless sound that slowly pulled me from a hazy abyss. A dull ache throbbed at the back of my head, a heavy weight pressing down, and my body felt as though it had been roughly dragged across a coarse, unyielding surface. When my vision finally cleared, a grim reality emerged: I was in a sewer.

Panic seized me. How had I arrived in this foul, damp place? My mind was a blank slate, utterly devoid of memory. A tentative hand reached behind my head, and my fingers met a sticky warmth. When I drew my hand back, the stark crimson of blood stained my palm, a shocking testament to an unknown trauma. My legs screamed in protest as I tried to stand, protesting as if I had just endured an impossible marathon. My clothes were a mess – worn shoes caked in dust, pants torn at the knees, and holes ragged at the elbows of my jacket. I blinked, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible.

What had happened? Was I dreaming? Where was I? The questions hammered at my skull, each one intensifying the pain. I forced myself upright, a desperate attempt to recall anything. Flashes: a math class, then the fleeting images of my friends, Loren and Jinni, laughing. Nothing more. The sun, a searing orange, broke through an opening, revealing I was in the sewer beneath the park near my house. It was deserted, as always. I scanned the desolate surroundings, searching for a sign, a person, anything to anchor me to reality, but found only emptiness.

Then, a faint buzz. My hand instinctively went to my jacket pocket. My cell phone. A lifeline. The screen glowed with Loren’s name. Without hesitation, I answered.