James

(Earth; memories of New York City, outside Starbucks, 2001 AD)

[Prisoner nine nine nine, please lay on the table and place your arms and legs in the restraints, so that the medical personnel may assist you.]

He was already awake – he had never actually fallen asleep. One hundred and seven hours ago, Taxchan closed his eyes and removed himself from the duration of his incarceration. One hundred and ten hours ago, Taxchan had truly awoken – from some kind of sedative torpor, as it were. Two pairs of eyelids parted, and he immediately scratched his face, noticing the presence of a beard and sideburns. This face was distinctly familiar.

[Prisoner nine nine nine, please lay on the table and place your arms and legs in the restraints, so that the medical personnel may assist you.]

The big, dead man: even alone, he was a more dreadful presence than all the ranks of the human-husks that filled the city. And he was strong.

Taxchan, all claws, scales, and heat, swung and slashed his great raptorial claws as though swimming towards his opponent. Lakes of howling dead fell to ribbons
– surges of purple, coagulated blood – cannibalized bodies, broken ribs
– Taxchan parted the howling seas with the gifts of extinction and, rising towards the dead man like a wave, ran his long fingers through his chest. The dinosaur knew his name: James. And his lives, too: a knight and (not so strange) a dog lover. Big, dead James was a gifted warrior. The battle would last for days if allowed – Taxchan would not be able to protect the Lady Zesiro and the dog – James was too skilled – the pressure of an entire sea of writhing humanoid death bore upon the last dinosaur on this world.
Skewered, lifted, suspended, the man struggled on the beast's talons; for only a moment, Taxchan had the advantage. It was the advantage of brute strength – the surprising potential of raw force to keep pushing, to run hard into its opposition. Taxchan began to spin. James’ weight and struggling bowed the dinosaur’s long claws.

Lady Zesiro cried out.

[Prisoner nine nine nine, please lay on the table and place your arms and legs in the restraints, so that the medical personnel may assist you.]

One syllable that shone – yes, the sound literally shined like a star amidst the untold and uncountable calls of hate-pain issued by the dead – so brightly that it shook the skyscrapers, the streets, the ruined machines littered about. Or perhaps all it shook was the consciousness of the awakened Taxchan, who fell over himself as he slung James from his claws. The big, dead man tumbled through the air, through a window, through a wall. Taxchan collapsed and was immediately set upon by a horde of the dead. In the reflection cast upon – he doesn’t know, something metal? – Taxchan saw something unexpected: his face, a human. A handsome bearded man. The vibrations of Zesiro’s syllable hummed and ceased.

Then the dinosaur rose up once again and rent the dead upon him. Zesiro cast cards upon the ground as James ran him down, and they dove. They fell through worlds, the four of them: the dead knight, the dog, the lady, and Taxchan. A banquet hall. The knight Aimery was there. They fell again.

[Prisoner nine nine nine, please lay on the table and place your arms and legs in the restraints, so that the medical personnel may assist you.]