Laughter.
Amid the darkness that embraced him, Phil Smith heard laughter. It was an odd sound. Almost foreign. One that he had not heard in many days.
Or over a year, depending on how you liked to look at it.
Phil had been displaced, moved forward one year in time... into a world he did not know.
Something had happened. A godling known only as Mxy - a teammate of Phil's from what seemed like another life - had sneezed... and as a result, had recreated everything.
His best friend, Grissom Montag, was no longer the man he knew. He was now power hungry, independently wealthy, and a complete and total bastard.
Not only that, but he'd changed himself. White hair, a proclivity to white suits... and no telepathy. That was odd. To suddenly hear nothing but... silence. He felt like his mind was totally empty - void of everything that had once filled it.
The voices. He longed to hear them again.
But, for now, he would settle for the laughter.
...he only needed to wake up.
Bolting upright, Phil Smith's brow was covered in cold sweat. The laughter he had heard in his sleep had grown louder. Looking around, Phil was able to soak in his surroundings.
He appeared to be in a quaint bedroom. Posters adorned the wall, a pot of flowers - daisies - sat in the window sill, and clothes lay scattered about the floor. Looking back, Phil noticed a discarded brassiere hanging from the headboard of the bed he had been in.
"I'm in a girl's room..." he muttered to himself.
The laughter sounded again... a sweet, angellic laugh that, unbeknownst to him, brought a slight smile to his face. Rising from the bed, Phil took one step before he realized that he was only wearing his boxers.
Looking around, he saw no male clothes in sight. Reaching into the closet, he pulled out a bathrobe. Wrapping it tightly around his body, he exited the bedroom and headed to the direction of the laughter.
As he walked through the hallways, he noted that the walls were covered in shelves and each of those shelves were covered in books, leather-bound and exquisite. Running his hand across one of the shelves, he realized that the books were not old... but new. Pulling one from the shelf, he opened it. Inside, the pages were blank. They were textured to the touch.
Homemade, Phil thought. Nice.
Closing the tome, he noticed a foil stamp of the fleur-de-lis on the back. This volume had been handmade. This was something special.
The laughter came again... only this time, it was joined by another. Phil recognized the second laugh, though not as well he might have. The telekinetic made his way toward the kitchen.
"--so there I am, right beside this guy, and, he runs right into the Hoover Dam!"
Icarus Sidewinder stood, his hands illustrating his story as well as two hands flailing about could.
Icarus had been changed in this strange new world as well. Somehow, machinery had been grafted to his skin. His brain ahd been connected to the Information Superhighway. He could get information. The machines on his skin enabled him to fly and create guns on his hands... among other things. Phil had a feeling Sidewinder's potential had yet to be actualized.
The pilot's rapt audience laughed again, that singular melodious laugh that had brought Phil from his coma-like state.
She was... gorgeous. Her hair was vibrant red and her eyes a brilliant green. He smile was infectious, contagious, and completely alluring.
Turning her eyes momentarily from Sidewinder, she notes Phil as he stood numbly in the doorway. Her full, red lips spread into a smile.
"Well, hey, stranger," she said, a German accent clinging to her words. "Welcome to the land of the living."
Icarus turned slowly, looking Phil over.
"Hey, Mindjob," he said, a wide smirk spreading over his face. "Nice PJs."
Phil suddenly became aware of the robe he had pulled out of the closet in the bedroom. It was pink. And fuzzy. With lace trim. His face reddened as he looked back at the two.
"Don't worry," the woman said, rising from the table. "I've had your suit cleaned and pressed. I'll run and get it."
As she exited, Icarus began to laugh.
"Seriously, man," the pilot chuckled. "Nice wardrobe! I think you should make that your signature color!"
"Shut it, Sidewinder," Phil said, looking around the room. "How long have I been out?"
"About five days," Sidewinder said. "We washed up on the shore of Bremerhaven... it's in Germany, by the way."
"...I know where Bremerhaven is, Icarus..."
"Oh, well, I didn't, so I thought I'd share," Sidewinder said, sliding around the wooden kitchen table, motioning for Phil to do the same. "But, yeah, Elisabeth found us on the shore during one of her morning beachside walks... and dragged us here, to safety. I figured we'd remain in hiding until you came to and we got some information on the others... whichever came second."
"The others?" Phil said, looking around. "Are they...?"
"I don't know," Icarus said, shaking his head, suddenly a bit stoic. "I've been searching the regular channels since I came to a few days ago. I've got nothing. Heck, I haven't even been able to find any info about that group that highjacked our plane... other than stuff on your typical conspiracy theory sites."
"So, that leaves us...?" Phil asked.
"At square one, Brainfreeze," Icarus said. "Unless you've had any sort of revelatory breakthroughs in your sleep?"
Phil rolled his eyes as Elisabeth walked back into the room. Smiling, she slid a garment bag onto the tabletop.
"I've never understood men in white suits," she said. "Stain magnets."
"Well, not all stains, know what I mean, Else?"
Elisabeth laughed, that angel laugh of hers. Phil found himself momentarily resenting that it was Icarus' crude humor causing such a harmonious sound. Phil cleared his throat and the woman stopped laughing.
"I don't think we've been formally introduced. Though Icarus has told me a bit about you, I very much doubt he's had time to do the same for me," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Elisabeth Weiss. My father is Gerhardt Weiss, the bookmaker."
"So, all those books I saw out in the hall...?"
"Handmade," Elisabeth smiled. "My father has quite a gift, I must say."
"Impressive," Phil nodded.
"Hey, Else," Icarus spoke up, "I need to have a few words alone with Philsy here..."
"Say no more," she said, holding up a hand and sashaying to the doorway. "If you gentlemen need anything, I'll be in my father's workshop, checking on the new paperstock. Bon chance."
"Thanks, Else," Icarus smiled, shooting her a wink. And with that, she was gone.
"Now," Icarus said, making sure the female had cleared the doorway, "any ideas on finding out what they've done with our friends?"
