3rd Person POV
The soft hiss of the oxygen machine was the only sound that broke the silence in Bruce's hospital room.
Rain trickled down the window in long, lazy streaks, casting watery shadows on the tiled floor. The air was sterile, too clean.
The faint scent of antiseptic clung to everything like a reminder that this place was not a home, only a waiting room for the end.
Bruce lay still on the bed, a frail boy of eighteen with sunken cheeks and tired eyes that had seen more in books and movies than in the real world.
Tubes ran from his arm and up his nose, beeping machines monitoring a heart that had always beat too softly for the wild spirit it carried within.
He turned his head slightly toward the television mounted on the wall.
An old episode of Jackie Chan Adventures was playing, colours flickering over his pale skin.
Jackie was laughing, running from animated golems while clutching a scroll in hand, and Uncle was shouting something like "magic must defeat magic!"
Bruce smiled faintly. That voice. That energy. That was the life he wanted—not this one, not this bed, not this slow fading towards the end.
His thoughts wandered to all the stories that had kept him going. Indiana Jones, leaping over booby traps with a hat and a whip in hand.
The Mummy, O'Connell fighting mummies with guns, exploring cursed tombs, and finding hidden treasure.
The countless replays of Lara Croft leaping across ruins, solving puzzles with fierce determination. They weren't just entertainment—they were dreams, hopes, fragments of freedom that helped him survive this pain.
He remembered his parents. His mother's gentle touch as she smoothed his blanket during movie nights. His father's clapped with a smile when Bruce mimicked action scenes, IV still taped to his arm.
They were gone now—taken by the cruelty of life. Trapped in this bed, unable to attend their funeral, destined to be stuck in this quiet room that smelled of his ending.
Tears slipped silently down his cheeks. Not from fear, not from pain—he was past that now. But from longing. A deep, unfulfilled ache from within.
"Just once," he whispered to no one. "I want to live. I want to run, to do something that makes me happy. I want to matter. Please… if there's a next life… let it be one of adventure."
He closed his eyes, the lines on his monitor beginning to waver.
"I don't want this to be the end. I want to live in the world I loved… just once."
The machines beeped again. Then slowed and then stopped. Silence fell like a curtain...But somewhere, far beyond the sterile room and broken body, something stirred.
Warmth. A strange, golden warmth, like sunlight through ancient stained glass. There was no pain, no fear. Only motion. He was falling—or flying—through something vast and unknown.
Through dream, through memory, through possibility and in the quiet that followed, Bruce's wish echoed louder than any heartbeat
'Let me experience Adventure…'
[Chinatown]
[A Phone Call and a Fading Light]
An old antique shop in Chinatown smelled of sandalwood and old scrolls.
Shaolin drums played softly on the radio. Jackie Chan, wearing a sweat-drenched T-shirt, landed from a spinning kick and exhaled sharply.
"Not bad," he muttered to himself, stretching his arms. "A few more sets and—"
DINGLINGLINGLINGLING!
The shop's rotary phone rang, its shrill tone cutting through the calm like a cursed bell. Uncle, sitting behind the counter with his ever-present cup of tea, muttered under his breath.
"Aiyah! Who calls during tea time?!"
He picked up the phone and barked, "This is Uncle! You break, you buy! No returns after full moon—Eh? Who?" his face stiffened, and the teacup trembled slightly in his hand.
"…What…? No… That cannot be…"
Jackie lowered his arms, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere. "Uncle?"
Uncle said nothing. He gripped the receiver like it might disappear. "You're sure? My younger brother… and his wife… a plane crash?"
The silence that followed seemed to stretch the walls of the shop.
Jackie stepped forward, heart pounding. "Uncle… please. What's going on?"
Uncle's with a low, hoarse voice. "They're gone, Jackie. My brother and his wife. They fly back from a trip… The plane crashed. No survivors. Except…" He swallowed hard. "…Except Bruce. He in a coma."
Jackie staggered a step. "Bruce? But he's just a kid!"
"Tell hospital to take care of him. I'm coming to America." Uncle placed the phone down with unnatural care. His knuckles were white.
Uncle turned to Jackie, his usual thunderous expression softened by shock and grief. "Get your passport. We leave tonight."
[Memories on the Wind]
The airplane hummed steadily as it cruised over the Pacific Ocean. The stars outside glittered like eyes watching from another world.
Jackie stared out the window in silence, arms folded. He had no words. No jokes. No quick-witted remarks. Not this time.
Uncle sat beside him, arms tightly folded around a pouch of talismans and incense. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were a bit red.
"He always smiling," Uncle finally said, voice barely audible over the hum of the plane. "Always ask questions. About everything. Even cursed teapots!"
Jackie chuckled faintly. "He followed me around when we visited last," Jackie added. "Kept copying my moves. Even tried a sidekick in the middle of a crowded street. Scared an old lady half to death."
Uncle nodded. "He has good spirit. Like sunshine, that one. The kind of child who lights up room just by being in it. Even my little brother, he was proud. So proud. And then…" He fell silent.
"Five years ago," Uncle said slowly, "Little brother move to America with his wife. Said her family there, Business opportunities, I never liked her family. Their chi felt… off in their wedding. Too clean. Too polished. Like gold that hide rust."
Jackie looked over sharply. "You think this wasn't an accident?"
Uncle shook his head. "Aiyah!! suspicion must wait for now Jackie. First, we see Bruce. We bring him home. We give him what family he has left."
Jackie looked down at his hands. "We'll protect him. I swear it."
Uncle whispered, "We will. We are family"
[Awakening in a Different World]
[Hospital in America]
The beeping of the heart monitor was slow, steady and Bruce's eyes fluttered open.
The ceiling was unfamiliar—flat white tiles with recessed lights. He turned his head slowly, taking in the wires attached to his chest, the IV drip, the window showing a city skyline he didn't recognize.
'What… where am I?'
His body felt strange. Too solid. Too light and his head hear a bit.
He sat up with effort, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and froze when he saw his reflection in the darkened window.
'What the hell…?'
The boy in the reflection was taller, his sharper face, leaner. His hair was slightly messy but healthy. His skin had a faint golden hue—healthy, sun-touched. Athletic shoulders, long legs, hands that weren't shaking for once and looked strong.
He stumbled to the bathroom mirror, heart pounding. The face staring back wasn't his own. It was a stranger. A handsome, mixed-heritage teenager, somewhere between 14 and 16 that looked Strong, Balanced and very much Alive!!
Then came the knock. "Bruce?" came a voice. Familiar, Firm, Slightly raspy with age and irritation and Bruce's breath caught in his throat.
'No way… No freaking way.' He turned to see the door open.
"Bruce!" shouted a gruff, older man with round glasses and an urgent energy.
Behind him stood a man in his twenties with soft brown eyes, black hair and a calm presence.
Bruce's jaw dropped as he whispered. "…Uncle? Jackie…?"
Uncle rushed over, pushing past Jackie and grabbing Bruce's face. "You are awake! Aiyah! You scare Uncle half to death!"
Jackie smiled gently. "Hey, cousin. You gave us a real scare." But Bruce was frozen.
I'm in someone else body also named Bruce and seems to be related to Jackie Chan and Uncle'
'This isn't Earth. Or at least, not my Earth.'
'And the people in front of me… were fictional. Jackie Chan and Uncle… I'm in their world. I wished for an adventure and now I'm living in one.' Bruce's lips parted slowly, a spark lighting in his eyes.
"…Maybe this really is my second life."
THE END
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