SURREAL MYSTERY

The first thing Sparrow Night registered was the metallic tang of blood. Not his own, thankfully, but the residue of some forgotten battle clinging to the air. He blinked, a strange stiffness in his brow, and looked down. Immense, rough-hewn blocks of stone, like a distorted imitation of his own calloused hands.

He was no longer Sparrow, the young human; he was something else entirely. He was a giant, a single-eyed behemoth towering over a landscape of broken things.

His single eye, emerald green like the color of his original eyes, was the size of a dinner plate. It pulsed with an inner light as he moved it, taking in the panorama of his prison.

An endless junkyard unfolded before him, a chaotic tapestry woven from ruined technology and forgotten nightmares. Broken machinery, rusted husks of vehicles, and the skeletal remains of bio-mechanical creatures littered the landscape, creating a bizarre, alien view.

He flexed his massive fingers, each one longer than his entire torso used to be, and a thrill of raw power coursed through him. But there was unease too. He was trapped, that much was clear.

He tried to recall how he'd ended up here. Nothing. Just the sensation of being ripped from the familiar, and thrust into this strange, colossal form.

Then, something extraordinary happened. As his gaze passed over a mangled, armored motorcycle with a skull forming the front grill, his single eye seemed to hum. A wave of information washed over him, an understanding so profound it was almost overwhelming.

He knew, instantly, that this was a "Scavenger's Bike," designed for high-speed raids and built with a self-repairing engine fueled by a rare form of combustion. He could see, through layers of rust and damage, the masterful engineering that once made it such a potent machine.

It was like having a library of technical manuals downloaded directly into his brain. Not through words, but through an instinctive, almost physical understanding of how everything worked.

He moved his eye to a clockwork robot made of dark, polished wood. He saw the delicate gears, the meticulous carvings, and knew it was a "Guardian Automaton," designed to protect ancient temples, and it was powered by rare crystals that amplified ambient energy. He saw where the joints were damaged, how to repair them, how to activate its dormant defense protocols.

His eye, he realized, was not just ordinary. It was a portal to knowledge, a lens of pure understanding, allowing him to see through the illusions of damage and decay, straight into the core of things. He spent what felt like hours exploring the junkyard, his single eye drinking in the information each object possessed.

There were the bio-mechanical insects, their chitinous exoskeletons torn and twisted. He knew they were "Void Striders," creatures bred for interdimensional travel, and their internal organs pulsed with residual energy even in death.

There were cars with bizarre, almost organic designs, which he recognized as "Dream Weaver Coupes," powered by a network of consciousness and capable of altering reality – or at least, that was the design concept.

He even encountered guns of apocalyptic design – pulse rifles, gravity cannons, and energy blasters – all of which the eye allowed him to understand, down to the composition of their ammunition and the intricate mechanisms of their power supplies.

Sparrow, or rather, the giant that he possessed, was fascinated. This was no haphazard collection of trash. Each object, each ruin, was a testament to a forgotten era, a lost civilization that had mastered technologies beyond his wildest imaginings.

He walked among them, his massive feet creating deep furrows in the metallic sediment. He felt no fear, only a profound curiosity and a strange sense of connection. It was as if, in this bizarre form, he had finally found his true calling: to understand.

He bent down, his enormous figure casting long shadows, and examined a massive, rusted wheel, larger than most houses. He knew this was the core of a "Celestial Engine," a device that once manipulated the tides using harmonic resonance. The design was intricate, the engineering sublime, and he felt a familiar pang of frustration – this technological marvel was beyond repair with the scraps around him.

A strange urge came over him then, a deep-seated need to create, to rebuild, using the knowledge his eye had given him. He began to gather debris, dragging giant pieces of metal and shattered machinery together, his movements slow but methodical. He had no clear purpose, no final result in mind, but the act of creation, of putting things together, was a primal need.

He worked tirelessly, his powerful limbs shifting tons of metal, driven by an instinct he couldn't explain. He used the parts of the void strider's bodies to stabilize a part of a crashed airship, he connected the power sources of the dream weaver to a damaged lighting system, creating a dim, pulsating illumination across half of the area.

The clockwork robot he managed to repair, replacing broken gears with steel from the scavengers' bikes. Its dark wood shone under the new light, as its mechanical hand moved forward, and it bowed in front of the giant.

The junkyard, once a chaotic mess, was slowly transforming under his hands. It was still a graveyard of broken dreams, but now it was a graveyard he understood, a graveyard he could manipulate, and perhaps, even revive. He realized that, in this form, he could become a master builder, creating wonders from the wreckage.

As he was about to begin working on the celestial engine, a wave of vertigo crashed over him. A sharp pain flared in his forehead, and the landscape began to blur and spin.

The metal, the machinery, the strange bio-mechanical corpses, all swirled together in a chaotic kaleidoscope of light and shadow. His massive form, once so solid, felt like it was dissolving into the surrounding chaos.

He tried to grasp at something, anything, but his giant hand passed through the landscape as if it were made of smoke. The junkyard began to fade, the light dimming to almost nothing. The last thing he saw, before everything vanished, was the single burning green eye, looking back at him from a distance. Then, everything went black.

He woke with a gasp, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't a giant, but Sparrow again, his skin covered in sweat, his muscles aching in a way that felt strangely familiar.

He was lying in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling his nostrils. The white walls seemed to mock him as he sat up, his head spinning.

The dream, the vision, the bizarre reality of the junkyard, was still vivid in his mind. The power, the knowledge, the overwhelming sense of purpose – it was all still there, a burning ember in the cold reality of the hospital room. It was all just a dream. Or was it?

"Birdbro!"

The high, clear voice was like a familiar song. Sparrow turned his head, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. Canary, his little sister, perched on the edge of his bed, her long black braid swaying with her eager movements. Her green eyes, so like his own, were bright with relief, but he could see a hint of worry still lingering.

"Tweety," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse. "What happened?"

Canary's face fell for a moment, before she took a deep breath and her smile returned, a practiced cheeriness. "You were amazing, Birdbro. You were... We, well, you basically, took down that monster in the restaurant, but... " she hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the bed sheet. "You got hit. In your eye... and you've been out for three days."

Sparrow's hand instinctively went to the bandage. A flicker of pain went through him, confirming the loss. It wasn't a surprise. He recalled the sickening screech, the razor-sharp claws, and the searing agony before the blackness took him.

"Three days?" he repeated. He knew that Canary would worry more if he worried, so he kept his tone calm.

Canary nodded vigorously. 

"You're alone?"

Canary shook her head. "Aunt Raven and Uncle Jack with little Jasmine had just left... about fifteen minutes ago. Jasmine kept asking if you'd be able to play 'Blind Chicken Chasing Dizzy Kitten' soon."

A faint smile touched Sparrow's lips at the image of his young cousin and all her silly games. "That sounds chaotic."

"It is," Canary admitted with a giggle. "But they'd be glad you're awake." 

"And... that damned monster?"

Canary's eyes narrowed slightly, her usual cheerfulness replaced by a trace of bafflement. "Oh! That… thing, the monster? The Mystery Agents took it. They said they'd 'take care of it'."

Sparrow raised his eyebrows. "Mystery Agents?"

"I'm not really sure myself. They looked... well legitimate. The police force cooperated with them after all. Although I've never heard about them before," Canary tried to explain. "Anyway, they looked alright. And guess what? Li'l Aunt is one of them. She said she would explain more when you woke up."

Sparrow's brow furrowed slightly. Aunt Autumn? He knew she was skilled in acrobatic stunts, a natural athlete, but a 'Mystery Agent'? That seemed… well, highly possible.

As he was about to ask, there was a sharp rap on the door. Before Canary could answer, the door swung open, and there stood Autumn Elheart. Even in the sterile environment of the hospital, she radiated a vibrant confidence. Her short, dark-brown hair was slightly tousled, and her green eyes sparkled with a mixture of concern and purpose.

"Row! Good, you're awake," she said, her tone calm but firm. "How is it? Do you feel anything painful? Anything you need?"

"Drink probably," Sparrow replied calmly. "My throat feels a bit dry. But, other than that I feel fine. It's numb here though." He pointed at the left side of his face.

Autumn deftly picked a glass from nearby table and pour some mineral water in it. She quickly handed it to Sparrow while commenting, "Well, you do look fine, for one who recklessly brawled against a surreal creature."

"Surreal creatures? That monster?"

"Now that you are already awake, I guess it's time..." Autumn's gaze flicked to Canary, a silent reassurance passing between them. "Ree, pay attention. I think both of you need some explanation."

Canary nodded. "Okay. Now that Birdbro is fine. I also want to understand what had happened."

Sparrow leaned back against the pillows, his face betraying none of the turmoil he felt inside. He waited, his gaze fixed on Autumn, his mind already piecing together the puzzle.

Autumn began. "That 'monster', as you call it, was what we, the Mystery Agents, refer to as a surreal entity. They are not native to Mearth. They are soul-like invaders that come to our world through what we call void cracks." Autumn paused, watching Sparrow and Canary absorbed the information.

"These beings do not have physical bodies of their own," she continued, her voice dropping to a lower register. "So they possess whatever they can– humans, animals, even inanimate objects, preferably something that already had a strong emotional charge, or was in an unnatural state. Resentment, grief, anger… those are like beacons to them."

Sparrow's mind raced. He thought of the homeless man they had often seen outside the restaurant, the bitter edge to his voice when he talked about the restaurant owner.

Autumn continued, her eyes fixed on Sparrow. "There are many types of surreal entities. The one you fought was pretty common but particularly dangerous. It was the full-possession type. It's when the original soul of the host is completely overtaken by the invader. They become extremely hostile to sentient creatures, driven by instinct and the remnants of the host's strong negative emotions. Our code name for this type is Vicious Red."

She explained further, her tone serious, yet still holding a trace of her usual gentle teasing, "In the case of your… opponent, well, the surreal soul was latching onto the dying homeless man who hated the restaurant with a passion. He had enough resentment to help the entity take over."

The information settled in Sparrow's mind. The seemingly inexplicable horror of the previous night now had a grim logic to it. This wasn't random; it was a calculated, if brutal, invasion.

He finally spoke, his voice low and calm. "So, this is actually happening. This is not a mere isolated case."

Autumn met his gaze, her expression grave. "This has been happening for a long time. We, the Mystery Agents, have been trying to keep it quiet and manageable, to protect those who do not know. But… this incident, so brazen and in the middle of the city... it's a sign things are escalating. And," she added, a glint of determination in her eyes, "it seems you and Canary have become one of us… the Agents of Mystery Power."

Sparrow closed his right eye. His hand went up to touch the bandage on his left eye lightly. He had lost something precious, but something else, something far greater, had become clear and urgent. He looked up to his aunt, a cold determination in his one visible green eye. His fight had just begun.