Pat drove faster than he should have been down the suburban road, having trouble adjusting to the size of his body. His foot drove into the pedal harder than it should have and the new strength of the body was so foreign to him it was hard to control. These realizations only increased his panic further and he picked up speed. His driving fast and erratic, it was sheer luck that there were no people on the road to get in his way.<span style="font-style: italic">'I just need to get home. Get home and I'll be safe the-'</span><br/><br/>A loud siren cut off his train of thought as the police cruiser pulled in close behind the vehicle. Panic returned and with a high pitched scream Pat hit the gas hard, the burst of speed pushing him into the seat. His thoughts became wild and his eyes wide, darting through the streets until he made his way onto the country roads outside of town, the cop in tight pursuit. He didn't want to think of what would happen after, if he was going to get caught, if he was going to die. Pat was far too frightened for that. He veered left and right on the road in a petty attempt to shake the officer from the chase, but the turns were too quick for the speed and he swerved into the corn field on the right shoulder.<br/><br/>The lack of road rattled the car terribly, putting Pat through a painful turbulence that was made worse by his foot still pressing down onto the gas pedal. With effort, he looked behind him and saw nothing but shattered corn stalks, but after that he couldn't tell. A mound in the field jumped the car hard and careened Pat's thick head into the roof, dazing him. His foot left the gas pedal finally, but it was too late. On landing, he was jerked back into the seat, and the car flipped sideways into a hard roll. Everything moved slowly then, and Pat vaguely remembered the safety talks in school the week before. The door was forced open in the roll, and with no seatbelt on in his panicked haste, he felt himself being pulled from the vehicle.<br/><br/>His vision was hazy, Pat felt lighter than the air. Sound was numbed to a dull thrumming, and he saw the car slowly spinning through the air below him. His own body, back to normal he realized with relief, cartwheeled haphazardly as if the motion might slow his decent. He knew better, and closed his eyes to the coming impact of hard dirt and gravel.<br/><br/>The pain of the impact was great, and he knew his right shoulder at least was slammed out of socket. The grass cushioned the impact barely, and he got away besides that with mere scrapes and a lot of bruises. Groaning, he pushed up with his good arm. The grass was cold under his fingers and the air was pleasantly cool. He heard the feint trickle of a stream in the distance, but there was no crunching metal, no police sirens, and most surprisingly to Pat, no corn.<br/><br/>With a start he looked around, his shoulder screaming in protest as he rose to a standing position. This was no field of corn, but a grass covered plain. The location was completely foreign to Pat as he looked around, a familiar twinge of panic returning, but no energy to act upon it. The ringing finally gone from his ears, voices took their place in the distance. He could see a group converging on one spot in the clearing, and with no other ideas on where he was or what to do, he walked towards them. His injuries hampered the progress and he noticed his left leg pained him with each step, but he pushed through it.<br/><br/>With a gasp of air he made it among the group, and in an obviously pained voice asked, "What's going on?" His left leg gave out then, too exhausted to keep the weight of the rest of him up, and Pat dropped to a knee. "Where are we?"