[The voice cuts cold. It steals the breath from his lips, freezes the blood in his veins, solidifies his feet to the floor. The world fish-eyes around him, everything curved and much too far away. With unusual clarity, he looks down and notices his hands are trembling, fingers quivering like an engine. Attempting to speak only reveals that his throat is dry, cracked as the desert they came from.
They. Goddess. There wasn't supposed to be a they. There was supposed to be him and him alone, sheltered from the eyes of those who knew. Of those who had known.
He could still see his smile as he fell, manic and joyous and broken all at once. Idly, he wondered if the screen would show the same thing and if, when he spoke, he would hear Ahl's voice crack once more. Hear the sickening crack and thump, distant but distinct, of his body breaking on stone.
Bile rose and he folded over to halt it, hand clamped over his mouth as tears stung unbidden at the corner of his eyes. This couldn't be real. A joke, a dream, a fault of the augment—something had to have gone wrong. There was no way—
His hands are curling over his stomach. The scars burn like a beacon into his flesh and he remembers everything. The voice in his ear, the grip on his arm, the closeness of his warmth—he remembers it all but the pain. It's something he regrets now. Wants to memory of death to resurrected instead of the memory of him and the laughter in his eyes. The sound of their footsteps, joined in motion, tapping upon mosaic ground.
He needs to move. The hall of the ship around him is spinning and everyone, far though they are, feels too close. Escape is a necessity and he stumbles to find it, slamming into the Starstruck's shuttle with a drunkard's walk. The others will ask questions later. ELN will ask why he took the shuttle away, Aaron will say something snide, Felix will—oh, demon's take the others. Demons take everyone.
Sliding into the pilot's seat, he pulls from the ship and blasts forward, driving somewhere, anywhere, as far as he could go. As far as it would let him. As far as his screams would carry him.
He stops when his voice is hoarse and when his fists are raw and bleeding, sore from banging against metal panels and knobs. The ship slows with his heart. His breath comes back to him but even still, it's a long while before he pulls up the communicator. Longer still before he watches the broadcast and an eternity before brings the microphone to his lips.]
forward-dated to after everyone else; action/audio
They. Goddess. There wasn't supposed to be a they. There was supposed to be him and him alone, sheltered from the eyes of those who knew. Of those who had known.
He could still see his smile as he fell, manic and joyous and broken all at once. Idly, he wondered if the screen would show the same thing and if, when he spoke, he would hear Ahl's voice crack once more. Hear the sickening crack and thump, distant but distinct, of his body breaking on stone.
Bile rose and he folded over to halt it, hand clamped over his mouth as tears stung unbidden at the corner of his eyes. This couldn't be real. A joke, a dream, a fault of the augment—something had to have gone wrong. There was no way—
His hands are curling over his stomach. The scars burn like a beacon into his flesh and he remembers everything. The voice in his ear, the grip on his arm, the closeness of his warmth—he remembers it all but the pain. It's something he regrets now. Wants to memory of death to resurrected instead of the memory of him and the laughter in his eyes. The sound of their footsteps, joined in motion, tapping upon mosaic ground.
He needs to move. The hall of the ship around him is spinning and everyone, far though they are, feels too close. Escape is a necessity and he stumbles to find it, slamming into the Starstruck's shuttle with a drunkard's walk. The others will ask questions later. ELN will ask why he took the shuttle away, Aaron will say something snide, Felix will—oh, demon's take the others. Demons take everyone.
Sliding into the pilot's seat, he pulls from the ship and blasts forward, driving somewhere, anywhere, as far as he could go. As far as it would let him. As far as his screams would carry him.
He stops when his voice is hoarse and when his fists are raw and bleeding, sore from banging against metal panels and knobs. The ship slows with his heart. His breath comes back to him but even still, it's a long while before he pulls up the communicator. Longer still before he watches the broadcast and an eternity before brings the microphone to his lips.]
AUDIO
Oren.