Reload
Sometimes it still happens, in her dreams.
Not in her sleep, but in the neon light — when time is broken and her mind goes out, she walks in the darkness of what never was. It feels real, and cold. Too harsh to be nothing.
She falls down and her skin is on fire. The bad taste wraps her and consumes her flesh — her eyes watch, powerless, swimming in the green fog. It is so liquid, so disgusting, she can see her own flesh being torn away. Her throat swallows flames, and refuses to close.
A moment later, she is turning into coal and smoke. Each atom of her flesh burns black before disintegrating. She smells it and clenches her fists, still in pain from the blow. She vanishes.
The illusion breaks too fast; her no longer vaporized body is riddled with bullets. It is a lacerating rain — it does not stop until she is done, until her veins are all torn, and the gushes of blood paint the concrete. Her back slides; it paints her outline, slowly, down to the floor.
A wreck of rust betrays her feet, throwing her in the depths. A long tube crushes her ribs, too fast, against a cracked wall. The gas melts her lungs, so close, so close to her goal, and she is afraid — so fragile, so furious.
She ends with every blink.
It is a chain of nightmares, but waking up is worse. On the other side, the truth awaits her; it is not over yet.
She grinds her teeth and, once again, chooses to walk on.
I always wanted to find room for all the in-game deaths that, in canon, never happened. But who could forget how dying in Portal feels? So, there. Little idea.