I'm calling you from the future

To let you know we've made a mistake

There's a fog from the past that's giving me, giving me such a headache

-Fall Out Boy

"Will! Here!"

The voice was far away, like she was under water. It frightened her. Voices shouldn't be dimmed like that. They shouldn't come from people buried under hills of stone and bricks or people who were being swallowed by waves of water from a river.

"Over here! Help!"

Help. Help them. She had screamed it, wailing in terror and tears. Blood on her hands. Blood on her armor. Blood in her face, in her mouth. She could still taste it and smell it. Warm and metallic.

Wait, that wasn't a memory, was it?

"What happened? Who is she?"

"Fuck, Will, I just. I was just blowing up some stuff, I was thinking I'd block the street, right, and fuck. Will, fuck, I didn't know she was there. She was hiding."

Was that blood running down her face? Her head was swimming and she lost all sense of direction. Then, she felt a pressure along her whole body. The ground? A bench?

"Cecil, she is not one of ours."

"Sure she is! She's human, ain't she. Didn't you take some hypocrite oath? Help everyone, or some shit like that."

There had been skeletons. She had litterally seen the dead walk amongst them. She'd even seen one of them attack a kid, some son of Nike who would just never give up or back down. Too young, they had told him. His sisters had commanded him to go home. Al had even talked to Luke. But he just seemed to find his way back every time. She'd seen him fall to the ground after being smashed in the head. She'd seen him lie still and small on the asphalt. Then some monster had thrown itself towards the body. And she had screamed, because that didn't make sense. That didn't make sense at all. Weren't they on the same side?

"You're right. Of course you're right."

"Damn right I am!"

"Help me cut off her armor. Her head, she'll need stitches."

Her brother, she'd hear him call for her under the piles of a fallen buildning. He'd screamed for several minutes while they dug. And then he'd gone quiet. Silent. Dead silent. One minute he was screaming her name. The next she'd know she would never hear his voice again.

From the other side, she could hear a song. A soft voice and warm hands. The voice got louder and clearer, like she was rising in the water. She wanted to sink back down. She wanted to stay there. If she reached the surface, she would have to go back out on the streets, wouldn't she?

The voice grew clearer. She was just below the surface now. She could feel pain. Pain in her head, in her side.

Good, she thought. If she was to live, at least she wanted it to be painful.

It had been a mistake. She knew that now, as she was rising from the water and the fog. But her mother had spoken to Al, and then he had promised them they would win.

With a gasp, she broke the surface of whatever water she had been drowning in. A rush of air filled her lungs, making her back hurt like she had breathed in cold winter air. But the air here wasn't cold and crisp. It was warm and clammy, carrying the smell of blood and gods knew what else.

"Keep her still. I need to clean and stitch up that headwound." She recognized the voice, calm and tired. The voice of the song that had lured her to the surface.

"What, without anestetics or anything? Fuck, Will, that's cold, man.

This one was different. It was sharp and demanding. She'd listened to it for a long time. It had carried her when she was drowning. Dragged her through the currents. Hadn't she planned to kill it? She couldn't remember why.

"We are running low on supplies. There are worse injuries." A hand touched her cheek. "Hey, can you hear me? Will you try to look at me?"

She opened her eyes, but the world went spinning. All she could see was blue and blond and orange. She groaned.

"I need to clean your wound. You have some debrils in it. It might hurt, but you can take it, can't you? You're a proper champion, right?"

She managed a small nod, but even that made her stomach twist.

"Good. Here we go. Cecil, make sure she lies still."

"Doctor's orders, girl." There was a nervous laughter. Then someone leaned over her, elbows holding her arms pinned against her sides, a chest keeping her from moving her upper body, and hands against either side of her head. It felt suffocating, and parts of her wanted to fight him off, but some other part knew what was going on and teld her to hold still.

She could feel the tweezers poke around in the flesh along the side of her head, just above her ear. She could straight up hear them scratch against her head and even feel things being pulled out. Tears ran down her face and she couldn't help her legs from twitching and kicking. Everything burned every time alcohol flowed over the wound, and she grit her teeth. Still, she knew, this wasn't really painful. This was nothing against being crushed under gravel or drowned in the river or hit in the head and ripped apart.

When the voice was done with the needle, the pressure over her chest let her go, and hands started running over her body.

"She has a lot of fractures. A broken finger, broken ribs. No internal bleeding."

"I think she god hit in the head by something from the explosion. But there was so much blood, I thought… You know, she wasn't even moving."

"Headinjuries bleed a lot. I am more worried about the concussion. She has to stay still. We will keep an eye on her. Perhaps…"

"Tie her up?"

Silence.

"Yeah. You good with knots?"

"Knots, locks, same thing, really. I will make sure she stays in place."

"Good. Hey?" A warm hand on cheek again. "Are you with us? What's your name?"

Her head was still swimming, but she dared open her eyes. Two boys were sitting on the floor by her side. Both were grimy and tired. Their clothes had spots of dried and fresh blood. Her blood? One wore an armor in scratched up bronze.

They had asked her a question. She gave it some thought. Not because she worried about the consequenses of telling them anything, but because the information had to be collected from the depths of the waters she had just surfaced from.

"Lou," she whispered. Her voice was hoarce and unfamiliar, a broken voice of someone much older than herself. "Lou Ellen Blackstone."