White light glinting off its polished surface, the transparent sphere continued spinning. So beautiful, so fragile. Made of a rare crystal only found on a distant, sparsely populated world, an unbroken sphere such as this was hard to find and even harder to obtain. Careful waxing and polishing every day or so made it shimmer like diamond. It was absolutely clear; no imperfections or cracks warped it. Looking through it made everything look different. Surfaces curved as if being pulled into an invisible hole, light separating into individual facets, giving an ordinary room an alien appearance.
A crimson figure glided across the room, deftly moving about the damaged pieces of armor and severed limbs with ease. He picked up a tool and turned to the door, his frame distorting and elongating as he moved to the curving side. Red glared off his finish, the hexagonal facets of light brighter than ever.
The door opened, pulling back into seemingly oblivion. A figure came into the room, blue and gold with a heavyset frame. Light did not bounce off him as it had the first one. Black burn marks absorbed the glare that would otherwise obscure his features.
Gesturing around him in an irritated fashion, the crimson figure took a step forward, his frame returning back to normal as he moved away from the curving edge of the room.
The second figure lowered his head, expressing sorrow and remorse. His hand moved up to be pressed over a spot on his chest, further showing his regret.
The crimson figure, who had been wildly indicating the numerous injuries on the blue and gold one, froze. Pointed teeth flashed as he threw his head back, light moving across his gleaming finish in complex patterns as his frame shuddered. The tool he had been holding hit the ground, quickly followed by its owner.
And through it all, the crystal orb had still been spinning. But its surface somehow seemed flawed; one could no longer see clearly into it. As it spun, it moved closer and closer to the edge, ever closer to oblivion...
And just moments later, the fragments of the once beautiful, once proud sphere reflected the shattered features of the crumpled crimson medic.
AN: Yeah, I know, I'm late – it's nearly six months after Crossfire – and I've already done one of these. But the inspiration for this came in the middle of the night, and the stupid idea – is it called a plot bunny? - would not leave me alone. I had to write it, else it drove me insane.