Fearful Symmetry
The ache in my arms is the only discernible difference between stirring and out cold. I can see nothing and Reichenbach still roars in my ears. I slowly realise the sound is concussion.
For long moments I am more rag doll than living being. Then thought returns and I know something terrible and vital was happening but nothing fits together. I try to move and the rattle of chains shatters the silence. I panic.
A match flares and I smell Ships and I am flooded with relief. But the broken eyes I meet are not my friend's. They are Moran's.