...Because? I'm not really sure. I don't actually remember writing this. I found it on my hard drive when I was transferring files to a new computer and I read it but I cannot for the life of me recall whether this is the end of it or I was going to write more, and if it was already finished, why hadn't I posted it? But it can stand on its own and it doesn't entirely suck, so up it goes. Woo.
Stork did not generally consider himself to be crazy, but now, pacing the deck of the Condor in the middle of the night, he's starting to reconsider. A figure sitting on the railing outside catches his attention. It's a girl, dressed in a faded grey uniform with her legs dangling over the side of the ship. Stork steps out of the safety of the bridge and walks toward her. Long, dark hair falls over one shoulder, leaving one pointed ear exposed to the gentle breeze. "Um... H- hello?" he calls out to her, stepping tentatively closer. There's no answer, only the quite hum of the Condor's engines as they work to maintain their altitude, hovering just above the clouds. "You- you really shouldn't be out here."
The girl doesn't respond. Her hands are held together loosely in her lap, slender fingers laced together against pale, smokey fabric.
"What's your name?" The question comes easily, but the girl continues to swing her feet, gazing off into the Wastelands. Finally she looks up. Her skin is pale green in the moonlight and a pattern of scales traces its way down her neck from her eyes. Her yellow eyes glow through the silver-tinted night air and suddenly her entire body takes on a very lizardlike quality. She opens her mouth, sharp teeth glinting between cracked lips.
"Doubt."
And then she falls. Slowly, effortlessly, and as Stork rushes forward to stop her time seems to slow. He's moving through molasses and he can see every hair on her head shift in the wind as gravity takes her and pulls her down, down… He gets to the railing in time to see her eyes close just before the clouds swallow her up. His heart pounds against his ribcage. He's seen that before. Not so peaceful, but he's seen it. Repton. When he fell into the Wastelands. The lump in Stork's throat gets harder when he swallows. That can't be right. Repton's dead. Stork knows he's dead.
What's your name?
Doubt.
They never found a body. The squadron had been busy with other things— rebuilding the Condor, saving Atmos— but Stork felt it was his responsibility to at least ask. He was the only one there after all, the only one who knew what happened. The Terradons hadn't been particularly pleased with the question but they had done some digging for him and confirmed that Repton was nowhere to be found. The right to guide the Raptors was being passed on and the makeshift squadron would be continued on another terra and that was that. No more Repton. But no body either. It hadn't bothered him at the time, but now…
What's your name?
It was his fault, too. He hadn't been able to save the Raptor when he'd slipped and even though there was nothing he could have done it was still on his head and— What if he's still alive? Stork's runaway train of thought hits a penny on the rails and jumps the track.
Doubt.
Doubt jumped. She didn't slip and fall, she jumped. What does that mean? Hell, how did she get on my ship in the first place? A chill wind springs up and blows through Stork's uniform, making him shiver. Maybe he's still out there. He's probably dead and the body just got eaten by a passing lava worm but maybe…
He can't shake it. No matter what he's doing there's always that little niggling thought in the back of his head. He can't blame it on mind worms because he knows exactly what it is and there's no helmet that can help him out of this mess.
Stork steps away from the railing, his hands shaking. There's no sound save for the gentle thrum of the Condor's engines.
What's your name?
Doubt.