Author's Note: My first fanfic. Please, Dear God, don't let it suck. (takes deep breath) Well, this is the most confusing first chapter ever, I'm sorry. It gets better and easier to understand, I promise. I'm sorry if this seems weird. I tried my best.

Disclaimer: Why do I even need to say I don't own it? I'm not even old enough to drive; how am I supposed to be owner of an ultra cool game like this? You people need therapy. I own two things; my OC and my coffee.

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Blue light filtered through the windows of the Main Lodge.

The sunlight itself was not blue. The windows were not blue tinged. The sky was overcast. To anyone else it was not blue. If there had been anyone else there, they would not have called it blue. If there had been someone to correct him, inform him that colors other than blue had names, he wouldn't have called it blue.

He wasn't color exactly colorblind, per se.

Everything was just blue.

He noted that the fire had burned itself out and groaned. One more thing to get today, once he went out. Not that he minded, really. It was something to do, at least, and it was an excuse to stay out this rickety shelter. Standing up, he noted the creak of the floorboards under his booted feet and frowned. This was why he didn't like sleeping anywhere except in the corners of the building, where the floor couldn't break under him. It never felt safe to be in here, although this was the only place where the bears couldn't get him when he was asleep.

He hated being alone.

He wished someone had stayed with him.

More than that, he wished he could get past that infernal shield that trapped him here.

It was blue to him, of course, just as everything else was. But before he started seeing everything as blue, it had still been blue. It was thick and blocked the rest of the world from view. He could throw himself against it and not dent it. No psi-blast could make it yield. It was hard in that way. He'd done everything he could to get past it. Yet it was so soft that if he did throw himself against it, it merely jiggled and he would slide to the ground, uninjured. It was soft to the touch.

It also trapped him here.

He recalled a time before it was up. There was something else out there, people, buildings, forests… and other things he barely recalled. Then light from the sky had struck the purple rock that sat by the campfire area. He remembered panic. Cries of dismay. Evacuation.

Gas.

Purple gas, everywhere, fires of green, and it was hard to breathe. The purple engulfed everything, spreading so rapidly he couldn't outrun it. He got so tired trying to run away. He couldn't see through the purple. His legs folded beneath him. The burning in his legs kept him awake for what seemed like an eternity before sleep took him. When he woke up, the shield was there, and everyone else was gone.

Then he began to see in blue.

A crashing noise startled him. The boy realized he'd been reminiscing and he rolled his eyes at his foolishness. Directing his attention to the direction of the noise, he silently padded towards it. If someone had been present to watch him, they would have noted he walked on his tip toes. It was not for stealth. Ever since the gas had lulled him to sleep that faithful day, he could not walk normally.

Faint breathing reached his ears. Instantly his hand went to his head. He knew it was not a person. It was a cougar, probably insane. Everything went insane here. Everything was messed up. To him, it's blue fur glistened like stars as it turned towards him. It was totally blind. He saw it in the too-pale blue eyes that did not move as they should. He shot it through the head and examined the corpse closely.

It would never do for food. Its eyes were bloodshot and it radiated a smell so sweet it sickened him. He blasted the thing repeatedly until it was several feet outside and then exited himself.

It was a glorious day. The sun was shining brightly through the shield. (Why the top of the shield was clear was unknown to him, but he really didn't care.) The air was cool as he walked down the well-worn path to the parking lot. The ground was coated with faintly glowing powder that swirled in the air after he disturbed it. Each step left a trail all its own. He didn't care. Today was the day.

Today was his birthday.

He was treating himself by blasting all the creatures by the GPC into a fearful submission, then trying to open the hatch in one of the pods. He knew there was something beyond the hatch, if it would only open for him. Many a day he'd pulled at the small, square rising of fabric. His hands ached all day afterward, which was why he did not attempt this very often anymore. When he was younger, when the gas hadn't even formed powder yet, he came there often to try and open it. Whatever lay beyond was something amazing, something important, and he needed it.

Time had dulled his memories.

He knew whatever it was could help him. But he had accepted trying to open it almost as a hobby, not something he could ever achieve. It was a pastime. Nothing more. There was no hope of it moving, ever.

Imagine his surprise when it opened after barely a minute of pulling at it.

The force of it made him stumble forward. He fell down and landed on his back. Pain shot through him. He made no sound, merely waiting for the pain to subside. When one lives alone for five years, each noise sounds louder than in necessary. His own voice sounded so loud to him that he rarely spoke anymore, except at night when he needed reassurance he still could speak and that his nightmares in which he was mute were not real.

After a moment he got up and tip toed down the stairs.

There was no powder on the floor. There was only a faint smell of gas down here. It reminded him of times long ago, before the lightning. Shaking off any nostalgia that threatened to engulf him, he glanced around. A large machine stood before him, whirring faintly as different parts of it turned. It was shaped like a bulb, standing taller than he was and dark in color. Of course, it too was blue to him…

In the center of many layers of slowly turning mechanical rings, there was a bright blue core. It glowed, not in the way the powder did, but in a way that seemed natural. He held out a hand to it, keeping his fingers four inches away at all times. Faint heat radiated from it, but not enough to really warm his fingers. He pressed one finger against the metal, experimentally. It was cooler than the heat. That meant the machine wasn't hot enough to burn him, he rationalized.

So he took a step towards it.

What happened next was extremely unfortunate for him. His foot slipped on an old, moldy book and spun him around. He caught his footing facing away from the machine. Alarmed, he took a step back from the paper, and his head connected with the warm, blue core of the mechanism behind him. He tried to pull away, but found himself immobile.

Then the world seemed to grow distant…