I do not own Storm Hawks. I never will.
I briefly thought about adding a quote or definition in this space before dismissing such an idea. It feels fine the way it is.
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I'm dying. That's what I believe. I feel the pain shooting up my wounded, practically useless, leg, ripping through my nerves and sending each one ablaze. I want to scream out but stay silent. They cannot find me. They will not find me.
I grit my teeth. A single tear, brought on by this pain, creeps down my ashen face. I can't hold it back anymore. This is unbearable. I lift my head and finally let it loose. I give an agonizingly loud shriek, a howl almost. I am frightened, I admit, but I'm in more pain than anything else.
"Cyclonis," I hear a familiar voice say my name, sounding just as frightened as I felt. Damnit. Damnit.
It's impossible for them to not have heard me. They'll be coming to kill me any minute now. Oh, but what a sight I must be: drenched from the waist down in my own blood.
Worst of all, my vision is blurring. I shake my head frantically, trying desperately to clear it but to no avail.
"Cyclonis!" The voice shouts, but it's far off now. I lay my head on the cold, metal wall, savoring the affect it has on my now numb cheek. I close my eyes and inhale the familiar fumes of Cyclonia that had made their way in through a vent overhead. I'm fading faster than I first expected.
Suddenly, the door flies open with a deafening reverberation. My eyes flutter open briefly, only to creak closed again. There is a pause, a gasp, then a sob. I feel arms wrap around me, and hear a frantic heart beat thrumming in my ear. This is the end. This is the end of Master Cyclonis. Her life was a doomed one, anyways.
I'm dead. That is what I believe.