AN: Here I am, and although I'd like to think that I'm rocking like the proverbial hurricane, I am currently, unfortunately, in sort of a predicament. Half-assed jokes aside, I've been caught up with school 'n' stuff, and will, most likely, continue to be busy with my life… Meaning I will still have to prioritize some things over fanfiction.

Nevertheless, I somehow took myself the time to pump out this little piece of work, although I should probably be busy with other stuff… I think…

But anyways, here it is, the first SI I've ever written. And yes, it's an SI. Well, sort of. It is, yeah. Ermh…

Oh yeah, check out Empeorie's guide "So you're in a Self-insert? A writer's guide". It has helped me lots, and spreading it will improve the overall quality of stories out here, I think.

-LINEBREAk-

Once, before what seemed to be an infinity ago, he had heard that in your dying moments, your life was supposed to unwind again in your mind. He, himself, caught up in the very act of ending what could be considered his life, was finding it to be false. Although that might have been because in his case, life wouldn't technically end. Meaning he would still continue to live, albeit it would be likely not to be his life anymore, and even if it would be, it was sure to become very different, and, quite possibly, a lot shorter than he would have liked it. But currently, he did not entertain any thought concerning this matter.

The main reason of his lack of self-reflection at this life-changing (or life-ending, if one would prefer) moment was that, quite simply, he was busy thinking of other things. In fact, the sole thing he did was thinking.

Imagining.

…walls and floor in the color of rust, the ceiling lost in the gloom, the dingy lighting throwing more shadow than illuminating it…

Silently, an image began to form in front of his closed eyes. He took a mental step back and, like an artist would with a painting, scrutinized it thoroughly. With a few thoughts akin to the brush of a pencil, he adjusted it. Once he was satisfied, he gathered the image like a rug. Turning his mental gaze upon himself, he started to block out every outer impression and emotion, only holding the thought-image at the edge of his consciousness, until he had created a deep vast emptiness within his mind, and threw the image into the empty space within him. There, it found root and slowly drifted to its designated place, festering and growing.

He waited patiently until he was sure it wouldn't slip away once he turned his attention elsewhere. Then, he reached out and began a to paint again. But this time, there were no colors, no image. There was sound.

…the skittering of alien feet on steel floors, the murmur of voices, the roar of fast-moving mechanical vehicles, pushing away the air around them…

Once finished, he did as before and gathered the thought again to throw it into the empty space as well, where it was drawn to the first image. The two thoughts merged seamlessly and spread out additional roots to stabilize themselves.

He waited as before for the new thought to settle, and deliberately turned his attention away from it for a moment. When he returned, he noted with satisfaction that the thing inside his space had not faltered. Once again, he began to shape a third thought. This one was smell.

…the premonition of dirt, old urine, mixed with fear and rot, above all the sharp edge of cheap chemical cleaners and smoke…

That one, too, went to the others, mingled for a short while, and found its place as well. Slowly, in that little space of his, the thing grew and grew, evolved, changed, gained depth, complexity… Almost done, he thought. Everything that would follow now were simply finishing touches, the last figurative paint brush.

But even those would be important.

…spite…greed…pettiness…apathy…

Suddenly, something changed. The construct inside the space began to blaze and, changing rapidly, to expand. It spread out more, and seemed to outgrow the space, disappearing beyond its borders. It was like it had gone from a flat picture to a 3D-image, and the space that previously had housed the construct now seemed to be more of a window to the thing itself.

And as his consciousness floated above it all, with a steely sort of certainty that drove every other emotion from him, he knew.

Knew what he had done. What he had accomplished. Briefly, after the mental labors he had subjected himself to, he allowed his mind to drift, touch other things. Memories, pictures, expectations…

But no.

He had known what he had gotten himself into. Had guessed and contemplated the sacrifices he would have to make. And had still gone through with it.

His mind returned to the pulsing construct. It was already too late for regrets now. What he had done was nothing he could simply ignore. It was there now, born through him, through his imagination. And it would not be content with just lying dormant. Even if his courage would fail him now, which he knew it wouldn't, the thing would now forever be there, bugging him, like an itch he would never be able to scratch. And eventually, he knew, it would turn against him.

So, this time with some effort, he collected himself once again and returned to the little space inside him, looking at what he had done, what he had created. For a short moment, dread flooded every fibre of his being, but he concentrated, took a breath…

…and plunged into it!

Somewhere in the universe, a single, comparatively insignificant live winked out of existence...

-LINEBREAK-

"Ooof!"

…just to, a moment later, or two centuries, or perhaps never, materialize itself into a completely unlikely place. His body re-entered existence about three foot above a flat, hard surface, completely silent except a sudden whoosh of air, that flew from the space it had previously occupied and was now taken up by about one hundred eighty pounds of organic tissue. It met the floor, for that was what the flat, hard surface had been, with an audible thud.

After quite some time, when the spinning and the shakes and the attacks of nausea had stopped, he groaned. It was a textbook groan, slightly muffled, not too loud or well-articulated, which would have made it sound phony. Slowly, he rolled over on his back.

Arms, check. Legs, check. With some effort, he raised a hand. One, two, three, four, five fingers… check. The hand climbed further up, until it found a face covered with cold sweat. Check… Although… I'd better make sure. Slowly, he stood up and winced. Head feels like a bronze bell. He had to wait a moment for the pain to subside, but eventually, the pounding lessened, and he took a first look at his surroundings, whistling in amazement as he did so. The galaxy's underbelly alright,… but still pretty damn impressive.

He stood in… what seemed to be an incredible huge, long-stretched hall of sorts. The ceiling was almost lost within the gloom and he thought he could see it making a very slight slope until it disappeared in the distance, but he could not tell for sure. Above him, blurred shapes flew across with a whooshing sound.

He grimaced as another wave of of nausea hit him and tore him out of his observations. Right… First things first. Carefully, but with growing purpose as he went along, he started to limp forward. Every muscle in his body seemed to be on fire, and every step he took made his head pound and his eyes water, but it gradually faded from a white-hot lance of pure agony to a dull, grueling throb.

As he made his way across the vast… wideness, he noticed that his balance was off. He kept stumbling left, as if he was walking on a slope. He hadn't noticed it before, since the wide expanse before him looked perfectly uniform and offered no reference points of any kind.

Eventually, he found a small trapdoor in the ground. It looked like a small service-entrance of sorts. For maintenance? Shrugging, He forced it open and squeezed through. Immediately, he felt his sense of balance being restored.

Huh, at least that's that. Carefully, he looked around.

He had stepped onto a sort of very low-ceilinged plaza, that, though wide, still managed to induce a vague feeling of claustrophobic panic. The fact that the lighting was as bad as outside did not not help matters. But that did not concern him.

Scanning the gloom, he caught side of a group of shady silhouettes standing a few ten meters away from him. Okay… Gotta play this one carefully.

"Excuse me." He stepped forward and raised a hand. Immediately, the group of people before him turned around, several of them suddenly flourishing elongated shapes, still half concealed by the dim light.

He froze. He had recognized the shapes' forms, and the clicking sound that universally signaled the word gun to an old, primal part of his brain had already spoken volumes for itself. Slowly, he raised his other hand. "Hey, don't panic, alright? I'm unarmed. I'm just lost."

The group had advanced on him and, now that they were able to see him properly, lowered their weapons. They were now able to inspect him thoroughly, and gave him the possibility to do the same. Though he was dimly aware that, although he had prepared himself for it, he should be shocked, he felt, to his surprise, only a mild curiosity.

That was mostly because the people in front of him were not, strictly speaking, people.

Slowly, the group distinguished themselves from a collection of deliquescing silhouettes to three individual big, hulking figures. At first look, they resembled big, humanoid toads… except that toads did not have natural armor-plating and muscles the size of small dogs. They of had huge towering humps and large, triangle-shaped head with wide jaws and big red eyes, that glinted cruelly at Him. All of them wore the same crimson-colored body armor and carried the same dark long rifles, which, he noted, were all currently trained at him.

The one standing at the front, obviously their leader, gave a deep, rumbling sound that caused his hackles to curl themselves together, and gestured with a three-fingered hand. Go on.

Since his "captors" seemed more bemused than threatened by his presence, he risked to lower his hands. None of them reacted.

He took a deep, shaky breath. The frontman's weapon was emitting a low buzzing sound that unnerved him and set his teeth on edge.

"Look, I'm really just lost. If anyone of you could just show me the way out of here, I would be out of your hair. Also," he added quickly "I'm not carrying any valuables or weapons, as I said." He stopped and held his breath.

One of the trio broke into what seemed to pass as a grin among his species, and said something, in a deep, rough voice, but all he could understand was a series of vowels, accentuated by sharp clicking noises. Great… I had hoped I would already have a translator at that point. The third of the group laughed thunderously and nodded, which caused the talker to raise his weapon. Something inside it clicked, and suddenly the rifle's muzzle began to glow, continuing to track him while doing so.

He swallowed thickly. Not good!

But just before the catastrophe could happen, frontman turned sharply and bellowed at his companion with so much annoyance that he took a surprised step back. Grumbling, frontman gave his comrade an irritated slap, and made a gesture in his direction. Get the fuck out of here. He didn't have to be told twice.

-LINEBREAK-

That could have gone better.

He kicked the wall in annoyance, and frowned. The run-in with the three brutish-looking figures had, in his opinion, gone anything but smoothly. He had been careless, had in all the excitement of his successful 'passing' forgotten where he had sent himself… and what by what rules this place ran. And though he had survived his first meaningful encounter with this place relatively unscathed, he knew he that it had been simple luck and nothing else that had saved him. If frontman wouldn't have thought it necessary to uphold at least the appearance of decency, he would have terminated his new life even earlier than even he had originally calculated.

At least the lighting is getting better.

Sullenly, he had started to trudge into the direction the unpleasant trio had pointed him to, and slowly, he noticed subtle signs that he was beginning to enter the more civilized areas. Or at least the areas were they won't shoot me just for shits 'n' giggles. The light did not flicker all the time, the ventilation system actually managed to move the air, and the smells were starting to recede. Instead, he was met with small groups of people, or what passed as people in this place. He had thought the trio he had met earlier had looked strange, but that had been nothing against the sights that greeted him now.

Focus. But of course, that wasn't why he was here. He still had an agenda, after all.

Finally, he stepped onto something which he thought must have been the main road, judging by the mass of people that were suddenly packing the corridor in front of him. Either that, or the shopping mile, he thought, when the crowd parted for a moment and he spied makeshift booths where alien creatures seemed to offer every conceivable sort commodity. Once again, he had a hard time trying not to get distracted, but eventually, he managed to pull himself together. He squared his shoulders against the press of bodies, and begun to look around once more, but this time not to search for a particularly abstract-looking life form in the throng or an especially interestingly formed item in one of the booths.

There!

In the crowd, he had managed to recognize a familiar face. Not familiar because he had seen it before, but because it was a human's face, like him. Purposefully, he began to shoulder aside the people around him and slowly worked his way forwards.

"Excuse me." When he had finally made his way to his mark, he tipped the other person on the shoulder. The belonging body turned and showed a sensationally featureless, pale face. It made the man, for the individual in front of him was indeed male, look like some sort of mannequin. "Yes? Can I help you with anything?" Even mannequin's voice sounded average, although it had a strange, alien accent: he laid very much emphasis on the vowels and spoke so exaggeratedly articulate that everything he said sounded like it was recited.

"I'm sort of lost here and was wondering…" he hesitated. "Excuse me, but could you tell me today's date?" Mannequin gave him an empty smile. "Of course. Today is the fifth." With that, he turned to leave, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"The fifth what? The whole date, please?" The words had been uttered almost harshly, but mannequin did not seem to notice. He gave another empty smile and said: "The fifth october two-one-eighty, according to standard Earth time." Again, as if nothing had happened, he turned away immediately and shuffled away. This time he wasn't stopped.

Two thousand… one hundred… eighty, that's… that's more than two years! he thought, dumbfounded. I'll have to wait for two years! On the other hand… He stopped, biting his nails anxiously. The information had shook him up quite a bit. At least it's two years off in the right direction. That's something, at least.

His thoughts were interrupted by something cold and hard hitting his shin. "Ouch! What the-?" He looked down to see what had struck him. It turned out to be a short length of iron pipe, slightly bent on one end. Bending down to pick it up, he was surprised by it's weight. Almost a two-by-four… hmm. Looking up again, he could still see mannequin, who was slowly making his way out of the crowd, towards a side corridor. About my own size, he thought absentmindedly, weighing the pipe in his hand. Then he stopped again, hesitant. He looked down at the pipe, then up again at mannequin, who was just entering the side corridor. Quiet doubt began to stir inside him.

But then again… Gotta start somewhere, right?

And quickly, he threaded through the crowd until he reached the corridor mannequin had just entered, and stopped. Taking a deep breath, he entered it behind him, the reassuring weight of the pipe at his side.

Nothing personal.