As much as my talk with Aran helped, it didn't allow me to sleep peacefully at night. I tossed and turned, wishing I could just fall asleep. When I did, I had nightmares. Everything a person suffering from guilt and shame doesn't want to see. I was forced to relive my past. I had no control over what I was doing. I couldn't stop myself.

I jolted awake around one in the morning. I couldn't go back to sleep. Not if I was going to go back to the past and re-experiencing that pain and loss.

For a moment, I looked out the window. Life in the city went on. No one gave a shit about a nobody like me. I was fine with that. I don't care about them either. Fair's fair.

And yet, I felt like I had a massive space in my heart. It hurt.

A single tear rolled down my right cheek. I didn't want to cry again. Please, dear God, no. No more crying.

I covered my face, that space consuming my chest. For emptiness, it sure was painful. I struggled to cry softly, because I didn't want to wake Aran. I didn't want him to see me like this again. I couldn't.

Throwing my covers off, I ran into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before releasing my breath, and sobbing. I continued to cover my face, feeling as though the whole city was watching me collapse inside myself.


Aran would awake to find me sitting up in bed with red, puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. He gave me a confused look before getting out of his bed to get a better observation, and decided not to say anything. In fact, he gave me a "one minute" gesture before leaving the room. I stared at the door long after he left, and I sighed while grabbing the remote to turn on the TV.

You know what's funny? Turning on the TV and there's a melodramatic ad describing the exact problem you have. I mean, ads talking about depression and the brand-new antidepressant that's on the market aren't funny, but I still felt like I got punched in the stomach as the voiceover lady described all the things I was feeling right at the moment. Tiredness. Unexplained anger. Sadness. Bouts of crying. Being unable to focus. Guilt and shame that overpower your life because you don't know how to stop blaming yourself for everything.

Truth be told, I don't even know if I have depression, but I know if I was ever diagnosed, my career in the Marines was over. I pressed the mute button, and being flipping through channels until I landed on the overly happy weatherman who probably had four cups of coffee right before going on air.

Ten minutes later, Aran came back, holding a large Styrofoam cup. In that cup was tea. He held the cup out to me, and I said, "What're you doing to me, Aran?"

He grunted at me before holding the cup back out.

"Don't you growl at me." I took the cup, sniffing at the tea before sipping it. "What the hell did you get this for?"

Notebook time. "It's chamomile tea. I asked the woman at the breakfast bar what the best drink is to give someone who's feeling kind of down, and she suggested this. And she said to feel better." He paused, and then wrote, "She was kinda freaked out by me at first."

"Buddy, you're kind of a big boy, and humans are naturally going to be surprised."

He nodded, and then sat on his bed. "Are you feeling better?"

"Starting to, but it's gonna take a lot more than tea to fix me." I sighed. "I'm sorry I'm not . . . you know, functioning all that well."

Aran didn't offer a reply.

"You're not mad, are you?"

He shook his head.

"Good. I didn't think you were." I took another sip of the tea. "Look, I want to find Hudson soon. We know where those two hospitals are. We'll hop on the Metro when I'm done with this." I saw Aran go for his notebook, but I cleared my throat. "I don't want breakfast. Don't even think about asking me whether or not I want breakfast. I'm not hungry. I'll skip every meal today if it means I can find Hudson."

Aran sighed, and I got the feeling he was going to drag me downstairs like yesterday. Luckily, he didn't, but he did threaten me if I kept refusing to eat.

Come on. He's stronger than me, and in better shape. I'm not taking his threats as a joke.


I didn't eat much for breakfast, and I didn't have any coffee, either. Aran was getting pushy when it came to trying to help me, and I was planning to hunger strike if he didn't back off for a few hours.

Does that seem like a bit of a stretch? I don't care. I don't care at all.

While gnawing on a bagel, I glanced to my right to see Mathias, the android we saw yesterday. He was standing in a hunched position near the front of a shop across from us, not doing much of anything other than swaying gently back and forth. Part of me wanted to go see how he was doing and whether or not he had been fixed. Privately, I doubted that, but it wouldn't hurt to try. Standing up, I walked over to him, with the bagel. "Hey, Mathias. How's everything?"

As if on cue, Mathias started coughing. "Everything's fine . . . um . . . Drake, is it? I'm sorry. I'm not all that good with remembering names . . . not in my programming."

That's definitely strange. "It's alright. Did you get fixed for your coughing at all?"

Mathias wrung his hands, looking down at the floor. "Oh, no, no, no. No, that's . . . that's not possible."

I frowned. "How is that not possible? You're broken."

"I know. That's how I'm supposed to be."

"Why? That's kinda fucked up."

"You're not authorized to know why. I'm sorry, Drake." Without looking back, Mathias jogged away, leaving a trail of white droplets.


This thing with Mathias was going to bother me until I found out the truth of why he's broken, but my primary goal was finding Hudson. We've wasted enough time already, and we can't waste anymore.

Aran followed me through the front gates of a USCM hospital. The grounds within the fence had been torn up, and I saw a sign stating that Weyland-Yutani was adding on to the building. I could sense Aran's nervousness as we walked up the steps and into the lobby, and it got worse when just about every employee there stared at him.

Unable to take the attention, Aran ran back outside. I took a breath, hoping he'd be waiting outside later on. Approaching the front desk, I took out my I.D., and asked the receptionist if Hudson was there.

She quickly turned to her computer and scrolled through some names. "Private William Hudson?"

"Yes," I said.

"He's in Intensive Care Unit Three-Six-four. Let me call and make sure he's conscious."

I leaned against the desk while waiting. I heard someone on the other line say, "Who's trying to see Hudson?"

"It's a Private Mark Drake, Doctor," the receptionist replied.

"Send him down. Hudson's going to be awake for another hour or so, then we're putting him back under for observation."

The receptionist hung up, and looked at me. "Go to your left, and you'll see a sign that says 'surgical labs.' Follow that sign until you come to a sign reading 'ICU,' then look for room number three-six-four, OK?"

I nodded, shoving my I.D. in my pocket before walking briskly in that direction. As soon as I passed the "surgical labs" sign, I entered a very quiet and spooky place. The only sounds were the steady beeping of heartrate monitors, breathing machines, and the occasional paging of a doctor or nurse. I got the feeling that I really shouldn't be here.

A chill ran down my spine as I rounded a corner into another hallway leading to the labs, and the sign for the intensive care units. I was thinking about when I was laying in a bed for hours after getting my first experience with the silver flowers, and when I was wandering the orbital station with Winnie, hunting for the intruder that cut the power.

I breathed a slight sigh of relief when I came across the sign for the ICU, and followed it until I saw the number 364. Peering through the glass, I knocked on the door, and a man wearing a surgical mask answered.

"Are you Private Drake?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Come on in." Looking at me, the man added, "He just woke up an hour ago, so, be careful, alright? I'll be back in a few minutes. Press the blue 'call' button if you need anything."

Hudson was sitting upright on the edge of a pod-like structure with its glass dome wide open. There were no blankets or sheets. Just wires and small patches that were probably taped to Hudson's chest while he was sleeping. The thing looked uncomfortable to be in, so I was glad I wasn't the one stuck in it. Hudson looked drained. Literally. His cheeks were somewhat hollow, and I could see a couple ribs through the white, skin-tight suit he was wearing. There wasn't a lot of color in his face, except for the dark circles under his eyes. When he saw me, he didn't even want to roughly shake my hand; he just looked at me, dazed and exhausted.

I had no idea what to say. I couldn't ask how he was feeling, because I knew exactly how he was feeling, and the last thing I wanted was to look like a complete dumbass.

Thankfully, I didn't have to be the first to speak. After groping around a small table for a glass of water, Hudson said, "What're you doing here, Drake?" His voice cracked a little, like he hadn't used it in some time.

Should I be honest? I rubbed my face. The thing about Hornby would probably fly over his fevered head, but I also didn't want to have a deep conversation about my guilt so early on. "You know I pulled you out of that building, right?"

"Vaguely remember that, yeah. I also remember . . . an albino standing over me. Was that real, or was I still hallucinating?"

I held back a smirk, knowing that was the most inappropriate thing to do here. "That was real. Doctor Delhoun had to revive you with Hicks's medkit."

Hudson really wasn't himself that day. I felt bad, knowing that feeling all too well. There were a lot of smartass things he could've said, but there was too much exhaustion written all over his face. In a way, I felt like he wanted to talk about what he went through, and I was the perfect person to listen because I went through the same thing.

Of course, I didn't want to talk about it the first time, so I had to stoke the fire a little to get him to say something. The short moments of silence were awkward and uncomfortable, especially since we never really sat down to talk to each other about personal stuff like this. I was usually very cold and closed off toward Hudson, and most of the other Marines, for that matter. The only one I ever really opened up to was Vasquez. I never saw a reason to even try and develop a bond deeper than what was considered professional with anyone else. "You wanna talk about what happened?" I tried not to sound pressuring. He knew that I had experience with the stupid flowers. Surely, that'd make him more comfortable talking to me.

Hudson took a breath. I could hear his lungs and diaphragm struggling to complete that action. It would be awhile before his breathing was normal again, but just like his mind, his body was traumatized by the ordeal. "We've both been wounded in combat before," he said. "Sure, we were scared, but, why is that . . . not the same as this? Is it the nightmares and the hallucinations . . . ?"

"Maybe. I dunno," I replied. "We knew what we were getting into when we enlisted. I guess we didn't expect something like this." I glanced at him. "What'd you see in your dreams and hallucinations? You tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what I saw."

"Well, I remember walking into that abandoned building, looking for you. It was really cold in there. Then, I walked up the steps, onto that floor, and I remember feeling dizzy and not being able to breathe."

My chest started to tighten with bad memories.

"Fell over, and saw these giant jungle trees starting to rise up around me. One of them dropped a vine, and I was trying to grab it, but it was out of reach. Somehow, I still wanted to grab it. Then you came, and your voice sounded really far away, and had this echo to it."

I drew in a breath, the tightening sensation spreading down to my stomach.

"Everything was blurry and muffled. I saw you, the albino, and I think Hicks was there, too. Everyone was yelling, but it all sounded far away. I think I remember being put in the back of a vehicle. There were guys in there and one of them put a mask on my face, and that's when everything went black."

"Did you dream?"

Hudson nodded, and took a drink of water. "You remember being on LV-400?"

"I don't want to, but I do."

"Well, I saw myself there, in the deep snow, and there were bodies hanging from the tree branches. Yours, Hicks's, everyone's. I was completely alone. It . . . It was nighttime, and I was trying to find a way to survive or get off the planet or something. A big gust of snow came by, whited out the whole area, and then I look up and see some of the bodies are gone. Hicks had a burn mark on the left side of his face. You had the same thing, but there was also a mark on your chest. Then, the little creatures with the gas masks appeared, and they started screaming and howling. When the last howl faded off, I was suddenly wandering around this big city. People are everywhere, just going about their day, and I look at myself and see I've got blood all over. It's on my face and my neck and my chest and my back, my legs, everywhere, and no one's giving a shit. I wasn't in any pain, either, but . . . I just wanted to cry, and when I started crying, then I was in pain." Some color had returned to Hudson's face; a touch of redness. It was in his cheeks and his eyes. He took another labored breath, and looked down at the floor.

I was silent for some time, because I didn't think anything I could say would be very helpful.

Eventually, Hudson regained eye contact with me. "You're not gonna tell anyone 'bout this, are you?"

I shook my head. "Not one person." I sighed. "I get it. Believe me, I'm still . . . I'm still trying to process everything that happened to me when I breathed in that toxin. I mean, nothing was actually happening. It was all in my head. It was just nightmares." A realization smacked me in the back of my head. "Apone's right; I gotta drop the load of shit I'm carrying around, but . . . I can't. If I'm suffering because of a couple of bad dreams . . . I'm weak, aren't I?"

Well, hello there, o familiar feeling of failure. Can't seem to fuck off, now, can you? That feeling of failure was combined with the realization that I was a weak person. It choked me, but I wasn't about to cry in front of Hudson.

It was all over my face though. Suddenly, I couldn't bear to make eye contact with anyone. I quickly stood up. "I . . . I gotta get going," I said. "I'll come back tomorrow."

What I did was wrong. I shouldn't have ended that so early. I was just pushing him closer and closer to Hornby.

This really is all my fault.