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"That's the day's business.
Thinking. Thinking and isolation,
because it doesn't matter if you
pass the time of day with someone
or not; in the end, you're alone."
-Stephen King, The Long Walk

CHAPTER FOUR

The all-too-familiar sound of the buzzer jerked Nosedive from his slumber.

He was so tired he was beginning to feel sick. The room had been fixed up nicely, though. He spent most of his time peering out his window. The sun was out, now, and the sunlight cheered him up. He had heard, once, that there was something in sunlight that made people happy. Vitamin D? C? Or was it all just bullshit? Wasn't vitamin D found in orange juice? No, that was C. He giggled softly. What a stupid thing to worry about…he had Tanya for that kind of information, anyway.

It had been twelve hours since Siege had been there, though he would not know it. Time had begun to flow steadily, no longer possessing a great deal of meaning. His mind had long-forgotten that he had been trying to keep tabs on the days, and now he sat, sometimes stood, when his muscles began to throb from lack of us, his mind doing nothing but conversing with itself about this and that.

He clung to that. His subconscious recognized that he was losing it, bit by bit, and it terrified him. He had to keep himself as whole as possible, while sleep deprivation slowly ate away at him.

His lower back throbbed. Still wish I had a bed in here. He knew that, too, was a stupid thing to worry about; who needs a bed when they're not even sleeping? It'd be a waste of money, really. Wraith could probably conjure one up with magic, but he'd probably make it lethal: have it burn him alive or eat him or something, like in Nightmare on Elm Street. He paused. Wait, wouldn't that make me Johnny Depp?

The Saurians had installed some lights for him, too. It made it so much better than sitting in the dark, especially when the sun went down. He still managed to crash into the walls, though. He could not manage to get his bearings down, and his legs tended to give out on him more and more with each passing hour. Still, he made himself pace, not wanting to lose all strength in his body. If his muscles all gave out, how would he run away after pulling a prank on Mallory? How would he practice with the team? Nope, got to keep in good physical condition. Well, okay physical condition. Hell, just keeping the word "physical" in his vocabulary would be enough for him at this point.

He was fed. Cold scraps, but he ate every bit. Getting food into his system helped his head pain a bit, and he felt a bit more alert. He allowed himself to doze; if he did not fall into too deep of a sleep, they would not awaken him, he found. The dozing helped the most of all – he could feel himself heal, like a warmth was passing over his psyche. It was also, however, in this state of relaxation that he could acknowledge how bad off he was. Crazy. Getting there.

Nosedive snapped awake as his body gave him a jerk. Falling dream…nothing worse, he thought, placing a hand on his chest to steady his racing heart.

Pitch black. He frowned in the darkness. There was no way he had been asleep that long. Ten, fifteen minutes tops. There was not even a trace of moonlight peering in to offer him sight. He crawled forward, careful to keep weight off of his left arm – though why, he did not know…it was now numb from shoulder to fingertip – and felt along the cold, metal wall. Smooth, a rivet here and there, but nothing else to feel. It was as solid as it had ever been.

Nosedive crawled back to his sitting place against the wall. How was it possible? Saurian magic, maybe. They were probably screwing with him. They had seen how little the physical attacks had affected him and now they were going for psychological warfare. Well, it wasn't going to work, not now that he was on to their little tricks.

"Nice try!" he shouted, standing and staring around at the ceiling. "I see what you're doing, and it's not working!" His voice was cracked and quiet from lack of use, so his shouting was less effective than he had imagined. No response, not that he had expected one. Siege was the only one he had regular communications with, and that had been nearly a day ago. Right? A day. He thought. Did that make it four days he had been here? He hated not knowing what date it was. For all he knew, it could have been a month, maybe more. Maybe the team had given up on looking for him.

No. Wildwing would never just give up. It was his brother, for star's sake. Unless they thought he was dead. Dragaunus could have easily faked his death using Chameleon, and that right there would have stopped the search. His chest tightened. Gods, that couldn't have been the case. He couldn't spend the rest of his life here. As nice as it may be, he forced himself to joke.

But that wouldn't have happened. Dragaunus said they needed him broken, not dead (and he was definitely getting there), so there was no way that they would pull a stunt like that. Plus, even if they had, Wildwing would insist on having his brother's body for a proper burial and not even Chameleon is that committed to Dragaunus.

Right? Right?

He was panicking, and he knew it. C'mon, Dive, he thought. It's fine. Can't give up on me, buddy. We're all we've got. And yes I realize that it's just me, but work with me here, okay?

Even with his internal cheerleader on his side, he allowed himself to dissolve into weakness. His vision clouded and his heart, Jesus, it was like he was having a heart attack. He dragged himself to the corner and vomited. Lovely.

Calm it down, Dive, you're getting a bit pathetic. He crawled back to his spot and closed his eyes, head resting against the cool metal – so refreshing against the sweat that had appeared along his hairline.

God.

A gasp and a jerk and he was awake again. He hardly needed the buzzer at this point; it was like his own body was rejecting the notion of sleep. His eyes lulled upwards and he saw through the window that it was daytime again. He forced himself into a standing position, craving a look into the outside world.

He had to stand on his tiptoes, but he could see out. Blue sky, the city skyline, mid-day traffic. Wonder if I could see the Pond from here. His eyes glanced about, but he saw nothing specific. Generic city, generic cars…

He raised an eyebrow. The sun was moving. Okay, yes, the sun was always moving because of the earth moving and whatever, but it was positively skittering across the sky. Down, down, until the edge of the world had completely swallowed it, and nighttime returned.

More darkness, but surely the moon or the city would have some light. It was a city, and a damn big one. Nothing. He was staring at nothing and it didn't even have the courtesy to stare back. He touched the window. Cold steel.

Nosedive took a few quick steps back. He looked around, then back at the wall. He could still see outside. A bit overcast, but overall a nice day. If he were out and about, he and Thrash and Mookie would probably be cruising the mall, checking out the latest comics, taking in a movie…

A flash of orange appeared in his peripheral. He backpedaled a bit more, his back slapping against the wall. Siege? God, his body hurt, no more beatings, stick with isolation and crappy food, there were no parts of his body left to break.

He glanced about…he was still alone, but surely.

No, not possible. He must've been seeing things.

Which, really, was not much better.

He rubbed his eyes with his good hand, careful not to disturb the eye that was swollen, and sat. His heart ricocheted against his ribcage. Yup, I'm gonna die here. I'm going to have a heart attack in my teens and keel over dead.

A sudden mass of orange, green, red, and gray appeared before him, and he gave a shout of surprise, tipping and falling onto his side. His already-fractured ribs exploded in pain, his shoulder burned, and he did not move.

He was alone, still, in the pitch-black chamber, but he could see, and all he could do was see, so he allowed himself to use up the last bit of his strength glancing up and looking out his window to the blue skies just slightly out of reach.

Door opened, a high-pitched squeal, followed by footsteps. The orange Saurian laughed at him, meekly lying on the floor, but he could not bring himself to give a shit, just closed his eyes and waited. Siege had amped up his strength, it seemed, and left Nosedive with the realization that he was, in fact, dying. Broken ribs, useless arm, busted eye, and, now, a rather, he figured, serious head wound. Siege's tail had caught him on the back of the head and he had felt the crack, and blood, so much blood. He felt it pooling around him and, God, he was dying.

Muffled voices surrounded him and he tried desperately to listen.

"…ready. Didn't…as long as I thought."

"Just…you didn't kill him, Siege…"

"He basically is."

"That's the point."

"...now what?"

He slept.

"There! Energy surge…there!" Tonya jumped up and signaled the team on the communicators. The past week had been hectic, to say the least. She had been parked in front of Drake One almost constantly, trying everything to find the Raptor or its inhabitants.

Wildwing had not said more than two sentences per day. His time was spent searching the city; he had obtained a city blueprint from Klegghorn and searched the entire city looking for irregularities. The Raptor always transformed into a different building, so if he found something that was not on the blueprint, that must be it. Anaheim was huge, however, and even with Duke and Mallory helping him search, it was proving to be useless. Tanya figured – internally; she would not dare say it out loud – that it would take months to search every nook and cranny of the city, and by then…

She shook the thought from her mind. Can't think that way, she thought. As worried as she was for Nosedive, she was beginning to become equally as concerned for Wildwing. He spent all day searching the city and all night sitting beside her in front of Drake One, then slept a few hours before the sun rose. He refused to sleep in his bedroom, instead opting to sleep on the couch. "If anything happens," he had said, "I want to be right there."

At the sound of Tanya's voice and the alarm, Wildwing awoke and leapt off the couch, his legs leading him to Tanya's side before his mind had even shaken off the essence of sleep. "Where?"

"Canyon Rim Park, right in the center. I've plugged the coordinates into the Migrator."

They headed out, seized with purpose. The coordinates led near a reservoir, surrounded by trees, bushes, and given the 4:00am darkness, completely disorienting. "Stop the Migrator. We'll walk," Wildwing said. "Too dangerous to drive around blindly."

They set out on foot, walking toward the blinking yellow dot on their communicator. It was odd, being out in an area like this. There was certainly nothing here, just foliage. Nothing that they could possibly want to get their claws on, but the energy surge had been here, and it had been a big one and had lasted. Lasted long enough for us to see it, Wildwing thought, clenching his jaw. They're leading us here.

It did not matter if it was a trap…not to Wildwing. He stayed alert and stayed ready for a battle, but it never came. They stopped right at the coordinates and shined lights around the wooded area. The reservoir sloshed gently to their right, and nocturnal bugs chirped and sang, but other than that, there was nothing.

Mallory frowned. "Why the hell—"

"Quiet," Wildwing said, putting up a hand. He had heard something, something like breathing. He strained to hear again, and heard…there! A raspy, hitching breath. He glanced around the ground in the radius around him, finally spotting, a few yards off, something small and dark, contrasted against the grass. He walked swiftly toward it, gasping as his eyes recognized the silhouette.

He knelt beside the form, squinting his eyes against the darkness. He reached out and touched the figure. "Dive?" No response.

"Is it him?" Mallory asked, standing beside Wildwing and casting her flashlight over the area. Wildwing cringed at the sight and there was a collective gasp around him. It was him, no doubt, although the bruising, swelling, and injuries did a wonderful job of disguising it. Wildwing's eyes went immediately to the wound on his brother's head, which had been tended to, pathetically, with a cheap bandage, merely stuck against his skull. His hair, and the grass around him, was now painted red with blood, although it looked as though the wound itself had stopped bleeding.

Wildwing carefully picked up his brother and jerked his head the way that they had come. "Let's go."

To be continued...