Flitting between that aetherial world within her own mind and the physical one she occupied, she attempted to soldier on. She would lift herself from the ground, before lapsing in consciousness and returning to the lulls of sleep, before being promptly reawakened by the horrors presented to her by a long forgotten past. Her larynx had now all but surrendered, her voice worn and raspy from her own persistent cries. She did not want to relive this: she had fought so hard to escape it. In an ephemeral instant of awareness, she stood. Staring forward, an image of Tomas forced its way into her vision, as if a lack of closure were not enough torment to suffer through. He smiled genuinely, driving Joan to hysterics: unable to differentiate between reality and the illusory conjurations of this irradiated desert. She stared down at her omnic arm, which appeared to her covered with blood. She wandered forth with the tether she still had to reality, trying desperately to reach her destination: anywhere but here. She did not move far. The apparition of Tomas spoke. "Long time, no see." It said, the words dealing as much damage to her psyche as a thousand bullets could do to her flesh. She still crawled in futility, the desert seemingly ebbing the very energy from beneath her skin. "You know, you always were a fighter, as was I. I always liked that about you." He continued, "Shame we ended up being fighters, especially when that fight took so much from us." She tried to scream back at him, but her vocal cords had all but given out by this point; the only thing that emerged from her lips was a rather quiet wheezing sound.
He took a step forward. Though he appeared to have all the natural ingredients of a living human, he seemed lifeless still. Like a cadaver resurrected, there was some integral aspect absent from his assembly that prevented him from appearing wholly alive, as if he were merely torn from his grave and sent to walk the earth rather than being rejuvenated and imbued with the traits that are considered natural to a person. Every facet of his being seemed artificially constructed, yet his realism seemed to protest that very notion. He took another step. Visible anguish coalesced with unbridled terror, her eyes becoming glassy with tears as she stared. In a manner akin to a victim of Medusa, she was paralysed with an unassailable variation of intense panic, watching vigilantly the illusion before her despite her intent to do the opposite. She opened her mouth slightly. Unable to speak, she mouthed the words 'go away' to the figure before her, yet the revenant persisted. The motions of her lips did not disrupt his rehearsed routine. He acted like a thesp, imbued with the words of some playwright, and unable to be interrupted from his performance. She mouthed those two words again, this time more forcefully than prior. That genuine smile he once more became malign and twisted, as her better sense was domineered and browbeaten by the madness of this radioactive country.
As Tomas edged closer, she raised her omnic arm towards him. The laser within was primed and ready to fire, though the person wielding it was most certainly not. No tears left to cry, no shrieks able to escape from her throat, in one moment she had experienced enough misery to exhaust every means of showcasing sadness that she could muster. With what little of her voice remained, she murmured the word "don't". He was unfazed, as he continued to walk towards her, an aspect of malevolence to him now. "I sacrificed myself, and you let me rot." He said, "Where's the justice in that?" Continuing to make his way towards her in a laggardly manner, his face was slowly contorted into some inhuman expression of depravity and vehement ire. He was inches before her face. Barely retaining enough tenacity to do so, she closed her eyes and discharged the laser into his sternum. She opened her eyes. He was gone. As both delirium and fatigue overtook her, she returned to that slumbrous realm.
Yet upon the edge of the horizon, a figure watched her from afar.
Author's Note: Pardon the Hiatus