Chapter 1
Wake up, kitten.
Why is the world blurry?
Wake up.
Why is everything moving in slow motion?
Come on, dammit, wake up.
Why am I floating?
Get up!
And why can't I breathe?
Full panic set in as Omi flailed in place, arms thrashing outward to grab at anything, anyone that would save him from the murky depths into which he was sinking. His lungs were on fire, desperate as he fought the instinctual reflex to breathe in the saline medium surrounding him. His oxygen was running out quickly, and he could not tell how far down he was... or how he was going to make it back up.
Omi scanned the area surrounding him, anxiously searching for anything that would help regain his buoyancy, or help get him the hell out of the water. A ladder would be really nice right about now. He squinted, but his surroundings refused to become any clearer. What few shapes he could discern through the dim light were far enough away that he would run out of air before he made it to them.
He was going to die... If he did not get a breath of air in the next thirty seconds, he was going to die.
Something brushed at his left shoulder. Omi started and turned, eyes wide. A life preserver? Or maybe a flotation pillow...
He groped blindly at the object and pulled it in closer for a look. It was far too large to be a life preserver or a flotation pillow, he realized immediately. It presented no resistance, but did not seem to increase his buoyancy at the same time. He was prepared to let go of it and make a final hopeless bid for the surface when something impelled him to look again. He peered closer at it, curiosity momentarily winning over common sense.
Dead brown eyes stared back at him from the still body he held in an almost-intimate embrace.
KEN?!!
The world began to disappear around him.
Ken? Ken! Oh my god...Ken!!
Omi panicked, clasping the body tight against him and kicking as hard as he could upward. Some part of his mind wondered why he had not tried doing this in the first place, but that thought was quickly silenced by the rising panic in the back of his mind. His vision was blurring around the edges again... scratch that, it was already blurry, it was starting to get black - as he kicked for all he was worth, pressing Ken's body close to his own, refusing to abandon him despite knowing that Ken would only serve to weigh him down further.
I'll get us out of here, Ken. I promise.
His insides felt like they were going to burst. His lungs screamed at him for oxygen, and suddenly he could not hold it in any longer.
Bubbles poured out of his mouth as the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs.
Too far... I'm not close enough...
His vision went dark.
Not going to make it. Oh my god, I'm going to die down here!
He tasted saline in his mouth.
HELP!
Somebody please help me!
Goddamn you, kid, WAKE THE HELL UP!
He flew awake with a start, pulse raising and panting hard, the world's worst headache cleaving his skull in two.
I'm alive, he thought numbly.
But where am I?
Careful to keep himself absolutely still, he took quick stock of his situation and condition. He was lying flat on his back on a comfortable surface in a dark room of indeterminate size. His entire body ached, sore and bruised, but nothing definitely broken, as far as he could tell.
His head, though - experimentally, he elevated his head an inch to get a look at his surroundings...
A sharp lance of pain immobilized him, forcing his head to drop back down parallel to his body. Blinding flashes of color danced in his vision as nausea swirled in his gut. He fought the urge to retch, knowing he was incapable of moving his head far enough to the side to prevent him from choking on his own vomit.
Deep, cleansing breaths helped clear the nausea away and quell his rising panic. The swirling colors receded after a couple of minutes, leaving him alone in the dark to ponder his situation once again.
I'm alive. I can't see anything. I am mostly naked, he decided he did not want to think about that fact very much, which means I have no weapons. I am lying on something, probably a mattress. I don't have any broken bones, but there's a very good chance I have a concussion.
He concentrated on his straying thoughts. There was something missing, something he was forgetting...
Wait a minute...how the hell did I get here?
As if triggered by a switch, memories of the previous battle flooded into his mind.
"This will be our final mission."
...take as many of those Schwartz bastards to hell with him as possible.
"At least I won't die alone."
Why can't I breathe?
Dead brown eyes.
Oh my god! Ken!
Ken!
"KEN!"
CALM DOWN.
Omi grabbed at his head. Why was he hearing the voice from his dreams? Where was it coming from?
Calm down.
Was all of this a dream, too? When was he going to wake up?
Would Ken be waiting there for him when he did?
I assure you, kid, this is no dream.
The voice had an almost nasal pitch to it, Omi thought distractedly. How can a mental voice sound nasal? He wanted to dismiss it out-of-hand for its own absurdity, except he could not help thinking that it somehow sounded familiar...
Though I might be willing to concede that it's about to turn into a nightmare.
He heard the creak of a door just before a sliver of light cut through the darkness above him. His hands moved automatically to his midsection before he remembered that he was clothed only in boxers under the blanket covering the rest of him. He tensed, ready to spring even knowing that the resultant headache would probably render him unconscious before he got the chance to strike.
But the shock at the sight of the person who stepped into view in front of him was enough to stop him mid-movement.
It... it can't be!
"What's the matter, kitten?" Schuldig smirked.
"I thought you'd be happy to see the face of your savior."
TBC...
