Oh well.
A couple of notes this time kiddies. Broken noses are no fun. Believe me, it's nothing like a stuffed up nose. It hurts like a son of a bitch, and talking becomes extremely painful, so you tend to compensate by using inappropriate noises that don't hurt as much. Then it starts to swell, and bear in mind the little broken parts of cartilege are still in there, so yeah, it obscures speech.
Believe it or not, I actually had to tone DOWN the distortion of his dialogue during that bit. It probably should have been a bit worse, but I think I got the point across. Sorry if it seemed a bit too over the top.
This chapter is fun, though it kinda feels like I'm on a rollercoaster. I don't plan out the details really, guys... I mean, I DO know the direction this story is headed, but the scene by scene just comes out au natural, or whatever you wanna call it. I had considered postponing this series of revelations a bit, but that's kinda like teasing you guys, and I think you're all due for some good stuff after the long silence of a couple of chapters ago.
So, here we go. Hopefully you enjoy it. In other news, it may be a bit forward of me to say so, but you'd be AMAZED at how quickly fan art makes me come out with new chapters. Eh? Eh?
Sigh. I am such a fan whore. FAN WHORE I say.
In any case, I hope you all enjoy it. On with the show!
"She dresses in black everyday. She keeps her hair simple and plain. She never wears makeup... no one would care if she did anyway. She doesn't recall yesterday. Faces seem twisted and strange. She always wakes up, only to find she's been miles away. Absence of... awareness, losing time. A lapse of... perception, losing time. Wanting to escape she had created a way to survive. She learned to detach from herself, a behavior that kept her alive. Hope, in the face of our human distress, helps us to understand the turbulence deep inside, that takes hold of our lives. Shame and disgrace over mental unrest, keeps us from saving those we love. The grace within our hearts, and the sorrow in our souls. Deception of fame... Vengeance of war... Lives torn apart... Losing oneself, spiraling down. Feeling the walls closing in... A journey to find, the answers inside... Our elusive mind." -Losing Time/Grand Finale, Dream Theater
The target stood alone in the junk spattered clearing, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby. A wiser soul would have sought cover, as several likely spots could be seen 5 feet in either direction. However, our quarry had chosen a perfect spot to pause, and we prepared to make the best of it.
"Alright. Just as we practiced. Pop quiz... what are the keys to victory in a firefight?" I whispered fiercely to my companion.
Vic blinked, the laser rifle held loosely in her inexperienced hands. "Um... c-cover and concealment?" She whispered back.
I nodded, then frowned. "Why are you so nervous? This should be easy after all the training."
She looked unhappy. "I am sorry, Dib. I cannot shake the feeling that the Tallest are going to be very... upset with me."
I sighed. This again. "Vic, the Tallest are LIGHTYEARS away! How are they going to know anything about this, much less care?" I whispered.
"I know that..." She whispered miserably. "But... but I still cannot shake the feeling that if the Tallest wanted me to be able to use a weapon, they would have allowed me the appropriate skill set download."
I sighed again. "Look Vic, you can either do this, or you can't. I guarantee, if you can't get your head around this, that you WILL miss, as tense as you are. As it is now, you with a weapon is only slightly LESS scary than you without one. Now, let's look at this another way, shall we?"
Vic eyed me warily. "What way?"
I forced myself to look stern. "Fuck the Tallest. They sent you here to die, without even the most rudimentry training to keep you alive."
She narrows her eyes. "Remember which of us has a high intensity light weapon."
"Why should I be worried, you can't use the damn thing, because the Tallest never gave you permission to learn how to use it. You barely know which end to point at the enemy. All you know about shooting that thing, you learned from ME. Not the Tallest. Not the Irken race, ME."
She is silent for a long moment. I remind myself uneasily that she IS an Irken, and she IS holding a high intensity light weapon, one that I had been shot with before.
I didn't much care for it then, nor do I much care to repeat the experience.
Just before I think about possibly trying to take it from her before I get perforated, the tension leaves her.
I breathe a sigh of relief. "Alright," I whisper, "remember, just like I showed you."
Then a strange expression crosses her face. "Dib...?"
I sigh. "What is it now?"
I find it difficult to read Irken expressions, but one of her antennae raises higher than the other. If she were human, I would classify it as a raised eyebrow. Of course, she's not human, as evidenced by the fact that humans don't HAVE antennae, but I still can't shake the feeling that that's what she's unconsciously trying to convey.
"Why are we whispering?" She whispers.
I twist my expression slightly. "So the enemy doesn't hear us. Remember? All part of concealment."
"But Dib... it is an empty food container."
I blink. "Well it's an exceptionally ALERT specimen..." I say a tad defensively.
She shakes her head, an odd expression on her face.
"Look, this is an EXERCISE. You have to do it like you'd do the real thing, so that when it's really important you don't have to think about doing it the right way this time. That's how you make mistakes."
She does the antennae thing again. "Very well, Dib. I shall endeavor to remain undetected by the keen senses of our ferocious metal foe."
I narrowed my eyes at her. "Was that some kind of joke?"
She eased over the lip of the ridge, sighting just as I showed her. "Why, no Dib. We Irkens have no appreciable sense of humor."
I bite back a retort. In fact, I smile. This sort of banter would have been impossible for my small companion a few weeks ago. She's come a long way... an impossibly long way, when you consider the fact that she daily has to do things that are alien to her culture.
Hell, taboo and blaspemous while you're at it. Though she would have denied the presence of any religious connotation to her reluctance.
The Irken race has no gods, you see. They have tyrants, but no gods. That might be why the Tallest are so important to them.
"Alright now remember, squeeze the trigger, don't jerk it. It's a sliver of bone, not a dislocated one. Too much force and you damage the patient even more."
It helps to put things in a familiar perspective for her. She doesn't quite get the reason why it works... but it does. If you think teaching an Irken something is easy, try it some time. They don't learn things like we do... it's completely alien to them. Every Irken is born knowing exactly how to do their respective job, and if anything comes up that they need to know, it's like BLAM!!
I know Kung-Fu.
So teaching one the old fashioned way is NOT friggin' easy. It was hopeless at first, almost like the organic part of her brain had atrophied... but over time, she got better and better at reasoning her way through the training. Slowly, very slowly, I noticed personality changes in her as well. She doesn't shrink back from me like I'm going to hit her anymore.
That's a definate relief. I know it's an ingrained reaction in her, that she can't help it, but every time she did it, the guilt would seep up.
She speaks her mind now, at least, more than she used to.
She has an even lower self esteem than I did, and that's saying something. Oh I talked a good game, but there was always a note of desperation to my rantings. A kind of, notice me! Notice me! Pathetic, when you think about it. Still, I always thought I was smarter than my fellow skoolmates. She's actually convinced herself that she's not as intelligent as her soldier brethren. Inferior, actually.
"I got it!" She exclaimed happily.
I blinked suddenly and looked over the ridge. The can had a neat glowing hole through the upper right corner of it. The can didn't go anywhere of course... light doesn't have any mass to it, like a bullet does. It makes for a remarkably dull display, at least, when you're firing at inanimate objects.
"Nice shot, Vic." I shook off the remains of my reverie. Wow. Fifteen seconds of my life devoted to musing about my little Irken companion, and not a single bit of it devoted to how much I hate Zim. What is the world coming to?
"Still, you're pulling high and to the right. Lemme see your stance again."
She got into position and I observed her.
I kneeled down next to her and adjusted her elbow slightly. She shudders oddly, and I try to be a bit more gentle. I think I startled her or something. "Your elbow is too high. Don't lift your trigger hand to compensate, drop your bracing arm."
I get close to beside her face on the side that doesn't have the weapon on it. "Are you sighted in?"
She concentrates. "I think so."
"Alright, now breathe in deep... good, now let it out and hold it, then squeeze..."
That ZAP hiss sound I associated with laser rifles sounded. The can now had a nice glowing hole... right in the center of it.
She turns around and cradles the rifle in her lap, breathing heavily. I sit next to her.
"I did it." She says, wonderingly.
"Way to go, can killer." I try to sound approving.
"It's so... easy." She cocks her head in my direction almost quizzically.
"Well it has to be." I grin.
She blinks at me, questioningly.
"If it wasn't easy, soldiers would find some way to fuck it up."
A snort escapes her.
My grin widens. "Gotcha. I'm telling on you. Snorting at your superiors that way."
Her eyes widen and she looks pensive for a moment, then a sly look crosses her face. "I am not worried, Dib creature."
I blink.
"Who are they going to believe? An Irken, or a filthy human?"
It's my turn to snort. Like I said... she's come a long way.
I wonder if she knows how far?
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"Alright, now repeat after me: Ahz, Abz, Gah, Glo, Rtz, Mtz..."
"Ahaz, Abs, Gah, Glo, Ritz, Mits..."
I stop. Wow, that was... horrible. The important thing though, is that it is not as horrible as it was a week ago. Not perfect, but then, his mouth is not exactly designed to make the sounds that an Irken is capable of. Despite that hinderance, he stubbornly refuses to leave it alone, insisting that he can learn to speak Irken properly.
"How was that, Vic?"
"Um... better..." I say, a tad indecisively. I am getting better at being assertive, but still not... perfect. I guess we both have a long way to go.
"But still not there, huh?" He sounds somewhat disappointed.
"I-I am sorry..." I mutter.
"About what? Don't be sorry because I can't get it right. That's my fault, not yours." He immediately seeks to correct me.
I stare elsewhere, anywhere I do not have to look at him, my face burning. It has been getting increasingly, uncomfortable for me to face him like this. You must understand how much this time stuck on this "hellhole" as he calls it, has changed me.
"Alright..." I manage, changing the subject. "Let us go over the Irken sigil system." That at least, the human is taking to surprisingly well. The Irken sigil system is not terribly hard to figure out. There are only 56 "sounds" in the Irken language, of which the six he has been trying to sound out today are a part. Hence, there are only 56 sigils needed to construct the Irken written language. While he practices making the appropriate symbols, I reflect.
I do not think he understands how much inertia he has to work against, when it comes to changing me. I found out recently that Dib is only 20 years old, as humans reckon time. It took me only seconds to convert that to Irken time... Dib is only 25 standard years old, barely out of his smeeting, if he were Irken.
I am 75 standard years old, making me 60 in his years. For 60 years, I have done the same thing everyday. In a place where deviation from the norm can lead to... at best censure, at worst...
Irkens have been known to disappear in the past. ABS they call it. Abnormal Behavior Syndrome. As Medical Drones we would hear about it sometimes. We were responsible for administering and recommending treatment in the cases, another reason we are not very well liked. They used to study the phenomenon. Amazingly, a very mild form of ABS is what creates Invaders. Invaders are watched more closely than any other Irkens because all of them, every single one is just a little... crazy. More severe cases of ABS are disposed of.
It is amazing how easy it is to make a single entity disappear in deep space. One need only drop them out the nearest airlock, and that is the end of that little problem.
This line of thinking is just an illustration of how much my time here has changed me. I KNEW all of this before I landed here, disconnected bits of information, either witnessed or heard of, that never seemed to really connect before. On the Massive, I did my job, sustained myself when necessary, and worked some more. That was all there was to my life, all I could have even conceived of, really. I did not think about anything outside the scope of my own little universe, which consisted mainly of keeping my head down and my hands busy, so they did not get slapped... or worse.
Now, here, I have plenty of time to think. Worse, I HAVE to think, because Dib will not allow me to remain idle. The human is insatiably curious, almost... annoyingly so, but I cannot, for the life of me, fault him for being so. So when he asks questions that no Irken would ask, that no Irken would THINK of asking, I have to answer him, and more often then not, I find myself asking the same questions.
That, in and of itself, makes me uncomfortable.
His stubborn refusal to recognize my weakness... that also has made me uncomfortable.
In a... different way.
No one has ever... praised me before. At least, not unless they wanted something from me. I suppose we rely on one another to survive, and in this respect, he needs me, but it is not the same. Further, as evidenced by his dwelling here, he was surviving long before I ever entered into his life. When I do well, he praises me. When I do poorly, he corrects me. Nothing more, nothing less. When a Medical Drone does something incorrectly, they are punished. Depending on how badly they erred, this punishment can take a number of forms, but the usual punishment is simple.
Pain.
Dib has never resorted to pain... has never resorted to punishment at all. There is no feeling of heirarchy, of status between us... it is simply two beings... learning from one another. It makes for a remarkably less tense environment. This is not to say that he does not occasionally get angry at me, but in these cases I can literally SEE him force himself to become calm.
He still feels... guilt over what happened at the ruined shuttle you see.
Therein lies part of the problem... no Irken would have CARED. Let alone take steps to prevent it from happening again. Medical Drones do not MATTER.
My human is a strange being, a mixture of the profound and the profane, a bundle of nerves, of raw hurt, and yet quiet, elusive strength, deep, abiding courage, and strangely, hope.
What is there for him to hope for?
I do not think even he has the answer to that-
Wait, did I just refer to him as MY human?
Almighty Tallest, therein lies the OTHER part of the problem.
I do not... I do not know how to DEAL with THIS.
I recognize some aspects of this strangeness. Possessiveness... as I have already illustrated, subconsciously, close proximity has given me a certain... feeling of ownership towards him. I wish to... to please him, but this is so deeply ingrained in me as to be expected. Pleasing ones customers means less pain, in the long run. That is almost the subconscious mantra of the Medical Drone.
This does NOT explain the feelings of... warmth I get when he praises me for doing well. It is a frightening and indescribable sensation, made more so by the fact that none of my biomonitors register any sort of physical reaction to be measured against.
Not too long ago he was teaching me how to shoot. When he touched my elbow a strange shiver crawled up my arm, but it was not one of fear, or disgust...
How do I DESCRIBE such a thing? It was like... like an unexpected and intense awareness of HIM.
Am I sick? Have I caught some strange illness humans can transmit across the barrier of species?
Again, my biomonitor... my pak, cold voiced and reassuring, has no answers for me.
"Hey Vic."
I am startled. "Eh? What? Oh... um, are you done already?"
He looks at me strangely. "Are you ok? You seem... distracted."
Uh oh. "I w-was just.. um, thinking."
Good one, Medical Drone. Went straight for the easy answer on that one, huh?
Shut up.
Now you're telling yourself to shut up? I think someone might have a little ABS herself.
"Well I was going to ask..." He interrupts my internal dialogue, "Is this right?"
I look it over. A little crude, but nothing repetition will not cure.
"It looks good. Very good." Actually every Irken ever born is capable of better almost immediately after they are born, but I do not wish to discourage him. He has no Pak to instantaneously give him the requisite information.
He beams. The expression makes me uncomfortable again.
What in the name of the TALLEST is going on here?
Frustrated and scared, I get up and leave.
"Vic? Vic, where the-"
I leave his confused ramblings behind me.
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Aw crap, what did I do? I stare down at the chicken scratches in front of me. The Irken sigil system has a ridiculously large reliance on triangles... and none of them are open triangles. It's all block, filled in style. It's like having to fill out one of those damn multiple choice tests, filling in bubbles and stuff. Still... I don't know the language real well. Maybe I wrote something obscene without realizing it.
I stare at it a bit longer. Nope... just gibberish. The same set of symbols over and over again, with varying degrees of accuracy.
I put down the bit of charcoal I'd been using to make the marks and scratch my head. Hell... maybe she needs some... alone time or something. I'm certainly no subject matter expert. On women, that is.
Especially alien ones.
On the subject of alone time, I think I've written enough.
"You dork."
I blink. It's been a while since I've heard from Gaz... been too busy being shot at and... other assorted bits of physical madness, I guess. Is it wierd that I find it vaguely soothing to find out she's only been lurking in the shadows?
Eh. Doesn't really matter. I sigh. "What is it now, Gaz?"
"Pfft. Like you'd know what to do if I TOLD you." Faint lights in the darkness... I think Zombie Pig Hunter or one of its later iterations, at least.
"Well, technically, you ARE me, so I kinda already know, don't I?" I stand, both of my knees giving that crack-pop that sounds really painful but actually feels kinda good.
"I don't care. It's your stupid brain that's making me be here. Maybe you don't really want to know." Classic Gaz.
"So then why do I have you here to call attention to it?"
Her eyes glint in the darkness. "Maybe you like taunting yourself."
I blink. "Ok... I'm just going to go find her now."
I step outside the dreadnought, grabbing my pancho-like trash gilley top. It's kinda cool outside and it looks pretty overcast, so I don't want to be caught out in the...
I blink.
Oh no.
Oh dear god no.
I start to run.
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The sky is red. Shadows heighten the contrast between light and dark, throwing every rock, every bit of junk into strange relief.
I pay attention to none of it. I just get away.
He will be worried, I know. That is just the way he is. I do not know WHY that is the way he is, but I know he will react that way. It is part of the problem I guess.
But...
Is it a problem with HIM, or a problem with me?
I sit down and clasp my thin arms around my equally thin legs, a hunched, almost hyperventilating ball of misery.
The worst part is, I do not know WHY I am miserable.
It is too fast. Too many changes too fast. I do not think I can keep up with this. I do not-
OW.
I blink, a sudden needle of pain stabbing me from my arm. I blink and look down.
A thin wisp of smoke raises from my arm, a small blister appearing.
I do the exact wrong thing. I look up.
OW! OWOWOW!
I stand in a blind panic, my Pak shrieking at me about biological hazards. One of my eyes is blinded... I can not even open it without pain, and still the punishing, fiery bits of pain alight on me, on my head, my arms... I duck my head under the dubious shelter of my arms and run for cover... any sort of cover, but the pain is MADDENING and I can't find the way back to the ship...
It is getting worse.
So much... pain... I... wait... that looks like a droppod... well, the upper half of one. Not much room in it, and the front is all busted up, but there might be enough room to get out of this acidic HELL.
I scrabble up into the pod desperately, crusted dried preserving gel cracking and sprinkling me as I shove myself into it. The pod is scant comfort, scarcely big enough to protect me, but it IS protection.
Not for long however. The vast plain of discarded snack foils that surrounds me is fast becoming soaked. Obviously this has happened before... the pod is half buried... and the lower half of it shows signs of the peculiar corrosion Dib taught me to be aware of.
Dib...
I am scared, scared and hurt, but mostly scared.
I... might die.
I do not want to die.
"DIIIIB!!"
"DIIIB!!!"
"HELLLP!"
A crack of discharged electricity, the rain becomes a downpour.
It is death itself.
Strangely, it is also beautiful.
I feel no shame, to be crying piteously for help. Shame is one of the first things to go when survival is on the line.
Well after confidence, right after dignity, but before sanity.
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLPPP!"
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I force my soaked bangs away from my face and shove through the downpour with strength born of desperation. It didn't take long for this to get bad. REALLY bad... if it were any other situation I'd be ecstatic, I mean, this is more rainfall than I get in a month, usually. It gets like this some times... several days of hard rain after a long period of no rain at all. It rains more often than you'd think here, otherwise I couldn't have survived, I-
I'm babbling. Fuck, she's out there in this and...
I didn't even think to grab her goddamn SUIT! How fucking stupid AM I? Should I go back for it?
No... not enough time. Fuck, this is bad.
I scrabble down the side of a bit of junk, landing with a grunt. Something under my heel gives way and I find myself fighting desperately for balance.
I lose.
I seem to be doing this alot, I think to myself, sliding helplessly down the side of some hill I don't recognize. I bounce off of several bits of unidentifiable junk, before sliding viciously up to my knees into a big pile of gunk mixed with old snack food bags.
The descent had knocked the wind out of me, one of those really nasty ones where you're sure you'll never breathe again. All I can do, for the next fifteen seconds or so, is lie there doubled over making "Uk-Uk" noises.
Fuck... fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, I'm NEVER going to find her.
"-ellllpp.."
I stop. Thunder crashes and a brilliant streak of lightning illuminates the sea of bobbing snack bags.
Off in the distance I see...
Naw... couldn't be.
"-eeeelllllp..."
Groaning, my ass far more bruised than I'd wish on my first date, I pick myself up.
"VIIIIIIIIIC!!"
I pause.
"VIIIIIIIIIC!"
Nothing. Fuck.
"DIIIIIIIB!" Faint, and with a tinge of desperation in it.
There.
Have you ever tried quickly moving through water and mud and... snack bags up to your knees? It's damn near friggin' IMPOSSIBLE. My boots are soaked and it's like trying to lift concrete blocks tied to my feet.
It's the goddamn pod. Somehow, she got out to where I crashlanded on this shitty planet in the first place, and now she's holed up in it.
But she isn't going to be able to do it much longer.
The way that pod is rocking back and forth is going to see to that. And when the bough breaks...
I stop at the Pod, throwing my weight against it, trying to keep it level. She shrieks involuntarily.
"Vic! Vic, it's ok! It's me!"
She sobs. "It is... m-m-most definately... NOT ok."
I have to shout to be heard over the rain. "Vic, listen... this thing isn't stable! We're in the middle of... of a pond or something now! It's too heavy for me to carry!"
"I do not want to die.... I do n-not want to burn..."
Shit. She's panicking.
I move around carefully to the shattered front of the pod, forcing my face in as far as I can. She stares down at me fearfully, using every single one of her spiderlegs to cling to the top of the pod.
I look up at her. She looks absolutely miserable, terrified, and hurt. One of her eyes is shut tight... and there are tiny blisters all over her face. Her good eye has a glazed, shell shocked look about it.
Hard to believe that something like water could have such an effect on someone.
Harder to believe... there was a time when this sort of pain in an Irken was funny to me.
I shove away the guilt. I try to stay calm. For her.
"Vic, listen to me. I should have brought your suit, but I didn't think of it at the time. I'd go back for it, but if I let go of this pod, I think it's gonna tip over."
In response she grabs my hair and pulls tightly, muttering the same thing over and over again.
"Don't leggo, don't leggo, don't leggo."
It hurts. Alot. Funny, but I think that's the first time I've heard her use a contraction.
Funny, that this is what I think of at a time like this.
"Ow! Vic, quit that! I'm not gonna let go, you have to-"
Trust me? Are you sure she can do that?
Does it really matter? Who's gonna care if she lives or dies?
I care.
"You have to trust me! My pancho is... KINDA waterproof! I'll get you outta here, I swear."
Somehow. I hope.
Her good eye finds mine. Even with the raindrops obscuring my glasses, the look is unmistakable.
"D-don't let it get me." She whispers hoarsely.
It is a moment that seems like an eternity.
"I won't. I promise."
Then reality seeps in... in the form of twenty seconds of juggling terrified Irken female and pancho in a vain attempt to get her under it without getting her wet.
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Every touch of the caustic fluid is like fire on exposed skin. The human's hands are wet... every touch is like acid, but I know this pain is unintentional. He is calm, but then, this is hardly a life threatening situation, for him. Still, his calm helps to calm me.
A little.
So stupid, to be caught in this. So awkward... I am so damn worthless. I DESERVE to get burned.
I look at the resolute expression on his face as he struggles to maintain the pod's upright position, while simultaneously trying to get me under his trash jacket.
He does not... think that.
Somehow, despite numerous instances of extreme pain when I get splashed, or the dull, everpresent burn of the damp under his jacket, he gets me inside. I am crushed against his chest, trying to find a less uncomfortable position then having my face pushed against the stinging damp.
It's hopeless. I give up and press my cheek against his chest.
"Hold on tight, Vic! I'm gonna make a run for it!" His voice vibrates against me, as well as the strange "Lub Dub" sound of his heart. It is beating so fast.
I wrap my arms and legs around him. I do not think about how embarassing this situation is.
Refer to the previous comment about dignity, shame, and sanity.
He wraps his arms around me and carries me, stumbling in the dark, in the wet.
His breathing is labored, it cannot be easy to carry me hunched over like he is, trying to protect me from the rain.
Don't drop me, Dib. Don't let me fall.
It is painful and frightening, this bumpy careening jaunt through the dark. Twice, he nearly slips, both times causing me to squeeze him in a deathgrip, which cannot make things easier on him.
He prevails.
My human.
My crazy, barbaric, deadly human.
Just as suddenly as it began, the deadly patter pat of rain drops against his jacket cease. I hear his labored breathing and sudden, sickening vertigo strikes me as he falls to his knees.
I shriek.
Somehow, he manages to fall on his back, despite how painful that must have been on his knees. We lie that way for several seconds, just me rising up and down with the intake of his breath.
Somehow, I slip out from under his parka and huddle in a corner, watching him with my good eye.
He lies spread eagle, his breath steaming in and out, glasses askew. We are inside the access corridor of the deadnought.
We made it.
His breathing slows.
"Vic?" he says hoarsely, after an eternity of silence.
"Yes?" I am hesitant. What do I say to...
"Are you alright?" He coughs, a short, barking sound.
"Y-yes... I mean, the damage is not too grievous."
"Oh." He pauses. "Good."
I wait.
"I think I'll just um... pass out now." He mutters.
I blink. "Um... ok?"
He does not answer me.
I watch him sleep, peacefully, for a while.
I do not try to get close however.
He is lying in a puddle.
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