I open my present. Inside, I find clothes: Socks, boots, underwear, cargo pants, and a T-shirt – all jet black. I remember you can't wear any clothes going into cryo, or your skin burns off, or something. Once I'm fully dressed, I find my dog-tags at the bottom of the box. I put them on.

I stand up, feeling a little bit more whole now. These tags have been with me my entire military career, through countless theaters, and they've undoubtedly saved my life before. After all this time they've been severely scratched, dented, and even a little bit melted, but they're still mine, they're still me. You can even see the blood type.

I'm less concerned about the skull – cracking episodes I seem to be getting, than I am about getting thawed out. The spooks only put my boots on the line when they really need me.

This had better be important.

I decide to try to find whoever's running this joint, and I head for the door. But after only the first step I start to feel it again. It starts from the deepest part in the back of my skull, sending waves of hot pain to the front of my face. It's a lot worse than the headaches I used to get. I can tell I'm in trouble when it doesn't stop, the intensity just dissipates, but it doesn't go away.

I need to find help.

I try and focus on getting to the door. Maybe I'll find help, someone, somewhere out there. Maybe whoever's running this show will have sent a doctor by now, or at least I hope they have. But then again, maybe they weren't expecting this. I sure as hell wasn't.

It takes what feels like forever, but I stumble my way to the door, squinting my pained eyes. Against the most unbearable pain I can imagine, I key the unlocked door to open, and look around outside. The door has the average opening protocol; a 9-digit keypad below a light that either shows green or red, and you tap the green to open the door. I silently thank my lucky stars I'm not locked in, since I need help, and I wouldn't know the combination anyways.

Jesus Christ, my head.

Through the blinding pain, I discern that I'm in a dark, metallic–grey hallway. I can tell I'm on some UNSC ship, when I compare the scenery to the ships I've been on before. Din, grey, colorless, cold, metallic, and generic, devoid of any signs of life . I can't believe the navy spends their careers like this, trapped in a big metal box for months.

The pain lets up a little bit, and I'm allowed to open my eyes a little wider. I can see that the door on the left end of the hallways is locked and showing red, but the one on the right is shut but unlocked, and showing green.

Under a haze, I shamble my way over to the door on the right, farther away than the other one. Every step feels like a baseball bat strike to the back of my skull. When I get to the end, I'm about to open the door, when something catches my eye.

To my right I see a kiosk, typical of UNSC ships to have in their hallways. They usually have a touch – type interface, with a keyboard for things like search functions, bringing up maps, displays, schematics, things like that. But this one looks different, altered in some way. The words "Touch To Start" in white, blink on and off against a light blue background, under the UNSC logo…

But this one is different...

The eagle seems fatter, uglier, and there's a strange looking shield under it with two dots on either side. What the hell? The symbol changed? How long have I been away?

I choose to study the screen for a while longer… Until… Shit. I feel light headed, my vision darkens, and I get a quiet buzzing in my ear. I blink my eyes in confusion, until I see the word "Infinity" on the screen.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Oh Christ…

The buzzing becomes an intense ringing, another headache must be coming on. I feel dizzy…

No. Piss off. What does Infinity mean? What the hell?

I stubbornly stare at the screen, and the storm of a migraine in my head grows with every second. But that doesn't make any sense; I don't have a history of epilepsy.

The pain grows to a ridiculous point, and that's when I realize:

Staring at the screen is what's causing this. When I really think about it, the moment I laid eyes on the bright-blue light, I was getting a ringing in my ears.

Now the pain is truly unbearable, the worst it's been yet. The ringing had let up a little while ago, but now it's back, and louder than ever. It's so intense I stumble back a little, away from the kiosk, leaning with my back against the opposite wall. I groan in pain and hold my eyes, like I did when I used to get sinus headaches. It feels like they're going to pop. I want to claw them out with my nails, if it might make the pain stop.

I open my eyes for a second, and…

What the fuck?

I'm looking at the kiosk, and that stupid fucking symbol, but everything looks different. The image looks like it's been stained a dirty orange. In fact, my whole vision is like that, and still blurred, not helped by the constant, blinding pain. I blink again, but it doesn't change, the white parts are still stained orange, and blurred. The ringing becomes louder, and my head begins burning even more so.

I hold my hands against my eyes… They feel warm…

I draw my hands back and look at them…

Fuck…

My hands are stained with streaks of crimson. Even under this haze, I can tell it's blood. I can feel it in thin streaks painting my face.

My ears buzz, and I feel blood in them too.

Next, my sinuses get hot, and I feel a nose-bleed coming on. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…

I recoil, holding my face in my hands, as I blink my vision becomes more tinted in orange.

Until it all turns red.

Not waiting another second, I slap the green pad on the door with a bloody hand, and it hisses open, although it sounds muffled to me. I rub and wipe my eyes as the two halves of the door slide into the bulkhead, glaring a mix of red and green. Holy flying fuck, I think I'm about to black out.

But as I look into the hallway beyond the threshold, I see four figures dressed in white, each on one corner of a stretcher they carry between them. They look like civilian paramedics, not corpsmen. They must be here for me.

My vision is still tinted, but I can see the expressions on their faces. I can't imagine what I must look like to them.

Blood drips off my face. I raise my shaking hands, as my head begins to pound and burn. My ears ring so loud I go deaf. I feel weak, as if I'm about to pass out.

Then I taste the tinge of copper in the back of my mouth.

"Please… Help me…" Is all I can manage to get out, before my knees give out from under me.

The two medics closest to me catch me, supporting my as they haul me onto the stretcher. All I can do is keep pleading, "Please… Help me…"

As I lie on the stretcher, and I see the lights speed over me as I'm taken down the seemingly infinite hallway, a reassuring voice tells me; "Just hold on, you're gonna be alright."

And I black out.

I: Go for secure.

I: …

I: Go ahead.

O: Well, what seems to be the problem?

I: It's him. We have a situation.

O: We expected some complications to arise.

I: We weren't expecting this.

O: You were warned.

I: Not about this. He's bleeding from the eyes for Christ's sake.

O: An unfortunate outcome. But we were anticipating that.

I: Really?

O: Really.

I: So what's the plan?

O: We prevent him from dying a horrible, painful, gruesome death.

I: We have him in the infirmary right now. He's stable, but we don't know what to do. We don't know how to save him.

O: We have plans for these kinds of things.

I: Is this your take care of your own policy?

O: Not exactly, but we have specialists who can perform surgery on him.

I: Another one?

O: This one will fix him.

I: Alright.

O: We have two outstandingly talented individuals we can send.

I: Option A?

O: Her.

I: I thought she was a different kind of doctor.

O: She's also a neurobiologist.

I: What are her credentials?

O: She created Cortana.

I: I think we'll go with the other one. Thanks.

O: Okay, well, he has an education in neurobiology, as well as a specialization in this exact case.

I: Sounds good. When can we meet?

O: He's on his way.