There was smoke and flame. The shuddering of a dying metallic beast. An explosion, hurtling through the empty vastness. And then cold, cold. A bitter cold, choking the life out. Suffocating.
Only one thought: hope Joker made it to the pod.
An endless sea of absence. No thoughts. Dark, darker, darkest…
Until pain, blossoming like a supernova. Every inch, every cell. Voices in the darkness. Too soon. Not ready. A slow creep through the veins, icy.
And once again, nothing.
Beneath the sleeping form a quaking. Sirens wailing in the distance. Eyes, flutter open, blinded by overhead brightness. Artificial. A ship. The Normandy?
A voice, a woman, familiar, says, “Get up. Move!”
The brain tells the bones tells the muscles. Slowly, the body responds. Moving like a disjointed marionette.
How long have I been out?
It’s not the Normandy, but everything is familiar, everything the same. A ship, is a ship, is a ship.
Gun, cocked and loaded. A half-hearted longing for armor. And then off, down the halls, following the disembodied instructions. A man, a firefight. Confusion.
Where am I? What is going on?
“She should tell you.”
More fighting. Does it ever end? Ever change? The endless beating of fists against an unmovable galaxy of mountains. A betrayal revealed. A woman.
“You were dead. Cerberus rebuilt you.”
If space was cold, this is a superposition. A cold colder than cold, flowing to the core of existence, to the center of mass.
“Time to leave.”
But the mind is already gone. Memory. Left adrift, gasping for breath in the deep, deep dark of space...