Still Alive [NARRATIVE]
who ; Skyfire
what ; Skyfire leaves the complex after AM's shut-down.
where ; AM's complex/Garden Zone 6
when ; Tuesday afternoon
warning(s) ; Gore and some mildly disturbing things.
The struggling had long since stopped. Now he could only fight for air, the energy and will to escape was sapped days ago after the last of his fingernails had peeled back and fallen off. Puffy and sodden with the icy water, he hardly looks like the human he was turned into upon his arrival to the complex.
His mind is all but gone at this point, wrapped in his own self-loathing, fed by AM’s voice in his head. Worthless. Worthless. Nobody will ever care for you.
It’s funny, he hardly even notices when it becomes easier to breathe at the top of the tank. When the water begins to drain away until he feels his brown hair sticking to his face. Until the icy surface begins to dry and his waterlogged skin starts to stick to it. It pulls away, leaving bloody patches. It’s so numb he doesn’t even feel it. He can only see the sick, spongy layers of skin and blood on the inside of his prison. That’s when the ice begins to crack. The front panel falls away and he can suddenly see the inside of AM’s complex, and it is oddly empty. Everything is silence and the cruel words have gone. Cautiously, gingerly he moves to peer over the edge. He’s suspended high above the floor. There’s no safe way... he can’t fly (only a human) and his strength is gone. It feels like another trick.
Perhaps if he attempts to escape he’ll be subject to another, even more horrific torment.
And then the whole thing gives way, ice slabs falling down around him, and away he goes down to the floor. He’s never fallen like this before. He hits the ground with a sickly thud, something cracks and he’s certain that it’s his left wrist. It doesn’t get bad until the ice comes raining down on him. He flops uselessly, trying to avoid getting his head crushed, but one of the shear pieces falls, cutting evenly into his calf. His scream is only a broken wheeze as he twists, shoving the slab away and clutching the fresh, deep wound. Only now is be becoming fully aware of the extent of the damage. As the feeling seeps painfully, he has to crawl. The skin on his feet had been peeled away after the water had drained, leaving him with little more than raw, bloody flesh to walk on. Not happening.
Where is everyone? Why is he all alone? Why has no one come for him?
All he can focus on now is the nearest door that’s ajar- anywhere but this place. He can’t stand the sight of this chamber anymore. He has to think. Organize the buzz and terror that’s scattering his mind right now. Damn it he will never take flight for granted again- not when crawling a couple dozen yards is such a trial. The feeling is really coming back now and his body is beginning to burn and sting, arteries opening up so his wounds can start drooling blood in earnest. It’s only now that he takes a moment to vomit. Dry-heave, rather. There’s nothing in his stomach to reject. Retching, he considers just lying down right now. Giving up. It would be so easy. Nobody is coming for him.
He could just give in and sink into a comforting death. It’s the most inviting option, but he doesn’t let himself stop. Dragging himself past the bile, he’s not sure how long exactly it takes to reach that threshold, but he’s handsomely rewarded when he does. It’s a storage room. A few boxes piled to hold the prisoner’s belongings. He wriggles himself over to the nearest one, overturning it. Empty- up above, he can see the edges of something blue. A few attempts produce results as the box comes tumbling down, raining his shirt, pants, shoes and wearable down on him. He could almost cry. He’s way past that point. For a moment he considers getting dressed, but pulling the cloth over his raw skin proves intolerable. Putting his shoes on his a retch-inducing, painful endeavour he quickly abandons.
Instead he finds himself tearing the clothes apart, wrapping his bloody feet in layers of fabric. Tight as he can manage, so it doesn’t slide around. The rest of the clothing is shredded in favor of dressing the rest of his wounds. His wearable is still jammed in here. No signal to the outside world. For a time he sits in the storage room, curled in on himself, shivering, his thoughts screaming so loudly he can’t seem to find any semblance of control. Unfortunately, stopping is not an option, although some corner of him wishes he had found the pistol he took. Giving up seems more and more appetizing.
Where does he go now? He can’t stand the thought of slipping back into that chamber, having to look at where he’d been held. After some clumsy searching, he finds a maintenance duct. Lucky today. Very lucky. Prying it open is a new, vicious task, but eventually he manages to open it enough to squeeze through, the sharp metal edges scoring flesh but he really doesn’t give a damn right now.
Deposited into the dark passage, he squints into the darkness. Another thing he took for granted, he misses the blue glow his eyes used to emit in dark rooms. Standing and taking the first few steps is a fresh, new, painful experience but he simply pushes himself on. Legs unsteady, he slides along the side panel.
Maybe he walks for hours. The corridors continue on for what seems like infinity. Sometimes he passes a glowing maintenance panel, checks his wearable for signal and moves on.
What’s the point?
When doing the right thing means he loses anyways. The right thing is to give up what he wants most in the universe. What is there for him out there? Why keep walking? Out there is just as ugly a place as in that ice prison. It’s just a different kind of torture he endures.
Physical torture at least makes sense. At least he knows how to feel pain.
Out there he’s just. Existing.
There’s no happy endings for him. Goodness does not exist in everyone. The universe is an ugly place where beauty rarely endures, always swallowed up by avarice or war. The cloth on his feet is beginning to soak through, and he leaves a sticky trail in his wake. There is no kindness, nobody is here for him now. Nobody will hold him, comfort him, anyone who said otherwise is only seeking to take advantage of him. Don’t trust- so damned naive. It’s his own fault, and that’s what keeps him going. He could have done it better and then maybe. Maybe it wouldn’t be true. Hope isn’t worth the let-downs.
In this way, AM has won, despite his escape, he is completely broken.
He can no longer walk, nor stand and at last, he decides it is time. Time to give up. Time to die in this maintenance tunnel. He is awash in relief. It’s like a cool breeze.
No... it is a cool breeze. A draft from above. When he looks up, he can see something. A halo of light slipping through a crack.
It’s a small hatch, and it takes some amount of doing on Skyfire’s part to wrench it open with only one hand, wrapped up in t-shirt fabric. With the last heave of his strength, he’s suddenly bathed in brilliant white, he has to shut his eyes against it. A blast of cold air sweeps over him and it’s a shock. Pushing himself up and out... when his eyes adjust...
When his eyes adjust.
He collapses in the snow, trying to catch his breath against what he’s now aware may be a broken rib.
Now he knows, as he turns himself over in the snow drifts.
This is it. The final cruel joke. He’s going to die, and he doesn’t care. Once his wearable comes back online it starts emitting the distress beacon he’d set days before. He lays there, letting the snow cover him slowly.
It’s time to give up and let go. He curls in on himself and waits.
How ironic this all is.
How very ironic.
what ; Skyfire leaves the complex after AM's shut-down.
where ; AM's complex/Garden Zone 6
when ; Tuesday afternoon
warning(s) ; Gore and some mildly disturbing things.
The struggling had long since stopped. Now he could only fight for air, the energy and will to escape was sapped days ago after the last of his fingernails had peeled back and fallen off. Puffy and sodden with the icy water, he hardly looks like the human he was turned into upon his arrival to the complex.
His mind is all but gone at this point, wrapped in his own self-loathing, fed by AM’s voice in his head. Worthless. Worthless. Nobody will ever care for you.
It’s funny, he hardly even notices when it becomes easier to breathe at the top of the tank. When the water begins to drain away until he feels his brown hair sticking to his face. Until the icy surface begins to dry and his waterlogged skin starts to stick to it. It pulls away, leaving bloody patches. It’s so numb he doesn’t even feel it. He can only see the sick, spongy layers of skin and blood on the inside of his prison. That’s when the ice begins to crack. The front panel falls away and he can suddenly see the inside of AM’s complex, and it is oddly empty. Everything is silence and the cruel words have gone. Cautiously, gingerly he moves to peer over the edge. He’s suspended high above the floor. There’s no safe way... he can’t fly (only a human) and his strength is gone. It feels like another trick.
Perhaps if he attempts to escape he’ll be subject to another, even more horrific torment.
And then the whole thing gives way, ice slabs falling down around him, and away he goes down to the floor. He’s never fallen like this before. He hits the ground with a sickly thud, something cracks and he’s certain that it’s his left wrist. It doesn’t get bad until the ice comes raining down on him. He flops uselessly, trying to avoid getting his head crushed, but one of the shear pieces falls, cutting evenly into his calf. His scream is only a broken wheeze as he twists, shoving the slab away and clutching the fresh, deep wound. Only now is be becoming fully aware of the extent of the damage. As the feeling seeps painfully, he has to crawl. The skin on his feet had been peeled away after the water had drained, leaving him with little more than raw, bloody flesh to walk on. Not happening.
Where is everyone? Why is he all alone? Why has no one come for him?
All he can focus on now is the nearest door that’s ajar- anywhere but this place. He can’t stand the sight of this chamber anymore. He has to think. Organize the buzz and terror that’s scattering his mind right now. Damn it he will never take flight for granted again- not when crawling a couple dozen yards is such a trial. The feeling is really coming back now and his body is beginning to burn and sting, arteries opening up so his wounds can start drooling blood in earnest. It’s only now that he takes a moment to vomit. Dry-heave, rather. There’s nothing in his stomach to reject. Retching, he considers just lying down right now. Giving up. It would be so easy. Nobody is coming for him.
He could just give in and sink into a comforting death. It’s the most inviting option, but he doesn’t let himself stop. Dragging himself past the bile, he’s not sure how long exactly it takes to reach that threshold, but he’s handsomely rewarded when he does. It’s a storage room. A few boxes piled to hold the prisoner’s belongings. He wriggles himself over to the nearest one, overturning it. Empty- up above, he can see the edges of something blue. A few attempts produce results as the box comes tumbling down, raining his shirt, pants, shoes and wearable down on him. He could almost cry. He’s way past that point. For a moment he considers getting dressed, but pulling the cloth over his raw skin proves intolerable. Putting his shoes on his a retch-inducing, painful endeavour he quickly abandons.
Instead he finds himself tearing the clothes apart, wrapping his bloody feet in layers of fabric. Tight as he can manage, so it doesn’t slide around. The rest of the clothing is shredded in favor of dressing the rest of his wounds. His wearable is still jammed in here. No signal to the outside world. For a time he sits in the storage room, curled in on himself, shivering, his thoughts screaming so loudly he can’t seem to find any semblance of control. Unfortunately, stopping is not an option, although some corner of him wishes he had found the pistol he took. Giving up seems more and more appetizing.
Where does he go now? He can’t stand the thought of slipping back into that chamber, having to look at where he’d been held. After some clumsy searching, he finds a maintenance duct. Lucky today. Very lucky. Prying it open is a new, vicious task, but eventually he manages to open it enough to squeeze through, the sharp metal edges scoring flesh but he really doesn’t give a damn right now.
Deposited into the dark passage, he squints into the darkness. Another thing he took for granted, he misses the blue glow his eyes used to emit in dark rooms. Standing and taking the first few steps is a fresh, new, painful experience but he simply pushes himself on. Legs unsteady, he slides along the side panel.
Maybe he walks for hours. The corridors continue on for what seems like infinity. Sometimes he passes a glowing maintenance panel, checks his wearable for signal and moves on.
What’s the point?
When doing the right thing means he loses anyways. The right thing is to give up what he wants most in the universe. What is there for him out there? Why keep walking? Out there is just as ugly a place as in that ice prison. It’s just a different kind of torture he endures.
Physical torture at least makes sense. At least he knows how to feel pain.
Out there he’s just. Existing.
There’s no happy endings for him. Goodness does not exist in everyone. The universe is an ugly place where beauty rarely endures, always swallowed up by avarice or war. The cloth on his feet is beginning to soak through, and he leaves a sticky trail in his wake. There is no kindness, nobody is here for him now. Nobody will hold him, comfort him, anyone who said otherwise is only seeking to take advantage of him. Don’t trust- so damned naive. It’s his own fault, and that’s what keeps him going. He could have done it better and then maybe. Maybe it wouldn’t be true. Hope isn’t worth the let-downs.
In this way, AM has won, despite his escape, he is completely broken.
He can no longer walk, nor stand and at last, he decides it is time. Time to give up. Time to die in this maintenance tunnel. He is awash in relief. It’s like a cool breeze.
No... it is a cool breeze. A draft from above. When he looks up, he can see something. A halo of light slipping through a crack.
It’s a small hatch, and it takes some amount of doing on Skyfire’s part to wrench it open with only one hand, wrapped up in t-shirt fabric. With the last heave of his strength, he’s suddenly bathed in brilliant white, he has to shut his eyes against it. A blast of cold air sweeps over him and it’s a shock. Pushing himself up and out... when his eyes adjust...
When his eyes adjust.
He collapses in the snow, trying to catch his breath against what he’s now aware may be a broken rib.
Now he knows, as he turns himself over in the snow drifts.
This is it. The final cruel joke. He’s going to die, and he doesn’t care. Once his wearable comes back online it starts emitting the distress beacon he’d set days before. He lays there, letting the snow cover him slowly.
It’s time to give up and let go. He curls in on himself and waits.
How ironic this all is.
How very ironic.