Chapter Text
You lay in the dirt for a while, processing the events that lead up to your respawn. Pain makes the memories foggy.
Xen, the passports, a big flash of light that hurt like nothing you had ever felt before.
You suddenly sit up and let out a groan at the new sensation of cuts on your back being stretched. Tears well up in your eyes.
You try to focus on the usual routine for when you respawn.
Check yourself, your surroundings, and move on.
You lost your helmet. Your uniform is torn in several places, and blood is leaking from the, probably infected, wounds littered across your body. You're in the middle of a forest, a couple of yards away from a row of houses. They're just barely noticeable with what little light the rising sun is providing. It makes the trees cast long shadows across the ground and nausea builds up in your throat when you think of who they remind you of.
A light clicks on in the second story of one of the houses. Something primal in the back of your mind tells you to run.
Light means humans, and humans mean experiments and cages and death and- You know that isn't true (for most humans at least.)
You also know that the blood loss is making you lightheaded and that has never happened before.
You stand up on two unsteady legs and start to make your way toward the house.
Your only hope is for whoever is inside to help you.
Benry is running on fumes by the time he reaches the back porch. You watched him stumble all the way there.
Blood had left a trail behind him, no doubt attracting predators and other woodland creatures. You hoped they would come, only so you wouldn’t have to clean the blood off your floors. Or maybe so you wouldn’t have to fight.
Calling it a fight would be too generous, Benry looks like he can barely stay awake let alone throw a punch.
It's pitiful, is this the same person who tormented you? The same person who laughed as your arm got cut off? The same person who you almost died fighting?
Benry being hurt didn’t make you any less scared, or angry, or ready to send him back to where he fucking came from. It's a trick anyways, the exhaustion and blood are obviously fabricated.
He wants revenge and you are not going to let him have it.
There’s a loud crash downstairs.
You regret not keeping a weapon by the bed.
You had tried to call out to the person inside before barging in, you really did. But your throat felt like sandpaper, and fear had started to creep into your mind as you were faced with your own mortality.
The only thing that made it out was a weak “can I come in?” before you used the last of your strength to rip through the screen door leading into the kitchen. The cool tile felt heavenly against your sore muscles.
After a moment, someone walked into the kitchen. They stop just in front of your body.
They say nothing, you say nothing, but you also don't lift your head to look at them.
You almost fall asleep, but the sound of them dropping to their knees shakes you awake.
They roll you over onto your back.
“Gordon?”
He wraps his hands around your neck.