Chapter Text
It was dark. Not the kind of dark you get when you’re curled up cold in a makeshift outpost at night, but a deep, enveloping dark that flows around you like a stream. Sounds and senses all drifted past like a mere breeze- careless and ineffectual. He could stay like this forever… Of course, ‘could’ often didn’t mean ‘would’ .
A dull, repetitive noise pierced through the engulfing black and tore him from his rest. In the haze of his vision, or perhaps the haze formed through the dust and mist of red kicked up in the air, things were difficult to distinguish. Light, sound and sensation all blended together for what felt like an eternity. As he felt himself being violently shaken awake, his senses finally began to catch up with him and he could almost place that sound-
Gunfire.
All around him were refugees much like himself- injured and afraid, all desperately scrambling over each other like crabs in a bucket for whichever exit presented itself. The barking of commands from rebels and combine alike could hardly be made out over the hail of gunfire that sailed above. His weak, gasping pleas for help were swept along with them. All of it was eventually drowned out by a deafening shriek and sudden, earth-shattering thunder that rocked the very ground itself.
The narrow, sky-lit hallway he’d found himself in had all but caved in on itself, leaving rubble and debris strewn about the floor. A hulking mess of black metal had made contact with a wall and the rather unfortunate rebel that had been standing over him. As the resulting dust and viscera settled, the back end of the canister shuddered and released with an all-to-familiar click and a hiss before opening to the air.
Not wanting to stick around for the inevitable, he shoved himself to his feet, trying desperately to ignore the fact that the gaping wound in his abdomen that wept with every excruciating step was screaming at him to return to the warm comfort of the black.
Most of the living had either evacuated the halls, or were rebels ushering refugees through and holding the front line. One of the latter waved him down the right tunnel- or was it the left? Shapes were blending together again as white spots pricked the sides of his vision and he lurched through the remains of the outpost. The cacophony of gunfire and yelling had faded into a distant white noise as he stumbled past. It was almost comforting.
All feeling in his legs had vanished and he would have soon found himself in a close encounter with the floor had it not been for a strong arm that wrapped around under his arms and pulled him back to reality.
Whatever stretch of time it had taken for him and his newfound aide to reach the bridge had felt simultaneously like a minute and a lifetime. Those that escaped the canisters were beelining for what few functional vehicles were left. What they had failed to account for, though, was the hail of heavy gunfire that ripped its way along the bridge, eviscerating all in its path. The few that had seen the hunter chopper coming had instead begun vaulting the far wall of the bridge in a mad dash for the cover of the treeline.
In a flurry of garbled sounds and fading colours, he found himself being hoisted over the wall himself. His eyes and limbs grew heavy against the crushing weight of exhaustion. In a dizzying motion, his weight was swept out from under him by whoever had taken it upon themself to carry him. The last he saw over their shoulder was the vulture-like circling of the helicopters and the last volley of canisters before his vision slipped away and the blackness enveloped him once more.