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This place is wrong.
The walls have felt closer every time I've looked, and Shakti is acting... strange. Specters drift around me, whispering, huddling close enough to hear, but always staying too far to understand.
“Miranda, things are very strange here,” I whisper into my comms.
“M̴̻͔̍i̴̼̍s̴̰̰͒ḧ̸͔́ŗ̸̥̈̀a̸̗͙̒?̵̨̪̀ ̴͚̑S̴̖̟̍h̸͈͑̎a̴̖̒̀k̴͚̙̐ẗ̷̜̯̈i̵̢͛?̵̘̱̈́̚ ̸̜̱͊Y̴̰̞͌ọ̵̈́͜u̷̡͗̀'̴̜̃r̵̖̽ḙ̵̻̂ ̷̻̽ċ̶̰̩u̴̡̜̓̄t̶̛̫̅t̶̹̯͑i̵̮̝͂̏n̶̙̎͒g̶̜̑͠ ̷̝͛̈́ö̶͉̯́̈́u̵̻̇̌t̷͔͊!̴̮̲͛̒ ̴̟̃̀C̴͎̉̚o̸͈͔̅m̸͎̥̿͝ȩ̶͈̏ ̴̘͕̿ḭ̷͍͂ņ̶̬̿ ̷͊ͅM̵̺̒̽i̴͗̓͜s̵̖͖̅̉h̶̦͙̓r̵͔̤͘͝ă̴̭̘!̸̮̈ ̵͆͜G̵̱̽ȅ̷͓̝ṭ̸̂ ̵̣͎̈́o̶̱̲̽̄ú̵̹t̸̗̳́͘ ̸̺̚o̸̝͑͐f̶̺̰́̌ ̸͈̥͒h̴̼̖̊̾è̷͇r̴̯͌̌é̴̥ͅ!̸̞̯̏͊”
I cut the signal and take a moment to center myself. Deep breaths are pointless, but the ritual of them is meditative, calming me down as I lurk through the guts of the pyramid ship. I wander the empty halls, barely able to hear my own footsteps as the structure devours the sound.
“Shakti, any idea whe-” Before I can finish asking, I hear a metallic chitter from ahead. The hallway opens into a larger room. Open sightlines and no cover, but there isn’t another way forward. While I plot my next move, Shakti lazily meanders towards the center of the cavernous space. She speaks to me again, voice no less strange than before.
“Do you recognize your own hand?” I stay crouched in the hall, waiting for an ambush, but it doesn’t happen. Shakti repeats herself, “Do you recognize your own hand?” and I steel my nerves before swiftly making my way to her.
In the center of the room I find the remains of a ghost. My hands find the melted edges of two large holes, a stray bullet to the shell and a knife to the eye. I freeze. I know this ghost, or I knew it. My hands tremble as I remember it.
Dodge, dodge, aim, fire.
Risen down.
Wait, aim, fire.
Shit!
Move.
Arc energies crackle.
Vault the barricade
Solar knife, take the ghost first.
Stab, dodge, turn, throw.
Exo debilitated, Ghost dead.
One more shot.
The brigand snarls up at me.
“Does this feel righteous to you?”
I slump to my knees. Even if I had proper eyes, I couldn’t cry. Sobbing without tears, I miss the metallic chittering growing louder until it's everywhere. The movement of a dull red glow shakes me from my stupor and I bolt up to standing, rifle at the ready. The chittering grows to a fever pitch as a crimson wave of smokey ghosts emanates from every nook and cranny of the walls. The cloud swirls to surround me, each broken ghost puppeted on unseen strings. Underneath the chittering, I hear voices. None are distinct enough to identify on sound alone, but I remember my gun rattling in my grip, the last flick of my fingers leaving the knife, and the metallic crunch of snuffing out the Traveler’s blessing.
I scream.
The voices scream in reply
“Do you recognize your own hand?”
Shakti.
I don’t see her in the sanguine blizzard.
Panic sets in.
The room around me is gone, eclipsed by nightmares. I drop my gun. Shakti can’t be gone, can she? As the torrent crushes in, I just watch. I guess this is what I deserve? This damned pyramid is finally paying back all of my karma. One of the whirling ghosts strikes me, only a glancing blow, but they keep striking me with their mangled shells. After a few moments, my light is no longer enough to protect me, and I feel the bite as the storm starts tearing across me. The gouges stop tearing and begin to grind instead. Through my broken helmet, a stray shell rips through my jaw and I stifle another scream.
The mangled bits of my jaw spark, another memory bubbling to the surface. I let the clarity of pain work its way through my body, and I howl into the metal winds around me.
My world ignites.
I whirl in the flames, the tongues of solar fire licking over me, and I cast them away. In such a dense cloud, every knife finds a mark. The chittering of the dead rests. As the ashes dance their way to the floor, I drop, all the energy drained from me in one bonfire of action. As I lay in the center of the room, Shakti clatters to the floor in front of me, a molten burn across the center of her shell.
No
It can’t
I can’t
As the fog of grief nearly overtakes me, I hear her shell grind against the hard floor of the pyramid ship.
“Shakti!” I call out, unintelligibly, synthesized pain lancing once more through my shattered jaw. Shakti’s voice has lost its frightful resonance, pained weakness in its place.
“Mish-ra. I, c-can’t see you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry.”
The pain slowly ebbs away, Shakti’s light repairing me until all I can feel is her shell cradled in my arms, the catharsis of tears out of my reach.
We stay there for a while. The gash across Shakti’s eye cooled, but it still blinds her.
“Shakti I-”
“I know.” She cuts me off, continuing before I can protest again. “It’s a small price to pay.”
“But your eye?” She laughs. The gentle mechanical trill finally starts to ease the miasma of guilt. She hovers up in my grasp, coaxing me back to my feet.
“We match now.” She says it softly, and the clawing guilt starts to worm its way back into my mind.
“And if I can’t see you, then I guess you’re gonna have to stay alive for me, no matter what it takes.” I pull together a smile, Shakti disappearing into safety.
“I promise.”