Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A burning rage pulsed through his left arm, each prick a furious jab of white-hot resentment. Movement makes his head ache, but he sits up anyway. White smooth curtains, tiled floors, and the smell of clinical practices all cloud his senses. A heavy, fresh, chemical smell cements in his mind where he is.

The last time he was in the medical bay, he was a junior pilot.

By now he was up, holding himself up by his stinging, bandaged arms and looking around. Nothing awaited him, yet the bandages were fresh, and the room was neat. Someone had been here recently. Any shift of movement felt like reality itself was warping on its own accord, moving, slipping, and twisting until his vision blurred around the corners. Dizziness was creeping from the injured parts of his head, but it was gone soon after his face found his hands.

Taking a moment to recollect, he feels the air pass through him - in and out. The air no longer twists around him, the ground no longer sways, and reality seems to still. He’s painfully aware of all the bandages on his body. Around his arms, waist, and especially those around his chest. The feeling of fire twisting into his flesh comes back and his focus is on something else almost immediately trying to discard the feeling; Six? Where the hell is six?

Shifting again and ignoring the creeping shake in his legs as he stood, he moved to stand by the makeshift hospital bed. The ground was cold against his feet, slick tile beneath him. The ground was still here, 106 must have been successful killing the target. Or maybe not? If not, the world domination of the CEO was more calm than he had assumed it would be.

“Raven,” a voice greets smoothly, and looking up, the voice connects to a medic he has never seen before.

His head swoops toward the sound. His legs were half off the medical bed, and he could feel the scratchy blanket against his smoldered skin even under all the bandages. He sat back down. The clock ticks, a quiet, clicking noise encapsulating the room, and it gathers his attention for a moment. 14:35.

“Is my helicopter alright?”, he questions then falters realizing how stupid the question was considering how it went down.

The doctor casts him a side glance, low bridge glasses hiding an almost judgmental stare, but it seems more irritation than anything. He wanted him to say something else clearly.

“...”

“You’ll be discharged soon, take it easy and you shouldn’t be out of commission for too long.”

He adjusted his rectangle glasses, glanced at Raven again, and left with the door clicking shut behind him. Not one for many words.

Maybe it was something about the potent smell of antiseptic, the boring white tile, or the quiet buzzing, but he found his eyes growing heavy faster than he expected. Drifting off, he slumps against the pure white and closes his eyes as he drifts into unconsciousness.

The last thing he heard was a stagnant beeping and an obnoxious thud. His head screamed at him to move, but sleep had taken its toll and it was far too late. The room was already shifting.
Maybe it was something about the potent smell of antiseptic, the boring white tile, or the quiet buzzing, but he found his eyes growing heavy faster than he expected. Drifting off, he slumps against the pure white and closes his eyes as he drifts into unconsciousness.

The last thing he heard was a stagnant beeping and an obnoxious thud. His head screamed at him to move, but sleep had taken its toll and it was far too late. The room already was shifting.

Chapter Text

gloves tighten around the controls. Adrenaline was running through his veins, moments before he was attacking at the bridge, ridding the hostiles, but now - Six was fighting Anton Lazar.

“Roger that,” He responds simply, focused on the task at hand. The sky was dark, but meddled with lights. A lightshow but it was not fireworks, not this time. Stars littered the sky, and the moon emits a small light over the building, mixing with the bright lights of the corporate building. ‘Horizon’ blaring in bright letters, such a bright sign did not mirror the company behind it. It illuminated like a beacon nonetheless.

The wind was whipping at him, whipping through the cabin and reminding him of how high up he was, the headquarters was tall to say the least. It beamed over everything low, and sat like a castle at the end of the bridge that was now half crushed and littered with corpses.

The helicopter hovers above the roof that was clearly meant for the rich. Meant for lazing about, but currently a figure was sliding through it crushing everything inside. Gutting the place from inside out, and ready to destroy the core figure, and then this could be over.

He hovered above it, careful as to not hit anything, the propellers whipped through the air, and the cables dropped as the supplies landed on the roof. Closed and contained as the box waited for the man below.

He hovered above watching as the form crouched to grasp open the box, he heard a squawk of confirmation over the radio from the Director and he prepared to pull back with his gaze lingering on the figure. It was only when the aircraft tilted slightly that he realized something was wrong, really wrong. The instruments flickered, and then right as he properly observes something sends the helicopter down. Jolting down, the stars above swirling into the same beacon as the headquarter’s lights. The sky spun,

Panicking, he yells into the radio,

,”I’m hit, I’m losing control, I can't - I can’t stabilize!”

“I can’t - oh - NONONO!”

He was going down. Bracing for impact as his training kicked in, the impact was like hitting a wall of thunder, wind was howling around him, metal was screeching, flames burst out, and smoke filled his nose. Coughing wildly, he felt the smoke choke him then it went black. Dark until the pounding of his head went into nothing, and the smoke swallowed him entirely.

Raven lazily blinked his eyes open; harsh light of day was peeking through the curtains. Birds chirping infested his ears quickly, and his entire body had a dull ache, not just his injuries. His chest holds a pang of feeling that seems to tighten with each movement, and his arms are stinging as if swirled cuts were going down them - damn, branches were not a nice pillow for landing.
The crash, the sickening jolt of the helicopters landing, and then the hospital. That was all that was in his head, but this was not the remnants of a helicopter, nor was this the hospital. This was an apartment, this was his apartment. He sat up with a groan, the stale scent of dust tickled his nose and he let out a pained sneeze.
Unfolding, he looked around for a moment from his resting area - he was on his couch.
Everything was how memory serves him, almost untouched with time. His prolonged absence seems to have had no impact. His cat, Fuwa, perched on the windowsill. The black form propped up, tail flicking as she observes the world with bored indifference. Fuwa was still here, and the neighbors fed her well as per his request, but just as he was about to let out a small breath, he heard the television’s words. A flickering glow across the room, and his heart dropped when he heard the words it would say.
“Since the terrorist attack on Horizon once and for all, the economy has been in a scurry to climb back up, many have been saying, Horizon got what was coming, but did they?"
The words faded into a blur as a sharp pang took over his head, feeling as if it was splitting it. He places his head in his hands yet again, but it has no help to the ache forming, at least not until he feels a fuzzy creature brush up against his leg. Fuwa. Lifting his head, he looks down at her, and in response, she softly meows.
Back to reality, okay. The apartment was dusted, but untouched.
Fuwa was still here, and the neighbors fed her well as per his request, but just as he was about to let out a small breath, he heard the television’s words. A flickering glow across the room, and he felt a small glimmer of hope realizing Horizon was done with, and that meant six was alive, and the team too, but why would he be left here?
Another pang of his head, he needed some painkillers. Silently debating with himself was of no use when he could barely think straight. He gently pushed over Fuwa, and she let out a hiss of complaint but ultimately did nothing.

He gingerly made his way to the bathroom, his legs protesting with every step. The mirror revealed a face he barely recognized—bandages covered his forehead and one cheek, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His reflection was a grim reminder of the chaos he'd just escaped. The ache in his body was real, but the quiet apartment didn't hold any answers. His stomach rumbled, a stark reminder that he hadn't eaten in hours—or days? He couldn't be sure. His phone was dead, the battery drained, and there were no messages waiting for him. The silence was deafening, and it only added to the confusion swirling in his mind.

The syndicate had to know he was alive. They had to have found him. But why weren't they here? Why was there no sign of them? He checked his watch—broken. Time had no meaning in this odd limbo. Panic began to set in as he wondered if he'd been left behind, forgotten. Or worse, had he been set up? His thoughts swirled with paranoia, his hand instinctively reaching for his sidearm, only to find an empty holster. He had to find out what was happening, but first, he had to get out of these bandages and find some answers. His hand hovered over the phone, ready to dial for help, but the number remained elusive. He didn't even know who to call. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn't stay here, not like this. The clock was ticking, and Raven had a feeling he was running out of time.