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Sensation flooded Pyke's body as he was thrust back into consciousness. Burning, then tingling and a sharp ringing in his ears. He jolted up, a scream tearing through the silence. His hands moved frantically, clutching his chest and instinctively feeling his forehead for damage. He struggled to suck in air, feeling his heart thudding violently against his ribs. He looked around, trying to catch his breath and survey his surroundings. He was sitting on the cold metal surface of a cart in a sterile room. The lights were turned down. It was completely empty of any life.
Through the fog of his mind, he couldn't seem to recognize the location. He pressed a hand against one of his eyes, trying to suppress the discomfort in his head. His mind was reeling with flashes of hellish red eyes and machine-like indifference. The smell of sulfur lingered, as if burnt into his nostrils.
In a haze, he let his feet hit the floor, nearly falling off the cart and onto his knees. His muscles were tight and remnants of pain spiked in his head. He struggled to balance, trying to steady himself against the wall for extra support. A chill ran down his spine, and he realized that he had only been covered in a sheet that was sliding down his body as he attempted to stand.
He sat back for a moment in the stillness of the room and tried to piece his thoughts together. The scattered shards of memory slowly formed a full picture, what he had experienced playing out in his mind. Dread pooled in his stomach and rose to fill his chest, threatening to send him back into a state of panic. It was impossible that anyone could have survived the damage his body had taken, but as he placed a shaking hand against his skin he could feel the frenzied pounding of his heart.
He was alive. He was breathing. How?
Somewhere to his left a door knob clicked and the fluorescent lights on the ceiling buzzed to life. He whipped his head toward the noise. An Amanite woman he didn't recognize entered the room holding a clip board. She was dressed in a sleek, nurse-like uniform and a face mask. She didn't seem to notice him as she walked to a sink and sanitized her hands. She turned, and that's when she made eye contact with Pyke.
A screech echoed against the shelves as she jumped back. Pyke, in turn, pushed back against the wall, raising his right arm to shield his face. Another wave of fear washed over him as he looked at his bare arm. He didn't have the gauntlet.
She stared at him for what felt like an eternity before pulling out a communicator and whispering something he couldn't quite hear into the receiver. She seemingly listened for a response before approaching him slowly, like he was going to lunge at her. He was frozen against the wall, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was.
Back up arrived soon after. Polaris agents and doctors fussed over him, murmuring to each other of impossibility and surprise. Eventually he was deemed physically healthy enough to move to Polaris' headquarters. He was escorted under heavy supervision. They ran numerous tests and evaluations, trying to gauge his mental state.
The officials' tune had changed quickly. They refused to talk about the circumstances at the end of his mission or how he ended up in the morgue. The doctors dismissed what he tried to tell them with weary looks and shakes of their heads. "It's normal to be confused after a traumatic injury," they told him, "Your memory may be unreliable after the things your body went through." He had been injured and healed, according to them. Any data he requested on the mission was denied by Polaris command.
He felt like he was going crazy. He knew what had happened wasn't a hallucination, but he had no way of explaining it. Just thinking about it made his heart rate pick up. He was exhausted. He replayed those last moments every night in his nightmares. He was too anxious to sleep and couldn't bring himself to get up for any sort of training. He hadn't been showing up at meal times. He felt completely powerless, especially since he didn't know where the gauntlet was. The feeling of being hunted had never left.
It was only a few days before there was an insistent knock on his door.
"Pyke?" A familiar voice came through the metal. Ophelia had inevitably come to see him after he'd ignored all her calls and messages.
He sat up, debating on even answering. He didn't know what he'd say to her. Everything that had happened was like a blur. No one else had taken him seriously, why would she?
"Pyke, I need to speak with you."
He sighed, forcing his body up and across the room. He unlocked the door and took a step back, letting it swing open. She stood in the hall, dressed in casual clothes and carrying a bag. She looked him up and down, her expression twisting into something a stone's throw away from pity before course-correcting into a smile.
He didn't say anything. He had nothing to say and so much to tell her all at the same time.
"I heard about the mission. I'm sorry," She started, a little hesitantly.
Pyke shook his head. The sickening tightness in his chest was returning at an alarming rate. A beat of silence passed between them. Ophelia reached out and placed a hand on his cheek. He didn't lean into it.
"I…I know that this is weighing on you," she stepped into the room and closed the door softly, "We don't have to discuss this yet if you don't want to, but we need to figure something out soon. I'm worried mother may be considering removing your membership from the society."
His eyes widened. It was a possibility he'd considered, but hearing it straight from her was like a punch to the gut. He returned to the bed, sitting down on the edge and placing his head in his hands. He tried to push down the fact that the thought of going on another mission made him nauseous. Perhaps leaving would be for the best. She wouldn't agree.
She sat down next to him, "When was the last time you washed your hair."
He cast his gaze down. He must look like a mess.
"Come here." Ophelia took his hand, leading him to the small bathroom attached to his room.
He hesitated, but allowed her to run him a bath. He carefully undressed, ignoring the inherent need to flee at the thought of being so vulnerable. This wasn’t the first time that she'd helped him with his hair, but he hadn't been able to shake the anxiety since he had come back. He lowered himself into the water, sighing as he felt his body relax despite himself. She returned carrying towels and a change of clothes for him.
He sat with his knees to his chest as she ran the water over his scalp.
"You can prove yourself again," she said it like it was a comfort. Like a promise.
He stiffened, and he was sure she felt it with her fingers in his hair.
"You can't give up."
She didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't know. He took a shuddering breath.
"Pyke talk to me."
"Just—Just stop!" he half-shouted, bringing his arms around himself, "You don't get it!" He struggled to keep his breath under control. "…sorry."
She sat back on her heels, regarding him with that same pity. This time, though, he caught a twinge of disappointment that flashed in her eyes. Pyke felt shame bubbling up, but she said nothing to chastise him. She simply continued washing out the shampoo before leaving to give him some extra privacy to wash his body and get dressed.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to regain his composure the best he could. The usual pink of his skin had faded to something dusty. The exhaustion was clear just from his face. He really did look horrible as he felt.
When he came out of the bathroom, she was sitting quietly in his desk chair. "I brought you the items they recovered when you were taken to the medical wing."
Oh. She really didn't know. Polaris didn't want her to know. He decided then that he couldn't tell her. Not now. Not directly.
She pulled the gauntlet from the bag. It was in good condition and it had been cleaned. A small sense of relief washed over him as he took it from her, fastening it around his arm.
"You're going to be fine," she stated simply, hugging him. A tense smile was plastered on her face. He didn't know which of them she was trying to convince.
Both of them could sense the hesitation of questions left unasked, and things left unsaid, but they never were ones for emotional discussions. She left with a brief goodbye. He knew no matter what, nothing was going to go back to the way it was.