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The sea spray was deplorably salty, sending droplets of water to sting Chosen's wounds. He stood, uncomprehending before his saviour, who was silhouetted against the afternoon sun. They possessed such power. Such presence. His superior in every regard. The elixir of unknown emotion churning in his stomach pressed at him, demanding he respond. Relief and grief and awe and terror spilled from their dam, and suddenly he was kneeling; bare knees scraping the rough gravel as he submitted.
The Second Coming gasped then, the sound barely audible over the crashing of the waves against the shore. "What are you doing?" she asked, sounding so confused that Chosen froze for a moment, then raised his head, puzzled.
"I'm sorry." He owed her an apology, at the very least.
"For what? You saved us!" The Second Coming smiled at him and Chosen wanted to die. "We're going home now. Do you want to come too?"
Home. The word took Chosen by surprise and he shrank back. "I can't." he forced himself to say. "I have to find Dark." Surely his partner would be wondering where he went. Surely he'd be alive at the end of the crater. Dark was never one to give up easily.
"Well, in that case," The Second Coming hopped onto Alan's cursor, gripping it, and her friends followed suit. The cursor began to rise into the air. "See you around! You're welcome on the PC anytime!"
And just like that, they were lifted high above the clouds. Chosen watched them ascend, a strange melancholy feeling building in his gut. Only one word rang in his mind, over and over and over again.
Home.
I want to go home. Chosen realized, knees buckling as he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving from exhaustion and pain. The adrenaline of the fight had finally faded, leaving him shaking and weak, huddled on the coastal ledge. I want to go home. He wanted to find Dark, to apologize somehow. Then, the two would go home and patch their wounds like they did after every other fight, and things would be okay.
Right?
Eventually, he managed to haul himself to his feet and launch into the air, soaring unsteadily in the direction Dark had been blasted. Each moment in the air felt like an eternity, and he was fighting to simply stay aloft.
"Dark?" he called out as he approached the crater, dropping to the ground and breaking into a run. There was a deadly stillness in the air and his shout echoed through the smoldering meadow. Approaching the rim, Chosen leaned forward and peered down.
And…
Oh.
Oh no.
The scattered pieces of Dark's lifeless body, charred and still smoldering with excess heat, were strewn about the bottom of the crater, steeped in a thick puddle of inky black sludge that congealed around what was left of Dark's wrists. His eyes were open, staring lifelessly up at the sky. Even in death, his expression was not peaceful, instead bearing all the terror and agony of his final moments.
I should close his eyes. I should bury him.
Chosen sank to the ground, shuddering with silent sobs as he clawed at the singed blades of grass underfoot. All the longing for home had disappeared along with his hope that Dark would be waiting at the end of the gash in the earth.
He had no home. Not anymore.
...
Chosen knew darkness, and he knew tight spaces. That didn't make it any less terrifying to be pinned beneath a heap of rusty scrap metal as the entire structure of Dark's giant virabot menace collapsed around him. By some miracle, he managed to avoid being crushed to death; instead, he was sandwiched inside his cage as it buckled under the weight of the debris on top.
Terror gripped him suddenly and fiercely, and for a moment, he struggled. But the fear lent him no strength and did not end. It kept rising and rising until Chosen was drowning in his own gasping breaths and scattered memories. Black spots danced across his vision and he felt his weak form go limp.
…
He wasn't sure how long he waited there, drifting in and out of consciousness as the creaks and groans of steel around him sounded in the silence. Icy cold had consumed him. He couldn't even feel the pain from his wounds anymore. All he knew was the relentless sensation of frozen agony engulfing his entire body. What did warmth even feel like?
Chosen closed his eyes and waited to die.
Instead, he awoke to a terrible screeching and strong hands lifting him out of the tangle of rubble. He coughed, fresh air gracing his senses, and managed to open his eyes just enough to let the light in.
Someone was carrying him. Dark? Chosen couldn't tell. He tried to cry out, but his voice was nothing but a thready whisper.
"Shhh, don't worry," A familiar, soothing voice reassured him. It wasn't Dark. This was someone younger, more feminine. "I've got you. We're going to get you home."
Home. That wasn't right. "…don't have a home anymore." Chosen managed.
"Just rest." The voice, (who was it?) bid him. "You're safe now."
Chosen obeyed.
…
"-has the bandages?"
"Quiet! You'll wake Chosen!"
It was too late. Chosen's eyes snapped open and he shot upright, scrambling back as the memories of the debris and fear came rushing back to him. Where was he?
Second turned at the commotion, attention snagging on Chosen. She immediately rushed over to him. "Careful! You're still really hurt, and I don't know how well you've warmed up. I still have to talk to Alan about restoring your powers. Don't try to get up just yet."
Chosen simply stared, uncomprehending. "…where are we?" he finally asked. "Where's Dark?"
"You're on Alan's PC." Second informed him. "And… Cursors, I'm so sorry Chosen, but Dark is dead."
What was more grief to add to Chosen's collection? He had already mourned Dark a thousand times over. Still, his vision blurred with tears and he glanced down at the pixelated bedsheets covering him. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Second sighed. "Well, after the battle, everyone else had somewhere to go. Mitsi and Victim and Agent went back to rebuild their company, and the mercenaries had their own home to go back to. But I wasn't sure what you'd want, so we brought you back to our house for now." She sounded almost apologetic when she said, "But of course, you don't have to stay if you don't want."
What do I want?
The question was almost laughably strange. Since when did the universe care what Chosen wished? Since when did he have a choice?
"You'd really let me stay with you?" Chosen blinked, disbelieving. "Even after all the trouble I caused?"
"Of course!" Second smiled at him. "You're welcome to make yourself at home here. We'd love to have you!"
Home. Here.
Chosen could barely reconcile the idea. It had been so unbelievably long since he had a home. What had he ever done to deserve this kind of a second chance?
"Okay." he managed. Why were his eyes burning? Why was he trembling? Chosen could feel a fresh wave of tears welling in his eyes, which didn't make sense. He wasn't in pain, or sad. Why was he crying now?
Second didn't seem to think it was unusual. She simply pulled Chosen into a warm embrace, hugging him tight to her chest. She was warm, and Chosen was used to tight confines, but this was nothing like that. This was safe, somehow.
"Thank you," he whispered, clinging to Second as though she was his lifeline. "I'll find a way to repay you, I promise."
"No payment required." Second responded. "I'm just glad you're okay."
And, against all odds, Chosen was home again.