yawned as the adrenaline drained from him.
“ Not now. I'll keep watch until dawn. Then we'll handle the corpses.” Cage slid down the wall to sit out the rest of the night. That was that. They went back to the dormitory. Greg and Kyra settled into their respective beds after considering whether or not to lock the door. Cage remained in the corridor outside, so they left it unlocked. Greg made sure to reload the pistol, then flipped the safety on and set it down with a heavy thunk on the nightstand.
He rolled over and immediately fell back to sleep.
* * * * *
Dawn came, gray and rainy.
Greg woke and claimed the shower first. Nightmares, bleak and harrowing, had found him once more in the night. He was back in the ruined ship, too big to be any mere troop carrier, and the beating hands were back, banging against the metal hull, sending dead echoes through the ruined, bloodied interior.
Greg shed his uniform, and turned the water as hot as he could stand it. As he showered his mind drifted back to the snap decision he made during the soldiers’ attack.
Fuck who he was in the past, it was time to figure out who he was now.
The notion, examined now in the sane light of morning, seemed ludicrous. How could he just abandon the hunt for his lost memories? As he considered the idea that maybe he would never get them back, that they were not locked away, but wholly deleted, he wondered if maybe that rash decision was the best one.
If the Greg Bishop who used to be was in fact gone , then wouldn't it be better to start anew sooner rather than later? Worse still, what if who he was had been a complete asshole? What if Greg Bishop was a jerk, or a drunk, or an idiot? A womanizer? A bitter, soulless, hopeless man? What if he was suicidal? Greg didn't feel any of these things, but he hadn't felt much of anything besides terror since leaving the ruined ship.
All he had were his instincts, built by repetition. He was certain that he didn't have any addictions. He wasn't dying for a cigarette, or a drink. He wasn't having malicious thoughts toward Kyra. At least he didn't think they were malicious, so he probably wasn't a rapist. What if he'd been given a blessing?
What if his memories and identity had been erased, leaving him with only the mechanics of a life? He could build a new life for himself...provided he survived long enough to do it. He sighed, frustrated at his inability to properly view the situation, and tried to stop thinking about it. He killed the shower, dried, and brushed his teeth, then considered shaving. His beard was little more than a dusting of stubble, a thin, dark shadow haunting his face. He decided against it, dressed, and relinquished the bathroom.
While Kyra took up residence for her shower, Greg began assembling his inventory for the day. Cage stepped into the room.
Greg glanced up. “You going to take a nap?”
“No, I'll stay up and help with...whatever it is that needs doing.” Cage leaned against the door frame.
“ You aren't tired?”
“ I'll be fine. What’s your overall plan?”
“ Clean up the outpost, and then hunt the surrounding outposts for a specific piece of equipment for our radio. Ours is broken and the spare is...in an inaccessible place.”
“ Inaccessible how?”
Greg relayed the incident with the elevator to Cage. By the time he finished, the sniper was frowning. “You're sure about what you heard?”
Greg nodded. “Positive...do you know what it could be? Are there any creatures native to the planet that could fit the description?”
Cage shook his head, almost sadly. “Nothing that I know of. Dis is bleak in terms of life. But...” Cage hesitated, his eyes unfocused. He remained silent.
“But what?”
“ Nothing. I'll have to think about this.” He wouldn’t say any more. Greg sighed and looked out the window. The camp waited for him, inert and drenched. He realized it had been raining since he'd woken up in the ship.
“ Is rain common
“ Not now. I'll keep watch until dawn. Then we'll handle the corpses.” Cage slid down the wall to sit out the rest of the night. That was that. They went back to the dormitory. Greg and Kyra settled into their respective beds after considering whether or not to lock the door. Cage remained in the corridor outside, so they left it unlocked. Greg made sure to reload the pistol, then flipped the safety on and set it down with a heavy thunk on the nightstand.
He rolled over and immediately fell back to sleep.
* * * * *
Dawn came, gray and rainy.
Greg woke and claimed the shower first. Nightmares, bleak and harrowing, had found him once more in the night. He was back in the ruined ship, too big to be any mere troop carrier, and the beating hands were back, banging against the metal hull, sending dead echoes through the ruined, bloodied interior.
Greg shed his uniform, and turned the water as hot as he could stand it. As he showered his mind drifted back to the snap decision he made during the soldiers’ attack.
Fuck who he was in the past, it was time to figure out who he was now.
The notion, examined now in the sane light of morning, seemed ludicrous. How could he just abandon the hunt for his lost memories? As he considered the idea that maybe he would never get them back, that they were not locked away, but wholly deleted, he wondered if maybe that rash decision was the best one.
If the Greg Bishop who used to be was in fact gone , then wouldn't it be better to start anew sooner rather than later? Worse still, what if who he was had been a complete asshole? What if Greg Bishop was a jerk, or a drunk, or an idiot? A womanizer? A bitter, soulless, hopeless man? What if he was suicidal? Greg didn't feel any of these things, but he hadn't felt much of anything besides terror since leaving the ruined ship.
All he had were his instincts, built by repetition. He was certain that he didn't have any addictions. He wasn't dying for a cigarette, or a drink. He wasn't having malicious thoughts toward Kyra. At least he didn't think they were malicious, so he probably wasn't a rapist. What if he'd been given a blessing?
What if his memories and identity had been erased, leaving him with only the mechanics of a life? He could build a new life for himself...provided he survived long enough to do it. He sighed, frustrated at his inability to properly view the situation, and tried to stop thinking about it. He killed the shower, dried, and brushed his teeth, then considered shaving. His beard was little more than a dusting of stubble, a thin, dark shadow haunting his face. He decided against it, dressed, and relinquished the bathroom.
While Kyra took up residence for her shower, Greg began assembling his inventory for the day. Cage stepped into the room.
Greg glanced up. “You going to take a nap?”
“No, I'll stay up and help with...whatever it is that needs doing.” Cage leaned against the door frame.
“ You aren't tired?”
“ I'll be fine. What’s your overall plan?”
“ Clean up the outpost, and then hunt the surrounding outposts for a specific piece of equipment for our radio. Ours is broken and the spare is...in an inaccessible place.”
“ Inaccessible how?”
Greg relayed the incident with the elevator to Cage. By the time he finished, the sniper was frowning. “You're sure about what you heard?”
Greg nodded. “Positive...do you know what it could be? Are there any creatures native to the planet that could fit the description?”
Cage shook his head, almost sadly. “Nothing that I know of. Dis is bleak in terms of life. But...” Cage hesitated, his eyes unfocused. He remained silent.
“But what?”
“ Nothing. I'll have to think about this.” He wouldn’t say any more. Greg sighed and looked out the window. The camp waited for him, inert and drenched. He realized it had been raining since he'd woken up in the ship.
“ Is rain common
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