Wisps: Recollection (Ninjago X Reader)

12. Project Arcturus

Eyes lazily skim the text on your screen, the same response repeated the last couple of days.

'Busy? With what Griffin? How are you too busy to leave something other than 'Not now' or 'I'm too busy'. Ugh.'

A drawl yawn leaves your mouth, and if it weren't for receiving a call from a particular person, you would have just declined it.

"I don't have any scrap parts. Check another time."

"That's a shame, but no, I don't need measly, cheap scraps right now."

"Cheap? That's rich coming from you, the one that never pays me back." You stifle a chuckle, or else you would hiss it you popped the stitches at your hip.

"Well, now I am, through with something worth just as much."

Your brow ever so slightly raised.

"What? Did you strike it big in the stock market?"

"Oh I wish, no, but I know you've been having trouble at the Borg Tower, ever since Cyrus went missing a few days ago and it so happens, I know exactly where he is."

"Which is...?"

"You know that space project that has been in the works for five-some-odd months?"

"There are a lot of space projects, Ronin if we're being honest."

"It's called Project Arcturus, and they're planning to launch that thing to a star housing the Golden Weapons."

"Shit, if they get ahold of that, the Overlord-"

"Yep, get your band of ninja, I just sent the cords, I'll meet you there."

"See ya then, thank you."

You hung up the phone, sending a brief message to Pixel, before tossing it to an empty spot on your bed.

Little by little, you ease yourself up, minding the seams lining your skin. Even bending your spine would stretch the stitches on your hip at an uncomfortable angle. Moving anything above your navel created a tightness from the clear threads yanking on your skin.

'Time to change the dressings and put on some ointment... Oh joy.'

You slather up the stitches, fighting the urge to scrape your nail on their itches. You don't bother with the ones on your back, knowing you wouldn't reach no matter how much you tried. Your move on to the big stitch on your hip, recognizing that it will leave an ugly, raised scar. The coolness of the ointment is a nice contrast to the pain and soreness that peppered your skin. The next step is to shabbily tie up your bandages, so you stand.

Usually, Pixel would help you with all this, but you really didn't want to bother her... and resemble an embarrassed idiot whenever she did do it. You wrap the last gauze, though you think you did it a bit too tight so you redo it, staring at the mirror.

You frown at the cut under your cheek, already becoming pale. Eyes drift to that lime inscription on your neck. It hasn't glowed since the time you appeared at that village...

You quit leering, because anymore, and you would be wondering who you were.

...

A spanning canvas with its coarse, amber sand strangling sparse flora and shouldering rolling mountain ranges. The Sea of Sand is a fitting name. Heat beats down on the summit you and Zane were perched on, surveying the spacecraft in the middle. If it were any hotter, the sand would turn to glass. A pebble tumbles down the range of the mountaintop. One more, misplaced step and you'd follow suit, rolling and nicking every jagged rock that cropped up from the ground to tear your frame and head.