The Space In Between

Chaos & Control (Part 3)

Hunter could see everything, every scuff mark that blemished the floor; he could tell which ones were old, left behind by the standard-issue boots of troopers long gone, and which ones were newer, etched into the durasteel by scurrying claws.
He could hear everything. Every metallic ache and moan of the cruiser as it continued to settle, forlornly, into its permanent, planetary grave.
He could smell everything. The overwhelming tang of rust that grew like mould on the skeletons of starships, and then underneath that, the much more subtle organic rot of those that used to inhabit them.

Nothing could escape Hunter's scrutiny. For him, the world and all its features were compressed, flattened and stretched tight, like the skin of a drum, and laid bare before him to read as easily as a map.

And yet, as he roamed that med bay, he had never before felt so utterly lost.
Like he couldn't find a way out of that room. Like he couldn't discern up from down.

His head pounded with the sensory overload. Ever-present, unrelenting. But all of it, useless and irrelevant. The only feeling that mattered right now was the tempo of Omega's heart, palpable on his sternum as he held her against his unarmoured torso. The strong, sturdy beat of his own pulse nearly overpowered it, but it was definitely there. A warm fluttering, almost as if her ribs were caging a small bird.

Hunter moved about the space, following some invisible, repetitive path. But he was treading with the trepidation of someone trying to carry a candle against the wind; a task that presented such a fine line between protection and suffocation.

The pacing had been Echo's suggestion, apparently, it was supposed to be calming. And Tech had flat out refused to hand her over until Hunter had agreed to remove his chest plate first. But any misgivings he had initially harboured were quickly assuaged as the techniques demonstrated their merit. Omega had barely stirred once.

Getting Wrecker back to the med bay and onto the gurney had taken Rex and Hunter nearly half an hour. That boy weighed an absolute solid fucking tonne. Laying there on his back, his stillness was... unnerving. Eyes closed, face slack. Wrecker was never this still. The blue glow of the surgical chamber ahead made his skin look pale...

Hunter decided to turn away.

"I believe the pod has been appropriately calibrated," Tech announced, straightening from behind the console and adjusting his goggles. "We can initiate the procedure."

"Do it." Hunter gave the command immediately, still facing away. Tech keyed in the start sequence. The tray squeaked on rusty wheels as it was drawn into the mouth of the pod, carrying Wrecker along with it.

Scattered throughout the room, the Batch stood in stiff silence. Hunter in the corner with Omega, Tech by the control panel, Echo beside the machine, and Rex near the doorway. Even standing apart, their thoughts were gathering in the same place. They could be about to lose their brother. And if this didn't work, then they could even be on the precipice of losing themselves, and each other.

If that happened, Omega would be left here, with no one.

Hunter groaned inwardly at the retrospection. She had literally said that to him. And he, ever the fool, had been so quick to offer her assurances. Promises that - now - he didn't know if he could keep. If they couldn't get the chips out, or if the procedure killed them in the process, then, either way, he would break them. And Omega would be alone, or...worse.

Hunter felt sick.

"Hunter?" As though his suffering had summoned her, there was a tiny voice against his collarbone.

Quickly, he settled on a crate and rested her in his lap. Omega sat upright, still clinging to his blacks with one hand, and rubbing her eyes with the other. Stars, they looked so red, and sore. When she finally lifted her face to him, an incorporeal vibroknife lanced through his gut.