Silver Saint

Twelve: Tin Soldiers

//Report: Quinn, Jackson.

//Saint Corp Plaza.

//Floor five.

//The following morning.

//Resume log.

"Up! Get up and move!"

The wail of an alarm. The sting of sweat on the back of my neck. A wracking gasp escaped my lungs, and all at once I felt the heat of the flames on my face.

I could hear explosions in the distance—loud, thunderous detonations that I didn't so much hear as feel in my bones.

It terrified me to my core.

"Jackson!"

I was flat on my back, staring up through the Firmament's tower as flames licked the walls greedily. Smoke poured from everywhere and nowhere, choking black smog that drowned everything in a noxious haze.

It was all gone. There was nothing left.

"Stand back up! It's not over yet!"

A hand found my right palm, cold steel biting into the exposed skin of my own as it clamped down. I was pulled to my feet, and all at once I was face to face with Commander Martin Thorn, who stared me down.

The commander's scarred face was stained with soot and blood, but his brown eyes shone with conviction. His prosthetic right arm gripped me tightly—almost painfully, as if he was scared of letting go. The artificial skin graft on my right palm burned at his touch, the pale skin nearly tearing under the pressure of his pull.

"We aren't dead yet, Quinn!" he snapped. "Now—"

"Get up!" Lucas snapped. "Jesus, man, you've been out almost fifteen hours!"

I rose with a start, feeling the heat of the flames fall away around me. My surroundings were all at once apparent—I was lying in bed, in my new room, with daylight streaming in through the large window.

Now I remembered—after my meeting with Sanviento and a reintroduction to Prometheus, I'd returned to my room for the night and had passed out almost immediately. My torn clothes lay in a heap beside the bed, but I was glad to see that I'd at least had the foresight to leave my boxers on.

Lucas stared at me expectantly, one hand on his hip. He was dressed in a strange-looking pair of white track pants and his favorite aviator jacket, but it looked like it had been washed—in fact, all his clothes looked brand new.

"I'm sorry, Jax," Lucas sighed. I tilted my head slightly to hear him better, frustrated by the muffled, hollow sensation in my right ear. "We tried to let you sleep as long as possible, but there's a limit. Everyone else has already been up for ages, and we have a briefing in an hour!"

"A... briefing?" I tried to shake the image of the Firmament from my mind. Maybe it was just my imagination, but my right hand still ached from Martin's grip. I shifted again, trying to catch more of Lucas' words.

"Laura wants to see us," Lucas explained. "She says there's no time to waste."

"Is he awake?" a voice called. A burst of red hair filled my vision as Amani's smiling face leaned into the room, peering around the corner at me.

"Whoa, hey!" I yelped, pulling up the blankets. I was now painfully aware that I still had yet to shower. It was a small wonder my dreams had been full of smoke and ash—I probably reeked of it.

"Oh, get over yourself," Amani snapped. "Get dressed, we need to go."

"We have a mission?" I called.