The Anarchist, outer space around Luna Seven, March of 163 AL.
Salem shot upright in bed, chest heaving and heart hammering away at the inside of his chest. Every muscle in his body was taut and he was drenched in cold sweat. His eyes were wide, zipping around the room in search of threats, in search of parasites.
Then he remembered where he was and realized it had only been a dream. Salem pulled his legs up under himself, forcing himself to take deep breathes so he could calm down. He hadn't had night terrors like this in a long time, not since the last time Hyde was free.
"Don't you go blaming me for all your problems," the AI said as his hologram appeared. He was leaning against the wall, one glove tucked under his arm while he filed the nails on his exposed, half-rotten hand. "I'll gladly claim responsibility for the glassings, but the rest of it...that was all you, Jekyll. PTSD's a bitch, isn't it? Takes regret to a whole new level; I'm glad I'm not burdened by such petty notions as morality."
Salem didn't answer, he was too busy focusing on his breathing; his night terrors gave him panic attacks. His brain ran in a million different directions, he couldn't focus on anything other than whatever had caused the episode, often times forgetting to breathe. It felt like he had an elephant standing on his chest, but through immense force of will he managed to narrow his focus down to two simple motions; inhale, then exhale. Inhale, then exhale.
"Breakfast is in twenty minutes, you'll need to go and clean yourself up," Hyde grinned, pleased with himself; the fingernails on his hand were now talons that put razors to shame. "As much as I enjoy watching you struggle to breathe, it's only truly entertaining the first thousand times. Now it just bores me."
His host continued to ignore him, climbing out of bed and shuffling towards the bathroom. Despite his bedclothes he was assaulted by chills the entire way; he felt like he'd spent the night being waterboarded with liquid nitrogen. A shower would fix that; a scalding hot, skin-peeling shower always chased that feeling away.
Salem had grown to live with his disorder; memories of the horrific things he'd experienced during wartime haunted him regularly. He had grown up fighting in the Liberation Wars, and while he'd seen and done terrible things in his youth none of that compared to the shear horror of fighting the parasites. For months after the chemical weapon attacks on Athena Salem struggled to sleep through the night; he would lay in bed for hours, the twisted visage of the creatures etched into the back of his eyelids.
Lately he'd been better; with the inevitability of the Imperial Union and the peaceful end of the Colonial War, Salem's episodes had become less frequent. He hadn't had night terrors in nearly a year, his last panic attack had come seven months prior. Hyde's sudden return to his mind flushed his progress down the drain; the AI served as a constant reminder of what he'd done, and of what had been done to him, in no small part due to Hyde's insistence on reminding him regularly. As long as Hyde remained, Salem knew he'd never escape his demons.
A hot stream of water chased away the cold and served to make Salem feel a great deal more comfortable. The pleasurable agony that sprayed him clean helped to clear his head; he could focus on something other than the parasites, the stench of their oily, pus-like blood and the sight of a thousand half-eaten corpses. Seemingly for no reason, his ears were set ringing; he wasn't alarmed by this, it happened occasionally, especially after or during a panic attack. He mostly ignored it, even so he couldn't help but notice a familiar, metallic smell; gunpowder and blood, identical to the stench that had assaulted him the moment he'd opened the top of the APC.
"Hyde..." Salem growled, and the scent disappeared; his AI had a bad habit of messing with his brain, altering his perception just to bother him. "What have I told you about doing that?"
