Avalon

•42•

Away From Me

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I've woken now to find myself

In the shadows of all I have created

I'm longing to be lost in you

(away from this place I have made)

Won't you take me away from me

After that moment of reality and second of dreamy came the knock on the door. It brought Noel out of his fugue state immediately and he almost growled. Time to strap in and and let the party roll.

His two sidekicks returned with some fresh medical supplies that came with his records his supervisors kept out there for emergencies and stuff.

Not that he didn't appreciate the thoughtful service. The two packed up the wheelchair backpack so he was pretty much ready for everything.

Which was close to truth. But just that.

What he truly wanted, scratch that, needed, was the backpack full of booze instead meds and shit. Noel wasn't going to be happy and he knew it since he suspected somebody will be monitoring his booze intake. Hence the actual pee baggies. Like he had trouble walking and was in pain most of the time which was more like all the time just varying types and strengths of pain. Now there.

They want to control him on the ground because their reach fails to find him in the open space. Ground is always easier to cover and for someone like him it was annoying the hell out.

Federation deemed him dangerous for couple reasons. One being his upbringing. He still carried that military stance and could technically kill a whole bunch of army men with a toothpick or even his own hair. That was his upbringing. To become a versatile soldier, almost impossible to kill, super strong, inhumanly fast on his feet, stealth mode like never seen before, completely indestructible. Whoever planned this wanted a super soldier. What they didn't expect was a human mind and emotional capacity that was far above any AI so that was the factor he used to escape and not to become one made to be.

And for some amount he managed. He wasn't a killing machine. Yet he knew what to do when a ten feet Achovian tried to gut him on its planet. He did know how to manhandle some pissed of Klingon. He could manage a spar with a Vulcan.

All that he did by pure instinct and deep knowledge that came without thinking about it.

He also could out drink majority of the staff. Mostly anyone human and few alien. Starfleet was pretty much diverse in that factor and he was happy. Aliens were cool too. Some had loads of knowledge some practical skills. All of them were trained to be something. Like him.

And just like them he decided to choose instead of being placed.

Unless he wasn't deemed partly a criminal.

And yes, that he was to this day. They just legally couldn't simply come to get his head. Because his disability came with a shield with it. And this shield was very worthy to save his sorry ass from many outcomes he never even knew about. So while his legs struggled to keep their nerves sensitive and reactive, his back hurt sometimes so badly he needed actual shot to hold guttural scream at bay, it all was a price he realized he was willing to pay to stay free. It was a price he paid to still be out there and useful. Because he knew what would happen if his health wasn't as bad. They'd come after him. And they'd take all that sharp personality and whatnot away and he'd become one of them. He'd ceased to exist as a Viper pilot some knew him be, he'd cease to exist as the Raptor pilot others recognized him for, he'd ceased to be the genuine man he deep inside was. He'd loose it all.