Architects of the Cataclysm

Hell

The world was moving ever so slowly.

At least, he thought it was moving. Maybe he was moving. His brain might be a slurry sloshing around inside his thick skull, and the sound was making him hallucinate. Or maybe he was dead, and this was his personal Hell.

No, this can't be Hell, he thought. Hell wouldn't be so beautiful.

Dominic Cramer looked at the stars through the cracked screen of his helmet. Stats flickered by, telling him he was soaring at an altitude of about 4km while also being in near boiling temperatures. He tried to reach up to tear the damaged technology off, but nothing listened to his command. Every muscle hurt, every nerve sent waves of panic and pain, and every hair on his body stood on end. With his sense of touch rendered useless by his immobile limbs and metal trappings, he relied upon his other sensory organs.

He expected little help from his sense of taste, but it confirmed what he already knew. Iron coated his tongue and a metallic bitterness seeped down his throat. Blood poured from his nose or a busted lip or a slashed cheek. He wasn't certain what the source was, but he was bleeding. A lot.

Considering his lightheadedness and flickering consciousness, he felt it safe to say the blood loss had resulted in a significant drop in blood pressure. He decided that dwelling on the state of his vitals would only lead to negative thinking, which was of little use. So, he noted the status and then moved on.

As for his nose, he smelled blood. No shock there. However, there was a slight undercurrent of dampness and wood mixed with tree sap. Still in the woods, he thought. Why isn't Shitwave towing me to the Fortress?

Knowing he wouldn't get more than that from his sense of smell, he squinted through the marred visor of his helmet. With the digital overlays still dancing around the screen in rapid blips, compounded with the already limited periphery of the helmet's design, he only discerned the sweep of the Milky Way. The stars twinkled in their haunting dance, whispering their nightly vespers and coaxing him towards the slumber his body so desperately needed. He almost gave in, the vision of the celestial lights fading before his drooping eyelids, but then his sense of sound reignited his attention.

"Dammit, why do you have to be a heavy ass lug in a fucking metal suit? At least that cocky prick was a lightweight in spandex. Could've thrown him over my shoulder if it had been him on the ground."

That voice, exclaimed Dominic's inner thoughts. Why is it familiar?

He shuffled through his jumbled memory. He remembered rising early that day, which was probably his first mistake. Anticipation got the better of him. He needed those extra hours of rest to keep his mind sharp. Instead, he decided to work off his insomnia in the hologym. Second mistake, he thought. He would have rolled his eyes, but even those muscles were strained beyond use.

He tried to recall a memory. He tried to sort through his recollections, hoping to find himself returning the suit back to its charger once he left the gym. However, nothing emerged from his murky memories. His plans to take advantage of Shockwave's momentary vulnerability had ensnared his thoughts that morning, causing him to forget that simplest, and most important, part of his routine — plugging in the damn suit. He would have groaned, but his diaphragm was too bruised to cooperate.

He went to work, that he remembers, though what he did at work was a blur. Hopefully, he didn't have to read over anything important, though he felt fairly confident he signed at least one contract. Bad call, he thought, but that can be fixed.

His plans for Shockwave after work, though, were a different mistake all together. He couldn't throw lawyers at it to solve the problem. No, this mistake was allowing his emotions to take hold. It was a rookie mistake that now had him possibly wounded beyond repair. But, at the time, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. With the Fortress off to support the Midwestern division and Shockwave left on guard duty, it seemed like the right time to strike. Instead, Shockwave played to Dominic's emotions, taunting him and tugging him farther across the countryside. He lost track of his power gauge until the computer began screeching in his ear about shifting reserves to life support. It forced Dominic to take a defensive position and Shockwave claimed the advantage.

That's when things got hazy.

"How the fuck am I going to get you on this thing?" growled the feminine voice. "Maybe I should just let the EMTs take care of it. Though the faster I can get them off my property, the better. Bad enough I got you here."

EMTs, screamed Dominic's anxiety. No, no...

"No!"

Somehow, his mental pain beat back his physical discomfort. With an assertive push to his diaphragm and painful vibration of his vocal cords, he exhaled his emphatic negation.

"Shit, did you actually say something?"

"No," the word rolled out of his immobile lips, his tongue barely accomplishing the flick the consonant needed.

"No, what? No to me getting you on this flatbed? Look, I got to get you out of these woods and over to my driveway or else the EMTs will be..."

"No," he said with more force, though it manifested as a guttural growl in his throat instead of a proper vocalization.

"No...EMTs?"

"Yes." This time the word was formed by a relieved sigh that loosened his muscles by a very slight fraction.

"Are you crazy? What am I saying, of course you are, you dress in a metal suit and pick fights with other Gifted. And you fuckers had to choose my..."

"No."

"Right, okay, no EMTs. I can imagine your health insurance will go through the roof. What I can't imagine is the premiums you all must pay."

Dominic sighed. She didn't understand, but at least she understood he didn't want an ambulance. He could clarify the rest later, for now he needed to remain in the security of the secluded woods, though he still couldn't remember why Shockwave left him there or who the woman positioning a large flatbed trolley behind him was.

"This is going to hurt," she mumbled as Dominic sensed some pressure beneath his armpits. Then, to his great delight, his view of the stars was replaced by a soft oval face curtained by long dark hair and adorned with a pair of lush lips and striking black eyes.

No, Dominic thought, I'm definitely not in Hell.

A smile considered gracing his bloody lips, but then the woman's head disappeared. She shifted her weight and hefted him up onto the trolley; the movement pulling at his shoulder muscles and his back curling in a steep arch.

A resurgence of pain fired through his spine, zipped up his neck, and stimulated every numb nerve in one fiery inferno. His scream tore through the night before blessed unconsciousness took hold.