The screeching of sirens dragged him back up to consciousness, and as he slowly became more aware of his body, he fervently wished he hadn't. Blissful darkness made way for sharp needles of light piercing his eyes, and the comfortable numbness in his limbs was replaced by that ominous throbbing that promised a world of hurt soon.

He struggled to speak, to mumble defiance, but nothing worked as it should, his throat swollen and dry, defying his commands to make a sound.

"G-go aww," he tried again, feeling his lips crack open and a thin trickle of blood moistening his mouth. The metallic taste was heavy and cloying, coating his mouth and tickling his gag-reflex. His body convulsed in pathetically weak dry heaves, barely worth the involuntary expenditure of energy.

When he lay still again, panting through his mouth, as his nose whistled in a painful manner that told him it was probably broken, he tried to gather his wits.

One eye opened only to a crusty slit, letting only thin daggers of light through, just enough to aggravate his ramping headache, not enough to be useful. His other eye worked a little better, opened a bit wider, but didn't do him much good. Blinding light flashed on and off, one moment mercilessly flooding him with light that tried to claw its way into his skull, the next bathing him in impenetrable darkness.

He tried to close his eye again, but his body refused to obey his commands.

The sound around him was palpable, hammering him from his eardrums to his skin. The sound waves hit him with every beat of the alarm, and he tried to brace against it, tried to anticipate it, but the count was ever so slightly off.

In between the blaring, he heard something else. A mewling sound, soft, weak, pathetic. The feeble protests of some wretch, probably. Couldn't they give him a cell of his own? The world around him spun, and he found himself on the ground, curled into a ball, his cheek pressed into a sticky puddle on the smooth steel that made the floor.

Make it stop!

"Up!"

The voice was barely audible in the short silences between the alarm, but it was so different that it managed to reach him. He tried to lift his head to see who had spoken, straining for control of his abused muscles.

"Up, damn you!"

Stiff fingers dug into his sides, hooking under his armpits, the pressure on his bruised ribs sparking fireworks behind his eyes.

They dragged him upright on unsteady feet, shooting stabs of pain up from the soles of his feet. He gasped for air as he was pushed forward, one uncertain step after another, wavering, trembling, every step pure agony.

"Move that ass!"

He knew that voice, mechanically distorted as it was. He couldn't see her. She was behind him, armored arms holding him up and pushing him forward.

"V-val," he said between gasps, almost coughing on the dryness of his tongue.

"-isn't working," she said, and shoved, sending him tripping over his feet towards the door. The open door.

It registered the moment he fell through it, crashing into the wall of the hallway beyond it. The door was open. His cell-door, that had been locked for ages.

Fresh blood welled up in his mouth and he coughed again and spat. She knelt beside him now, only her eyes showing through the helmet she wore. He knew those eyes; the madness shining with a fierce vigor, burning too brightly for his comfort.

"-will only hurt-" she said, the electronically transmitted speech unable to break through the still ongoing sirens. She pressed something against his neck. A light sting, then liquid fire ignited in his veins, streaming with every labored heartbeat farther into his body. He saw the veins in his hands stand out in lines of incandescent light, shining through his skin in a complex web of lines and traceries, and for a moment, lost himself in the mesmerizing unfamiliarity of it. He didn't realize he was on his feet, no longer feeling the pains or fatigue, nor did he notice her hooking a headset around his ear, until he could hear her voice, crisp and loud this time, cutting through the racket.

"-you hear me now?"

Too loud!

"Keep moving, I don't want to be killed because you were languishing around."

"Val."

His lips stretched, the dry, abused skin breaking in fresh places, but there was no pain this time. White fire trickled down a corner of his mouth, leaking out from where it should have better be kept in. Nothing to do about that now.

"I have nothing to actually heal you. That stuff was too heavily guarded. Still, this will keep you on your feet for a few moments, if you hurry."

"Where are we going?"

Speaking was hard, even with that light filling him. It didn't replace moisture, just as it didn't heal his wounds. Every movement of his mouth impacted on other muscles in his face, tearing open scabs, pulling on stiff, bruised flesh. There was something wrong with his forehead. It felt empty, itching and burning through the fire that sustained him. He reached up to touch it and she caught his hand, shaking her head. It was hard to see the expression on her face through that impassive face shield showing only her eyes, but he thought it was pity. Her voice, when it rang out through his radio, was hard and cold, lacking all emotion.

"Out."

He would have expected there to be running guards, soldiers, anyone to keep an eye on the prisoners during a crisis, whatever that alarm was for. Instead, the hallways were devoid of people. He hadn't had time yet to look at himself, but the lack of people was probably just as well. There was no way anyone could take him for anything but what he actually was: an escaping prisoner.

They weren't moving fast. Try as he might, he couldn't run, not even with that boost in his veins. It could not overcome hard physical limitations, like broken bones. He had no idea what the full damage was and as just thinking about it made his vision swim; he thought it best he kept it that way.

"In here."

She pointed at the sliding doors of one elevator, and produced a keycard, which she swiped over the pad. The doors opened, and he stepped in, hesitating as he looked at the rows of buttons. Instead of pressing one, she swiped her card again, and the floor seemed to drop from out under his feet. The elevator-car stopped just as suddenly as it had started, and the jolt of it broke through the numbing bliss running through him.

"Sorry," she said against his protesting moan, but there was no remorse in it.

One of the back panels slid open, revealing a hidden door.

They walked through corridors that were a lot dimmer, lacking the flashing lights and even the siren horns were muffled. She pulled at his hand to keep him going, but he found himself flagging, no matter what she had given him. Did she have more? Could she give him more? He had no idea how long he could keep going, but he doubted it would be long.

"Almost," she said. "Hang on a bit longer and then you can rest."

Rest. That sounded wonderful. Rest, and peace, and—

He found himself leaning against the wall, hugging it tight, feeling the metal cool against his feverish skin. He knew he had to move, but he just... couldn't.

"Shit. Don't do this to me, Pat. Don't be this selfish. Move!"

He wanted to. He really did. With an effort that took ages, he turned his head and looked at her.

He knew he was smiling, even though there was nothing worth feeling happy about. This was it. End of the line. This was as far as he could go, take it or leave it. Soon the guards would find him, and then it was back into that hole with him. Maybe they would give him some time to recover before they went back to their favorite past-time of using him as a punching bag.

She glared at him through the dark glass, then turned away.

"Hyram," he heard her say, "come drag his lazy ass to where we need it."

Silence.

"He's crashing."

More silence.

"We don't have time. Be here, or I'll leave him to the vultures."

He looked up at her, that mad smile still plastered against his face. Up. That meant he was down. Weird, how could he not have noticed? He lay on the ground, staring up into her face, and she stared back, her eyes hard as agates now, and with the same amount of warmth. Her gaze stayed on him, unblinking, her pupils dilated to fill her irises to the max. He knew what that meant.

"Val," he tried, but the strength that had allowed him to walk and speak moments ago was gone.

What did you do? The thought bounced around in his head, unable to get out, unable to reach her. Besides, he thought he knew the answer.

The floor hummed with the vibrations of drumming boots. Giant boots. That could only mean one thing. The man that appeared in his field of vision was huge. Legs like tree trunks rose into the air, where far away another visored gaze glared down at him. His radio clicked, and then he heard a voice he had thought lost forever.

"Is he having his beauty nap?"

He tried to widen his smile and failed.

"Me carrying him will attract attention."

"Dragging his corpse will do that as well."

"Good point."

"We can't leave him here. I won't—"

Hyram reached down to him, and the movement seemed to take forever.

"I know," he said, and lifted him up in his arms like he weighed no more than a few books.

"Stay with us," the giant rumbled over the radio, holding him close to his armored chest. The chipped and cut edges pressed uncomfortably against his broken and exhausted body, but he had no way to complain. They were moving now, running through the hallways, risking discovery at every turn, but with him incapacitated, speed was more important than stealth. Every step send a bolt of pain into his body, as smooth and even as Hyram tried to keep his gait. The pain and the exhaustion won in the end, and a wave of darkness swept Patrick away.

When he came to, he was upright again, but not standing on his own. Softness supported him, something that pressed cool and soothing against his bare skin.

Wait—Where were his clothes? He hadn't been wearing much, nothing but filthy scraps, but still....

"Val!" he said, and was surprised to find that he could speak. There was a hint of that previous white fire in his face as he spoke. Temporary relief, he knew now. Best to make most of it while he could.

She came out from a behind tall metal pillar, frowning at a tablet in her hand.

"You'll be OK," she said, not looking at him. She no longer wore her helmet, but the glistening dark armor that covered almost all of her body was still there. It glistened even more wetly now, and he suddenly found that he didn't want to have a closer look at it. That silly sword he once gave her on a whim, was strapped against her back, and those small yet suspiciously deadly hatchets she preferred over the more reliable and powerful shooting options, hung in their slings at her hips.

"What's the plan?"

"Like I said. Getting out."

"And the rest? Did you get the rest of the crew—you got Hyram. How did you get Hyram? I thought he was dead?"

"Not dead yet," Hyram rumbled, striding into the room, dragging a heavy oblong shape.

"I got better. Hi there, boss! Don't worry, let Val do her thing."

Patrick tried to swallow down the sudden lump that had formed in his throat. Boss.

"Not... anymore," he said through his constricted throat.

"Sure you are, Patrick. Val, how's the connection?"

She still didn't look up from her tablet, instead glaring at it, as if she could frighten it into submission. Who knew, he thought, maybe she could. If anyone could, it would be her.

"Wavering. This room doesn't have enough juice. It's too old, to badly maintained. They must have forgotten about it for ages, and that means it isn't up to the standards anymore."

"Can't use the main hub anymore, it's gone."

"I know."

"Valerie. Val. Talk to me. I need—How did you—No." Patrick stopped himself, sighed, then started again. "If we're not staying, then we have to get everyone out. You know that. Once they no longer have me, they have no reason to keep them alive."

"We can't."

"We'll try, boss."

Valerie's head snapped around, fixing that terrifying glare on Hyram who spoke out at the same time as she.

"No!" She cut the air with one impatient hand. "No, we went over this. I've run the numbers. There isn't enough time, there isn't enough juice, and the temporal difference between the realms is too great. The risk is too great. We do that, we draw too much, they'll be able to trace us. They'll find us."

"How long would we have?" Patrick said.

"A few years, maybe more. If someone switches the channels after the translation, breaking them up and scattering the remnants across all the portals... that might slow them down. I don't know."

"Alright. Let's do that," he said and tried to step forward, but his legs remained firmly locked in place.Hyram beamed at him, exhaustion darkening his amber eyes, his golden curls dark with sweat and grime, plastered against his skull, but his smile... his smile was radiant, ready to evaporate any doubts or hesitations anyone might have.

"We'll find a way. I won't allow her to leave anyone behind."Valerie huffed behind his back, but he ignored her.

"I already sent several batches of pods through the portal, and most of the supplies. But they'll need you there. Every minute we dawdle here translates in months there. There is no time to lose."

"No! I'll stay until the last—"

"I'm sorry boss, but I respectfully disagree. They need you there, on the ground with them. You are the only one who can stand against that chaos. You'll see why shortly."

"What chaos? Our backup realm is safe, secure, we had everything we might ever need set up there a long time ago, so what chaos?"The low buzzing intensified, and the transparent lid came down with glacial speed.

"Sorry boss. World was compromised. We're taking another one."

"What?"

Patrick wrenched one hand free and grabbed the edge of the pod, blocking the lid from sealing itself hermetically shut on the pod.

"Dammit, Val, wait! Shoot me up with whatever you just gave me, I'll hold out long enough, I swear. We'll get them all out, together."

"Remove your hand," she said, razor-sharp ice forming on the edges of the words. "Don't think I won't break your fingers."

Hyram stepped in, winked, and then gently, without even a hint of effort, pried Patrick's fingers lose from the edge, allowing the lid hiss close.

"Move, you idiots!"

A girl barreled through the door, followed by a rain of angry sparks. Her blue hair whipped around in bright and colorful streaks as she dodged and wove, moving with a liquid grace around the projectiles aimed at her.

Something splattered across the now semi-translucent cover. Red. So much red. The heavy thud that followed seemed only an afterthought. Patrick stared up at the speckled dome, the slow realization creeping over him. Blood. That was blood.

"Val," the girl shrieked, "incoming! Get him out, now!"

Patrick watched as Valerie's gaze went from his pod to the door, and then to her tablet, her eyes moving from that icy coldness into something else. The tablet shattered against the wall, shards of metal and glass spraying in all directions. She was already moving, locking her helmet back in place, sealing it against her armor. The pod moved, slowly at first, then faster, and he saw more of them now, all around him, all of them lowering into horizontal positions before sliding towards a single point in the far wall.

No. Where the far all used to be. All there was now, was a swirling mass of purple... something.

He knew what it was, but seeing it after so long, was strange. It was alien, terrifying, like colorful tentacles twisting and knotting around each other, and then flicking out, reaching for the nearest pod, wrapping tightly around it and yanking it back. It looked alive, a monster from the darkest deeps. Something hungry, devouring all it took.

He swallowed nervously as he slid closer, trying twist his head from side to side, to watch Valerie and—was that Astara who just barreled in? Yes, it had to be her.

He heard the continuous hissing of venting air, and something else flowing in, replacing it. His breathing slowed, and he could hear the pounding of his heart now, loud against the sudden calm. He watched with growing lassitude through the darkening dome as the doorway exploded in a barrage of fire and debris, just as more people ducked through it, racing into the room. Their backs were towards him but he knew them. The spiky-haired twins moved back in well-practiced tandem, young as they were, firing into the hallway at whatever was following them.

Two men in the same glistening dark armor ran past them, herding a group of harried looking people towards the remaining open pods. One bolted as a bullet ricocheted off the table next to him, moved too close toward the roiling portal and screamed as a tendril snaked out, locked around his middle and snapped him back into it's waiting maw.

He could hear deep reverberating booms now, even through the isolating shell. Flames burst up from all around him, rolling over the ceiling in thick, angry clouds. His pod flipped upright, but he barely felt it anymore. Everything was... too far away. He wanted to keep his eyes open, to see what happened, but it was too much effort. He knew he should care. He knew these people, they were his friends, but his thoughts scattered like droplets of water through his fingers.

When the huge tentacle made of that violent purple energy slapped around his shell, he knew he should be terrified. It plucked and pulled at his pod, trying to get a better grip, trying to tear it apart, to get to the juicy goodness inside. Instead he watched, eyes slowly falling closed, impassive and uncaring. The seal was complete, he was safe, it would be alright. The pod breached the portal in the center of its maw, bursting through in to a world of hell, but he never saw more than a flash of it. As the world around him turned into a lava-filled nightmare of monsters and utter alien-ness, Patrick tumbled into that dark mercy that was unconsciousness.