Maine's eyes are locked on the edge of the cliff. Glazed over. Horrified. He hears North's voice, but it's muffled, like he hears it from underwater. Like he's drowning.
We're here, North says — but it's just North. Wash called for help, but Maine couldn't find him. He doesn't know where his friend is. All he knows is that Carolina is at the bottom of the fucking cliff.
He did this.
A different scene unfolds around them. Unlike the others, each intricate detail is crystal clear. A reflection of reality. A memory burned into Maine's mind. With it comes the knowledge that this isn't real; this is the past; nothing can be changed.
Maine is twenty-one. He's standing beside a Pelican. He's supposed to be watching the last of his squad board, but no one is moving. He and three other black clad Helljumpers are frozen in place, staring up at an impossibly bright beam of light shooting down from the sky.
The aliens are glassing the planet.
His mind is swirling with rage, terror, and despair. How can humanity survive against that? How the fuck are they supposed to win?
The scene changes.
He's sixteen. He's already bigger than everyone else in his squad. But he's small; he's so small compared to the Brute holding him in the air.
He's trying to get free. He's kicking and punching, but it doesn't even flinch. He's not strong enough. He's so fucking small, and he's not strong enough. Then the ape hauls its arm back and throws him and—
The scene changes again. It's a nightmare, blurred at the edges and sharp in the details of Carolina's face. She's powerful. Confident. Indomitable. His leader. He'd follow her through hell with a fucking smile.
And he's got her by the throat. He's holding her up in the air, and she's kicking and fighting, but he can't even feel it through the thick fur covering his arm. She's so small. It's so easy to lift her higher, pull his arm back, and throw her off a fucking cliff.
The scene changes again. They're back at the cliff. Carolina's twisted body is at the bottom.
He did this.
Maine's knees hit the ground. Bloody fingers dig into his scalp. He's trying to scream. Every effort tears his throat open a little more. Every breath is agony.
He's cold. He's so cold, and he's empty, and he destroyed his team. He destroyed everything he has. Everything that matters.
Warmth bleeds in at the base of his skull. A whisper of comfort. Companionship. He slides his hands over it and curls in on himself. Listening.
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We're here, North says — but it's just North. Wash called for help, but Maine couldn't find him. He doesn't know where his friend is. All he knows is that Carolina is at the bottom of the fucking cliff.
He did this.
A different scene unfolds around them. Unlike the others, each intricate detail is crystal clear. A reflection of reality. A memory burned into Maine's mind. With it comes the knowledge that this isn't real; this is the past; nothing can be changed.
Maine is twenty-one. He's standing beside a Pelican. He's supposed to be watching the last of his squad board, but no one is moving. He and three other black clad Helljumpers are frozen in place, staring up at an impossibly bright beam of light shooting down from the sky.
The aliens are glassing the planet.
His mind is swirling with rage, terror, and despair. How can humanity survive against that? How the fuck are they supposed to win?
The scene changes.
He's sixteen. He's already bigger than everyone else in his squad. But he's small; he's so small compared to the Brute holding him in the air.
He's trying to get free. He's kicking and punching, but it doesn't even flinch. He's not strong enough. He's so fucking small, and he's not strong enough. Then the ape hauls its arm back and throws him and—
The scene changes again. It's a nightmare, blurred at the edges and sharp in the details of Carolina's face. She's powerful. Confident. Indomitable. His leader. He'd follow her through hell with a fucking smile.
And he's got her by the throat. He's holding her up in the air, and she's kicking and fighting, but he can't even feel it through the thick fur covering his arm. She's so small. It's so easy to lift her higher, pull his arm back, and throw her off a fucking cliff.
The scene changes again. They're back at the cliff. Carolina's twisted body is at the bottom.
He did this.
Maine's knees hit the ground. Bloody fingers dig into his scalp. He's trying to scream. Every effort tears his throat open a little more. Every breath is agony.
He's cold. He's so cold, and he's empty, and he destroyed his team. He destroyed everything he has. Everything that matters.
Warmth bleeds in at the base of his skull. A whisper of comfort. Companionship. He slides his hands over it and curls in on himself. Listening.