I think in time we’ll come to see what we’re doing in places like these less heroically... I think we’ll come to see ourselves less charmingly. I think in time we’ll come to be ashamed of some of the things we have done.
He felt cold, heavy. His chest rose and fell so slowly you wouldn't have known he was still breathing. Each labored pull felt like rough grit was filling his lungs. Mansk couldn't see, unsure if his eyelids were even open. He felt so heavy, a pressure pressing down on every cell.
Where was he? The ground was cold, hard... metal? It was metal he thought. The boat? Yeah he'd been on the boat. They'd caught those kids and then it was dark and...
He couldn't remember. Just flashes of gun fire. Had he seen the others? The humans he fought beside had gone down. Then it was him and the enemy. Did he fall? Yes. He remembered falling and hitting the ground. The pain had been so intense but then the fog rolled in. A numbness had overtaken him, cool waves of it washing down his limbs, tingling in the farthest nerves.
The ground was warm now. A warmth that rushed over his body, pushing him with it. He was falling again, gently this time. Floating along with this gentle heat, letting it take him with it.
His body remained surrendered in it even as something caught the railing and he was jolted to a stop. The water continued to rush through the sinking vessel, pushing hard against him as it pushed over the edge. The clasps of his gear snapped open, sending Mansk's limp body over the edge and into the ocean bellow.
The warmth of the day lingered in the water as it pulled him down. A current taking him away from the sinking vessel. Without his heavy gun or armor his body floated back to the surface and the waves took him away.
Mansk became aware in stages. First he felt the hot sand, his skin burning and scraping against him. Then a soothing balm of ocean water lapping up and pushing him further onto it. Then the glare of the sun, the blur of blue sky above him as his eyes strained open. The coppery taste of blood in his mouth mixed with salty brine. Then a pleasant smell, warm spice.
Finally his ears cleared of water and the sound of waves and a voice reached him. A voice? Mansk tries to will himself to move, to push past the crushing weight still pinning him. The numbness was passed and the pain shoots through him.
Despite himself he groans, eyes screwing back closed. In the dark again he writhes in the pain. He twists in the sharp grains of sand, the tiny shards pressing against his wounds. There is something warm on his arm stilling him. A gentle pressure soft as silk caressing up to his neck. It brushes against his brow and he finds himself leaning into the contact.
The weight in his skull presses against his consciousnesses. He feels his senses fail him again. A welcoming inky pool submerging him once more. He pries his eyes open once more in a herculean effort and its worth the pain.
Above him hovers an angel, he's sure of it. Nothing else could be so beautiful, so calming. It's brow is creased in concern. He wishes nothing more than to reach up and smooth the line away from the perfect face. He remains still and his vision clouds again, back to the silent depths.
[FIERI: For the old favorites... It's the best. ...and everyone would talk about failure and desertion. Kind of like walking into home. Good drinks and good food.]
