Otherside

[FactualDonkey]

The last thing he remembered was pain.

The pain of the eviscerating mass of infestation swallowing his being whole.

Of the piercing tendrils that wrought havoc through his heart, limbs, and skull.

Of seeing those he held closest fight tooth an nail helplessly to free him from his shackles.

Of saying goodbye.​

It was overdue, however. Low life expectancy's a fate all too unfortunately common in his line of work. At least he went out making some modicum of difference.

Hopefully, anyways. To challenge such a hivemind was a fool's errand. A being oh so terribly powerful but oh so pathetically arrogant to torment lesser creatures for some sick sadistic game. It was a petty god among men.

A god which he relished in his final moments bringing to its knees as the two of them were torn apart in a singularity of destruction. To have its vast array of enslaved consciousnesses cry out in fear of the inevitable reminded him of his sleepless nights. Of when the hivemind first infected him. Of when he knew there was no escape from the grave it pulled him into. But himself? He accepted it as he prepared to see the end. To feel the pain through his body fade along with his existence.

He was tugged further and further. He could not tell for how long... It felt so instantaneous yet so infinitely far away from the last time he saw the light.

He felt his stinging pain erupt once more from his wounds as his eyes opened to the cold, metallic floor of a facility. Unknown to him or his memories. He couldn't help but scream, desperately patting himself down for his wounds. Yet none were felt. What once was a gaping hole was now padded Kevlar marked with the stench of burning flesh. Right as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, he blacked out again.

His pain persisted. Dull, but present. It flared gradually. More and more until it set him ablaze, erupting from his chest and leg. He screamed as the light burned into him.

How much more torment would he have to endure before that hivemind would die with him? It assaulted him with more visions now. The cold facility came into clear view with a white hulking beast approaching his being. An Overwatch Unit. He couldn't move away. He felt his service weapon next to him, clearly still having his SPAS-12 from his mission.

Forming his anguish and anger into words, he raised his shotgun as he roared.

"I"

"Won't"

"Ever"

"Let you"

"LIVE!"
​

He fired at the abomination with all he was cable of before collapsing once more. His vision was inconsistent, focused on the metallic blues of flooring as he felt himself being carried somewhere. The muffled shouts and gunfire were incomprehensible to discern. Like hearing them underwater.

He snapped out of it when his head hit metal as yet another Elite Unite entered his vision. It was beating someone, but he couldn't make out who. Probably another sickening vision forced upon him by the accursed being in an attempt to end its destruction. He brought his shotgun up once again, and fired.

The Elite refused to fall. His frustration of fighting this accursed think for months, along with the blinding pain through his being sent him over the edge.

"YOU FUNGAL BASTARD! I'LL CUT YOU DOWN!"​

He reached for his AK. He couldn't remember when he picked it up, but it was likely a souvenir from one of the cadavers in Vienna's tunnel system. Maybe a dead rebel's. But a gun was a gun, and he intended to use it. He opened fire, reciting his vow to the hivemind again and again in audible fury.

He gave his life for them. He wouldn't let it take them. He fired at the advancing unit until its boot came square to him in the face, sending him to void.

When he next came to, he was staring at the sun seeping through the cracks of a boarded window. He was laying in some sort of impromptu medical bed.

Strange. He could've sworn they entered Vienna during the winter. Not the spring. He rubbed his eyes only to stop and examine his fingers. Slimmer than he remembered, and miraculously, he has all his fingers. No scarring...?

No prosthetic to make up the lost digits on his left from the bombings?

No tattoo on his right?​

He attempted to get up only to be cast back to his bed. His leg was badly damaged, and visibly bandaged. What's left of it anyways. He reached over to the side of the bed and found a small wash basin. Likely for bandages. He caught a glimpse of a reflection in the pool.

He edged closer until he stared flatly down into the pool, emerald eyes staring back into his.

Eyes that weren't his-

A face that wasn't his-

He heard a nearby door creak open with the shuffling of footsteps, but he could do nothing except stare, mouth agape at the reflection.

Who... Wait... Is that...?

As he recognized the facial features, a voice called from behind him: a verbal confirmation of his suspicions.

In unison. They spoke the name:

"... Reyes?"​