companionwolf

As they enter the resource hub, another purple gash in reality opens— it spits out 3 Floaters, two of which narrowly dodge Tulip’s quick gunfire, and 2 Chrysalids, who come skittering across the dark green floor at the group.

“Oh, god, are those bugs?” yells Davey.

“Not exactly,” says PC as raises an arm and pushes the aliens back with a wave of Psionic energy, giving time for Davey aim and fire at one of them. It stops short as the plasma connects, yellow blood spewing across the ground. 

“Seriously, what is that?” he asks.

“Did you not pay attention to the alien types? That’s a Chrysalid,” says Espeon.

“No, that’s a bug!”

It clicks at them, an inhuman sound, and rushes at Espeon, who leaps away from its coming down legs onto a series of boxes. 

“Yeah, but it’s also an alien! Hence alien bug!”

“Is this really what surprises you?” asks the Spartan. 

One of the Floaters notices Espeon as she climbs to the top of the box stack, and PC barely has time to yell “Watch out!” before it fires. She dangerously teeters, avoiding the gunfire by a hair. 

The Chrysalid after her rams into the boxes, knocking them down as the Floater fires again, the plasma whizzing over her head. She struggles, swearing loudly, tail half caught by one of the boxes.

The Spartan engages the Chrysalid on top of her, bringing a foot down, shrugging off the plasma bolt the Floater sends into its shoulder. Davey fires, knocking the robot from the air; Tulip cheers him on, firing her own pistol and getting the attention of the second Chrysalid.

The other two Floaters rush Alex, who ducks into an alcove against the wall of the resource hub, and then picks up a box, throwing it at the robots. The box knocks one of them down, and in that moment Espeon, finally freed, spits out a Psybeam at the remaining Floater. 

Tulip fires as the second chrysalid hesitates in choosing who to rush, and it collapses to the floor, blood pooling around it. The Spartan stomps on the first Chrysalid once more for good measure, and runs over to Alex, where it snatches the last Floater still engaging them out of the air and crushes the arms of the robot in its hands, even as it fires, dropping it to the floor after. 

The Spartan rubs its burnt hands together and hisses, words to Alex PC can’t hear, but the human is nodding and looks relieved. He hurries to Espeon’s side, content that because Davey and Tulip are excitedly repeating their kills to each other, that they are alright. 

He picks her up, gently pats her head; she wiggles, kicks in his arms. “This is not therapy hour!” she shouts. “Let me go! Cake and grief counseling later!”

“I just got worried,” he says, and releases her; she drops to the floor with a huff.

“Don’t be,” she says. “We’re doing great.”

Too great, he thinks. The only injury so far is the Spartan’s burnt hands, and for them that’s hardly an injury…

As if they can hear his anxieties, the Elders speak up once again: “You’re doing very well. We find it endearing how you celebrate even the fall of tactless pawns…”

“That’s some GLaDOS shit right there,” Espeon says, shaking her head. “Don’t listen to ‘em.”

The Spartan nods. “Overconfidence kills more than just bodies,” it says. “Room by room, we go. Enemy by enemy.”

PC swallows hard. It can’t be this easy. It’s never this easy. 

Memories of not real never was flicker in his head, and not for the first time, he wonders if perhaps there is a tank, and there is a commander, but he’s got it wrong and in fact the tanked one is him and all of this is—

Breathe, says Eylion. 

He tries. The actions rings false false false not real not real not real—

Look, says Eylion, and brings his gaze across the ‘map’ to his friends, who linger at the far edge of the resource hub and peer into the next room. Beyond them he sees… plants?

A greenhouse, says the Ethereal.

Right, he thinks. A greenhouse… for what?

Experiments, maybe, says Eylion, but the words come with the sense of a shrug. Maybe they just wanted something of home. 

I miss home, PC thinks, and it’s the first time he’s really let himself say that. 

Fight for it, says the Ethereal. The battle remains as long as the Elders do.

He takes another breath, and tries to remember everything Alice has ever told him about managing anxiety. He squares his shoulders, feels the weight of the sword across his back, hears the soft hum of the complex and the quiet utterances of his friends. 

He takes the last few steps between himself and them, and the Spartan gives him a gentle thump just past where the hint of his sword rests, between the shoulders. 

“You ok?” asks Alex.

“Nervous,” he says.

“Yeah,” they say. “Me too.” They give him a smile. “So you’re in good company.” 

“Guess so,” he answers, and he’s smiling too. “Ready?” he asks the group, even though he doesn’t feel as prepared as he sounds.

“Oh, baby, you don’t even know,” says Espeon.

“Alright then,” he says. “Forward march.”