indi _ ice

Everything went black for a split second before it exploded back into existence.

Swamped by pain of the highest calibre,  he laid there on the cool grass, gasping in air that tasted of smoke and copper.

His left hand stung with the leftover phantom touch of another; the stranger he'd been riding with, torn from his side so hard that it burned. He had tried to hold on to them but the crash's momentum had proven superior, and gravity took no prisoners. Their screams still rang in his ears. He hadn't even known their name.

Warmth pooled from his chest and abdomen and seeped past the tears in his clothing, making the fabric stick to his skin. In the distance he heard people shouting, their voices far enough to know that he had landed some ways away from the fray of activity and destruction.

He tried to lift his head, to survey the his injuries, but the pain was too great. His vision swam.

High above him Surge's metal structure was a shadow, overlaid by ghost-grey smoke. It loomed like a beast, broken but still standing - unlike him. He shut it out by closing his eyes, tears running down his temples, his breath coming fast and shallow.

Blood bubbled up from inside his throat and a cough rocked him, causing agony to tear through his chest. He would've cried out if his mouth hadn't been fast filling with blood.

I'm dying. The certainty of that thought was shocking. I'm dying right now.

Vincent wasn't religious, had never believed in God, but right then he prayed. Prayed to live to see another day. For there to be an end to the pain. For someone to save him.

Seconds later, the sound of footsteps approaching. His eyes snapped open and fought to see through the blur of pain, salt and fumes. A silhouette appeared, obstructing his view of the smoky sky.

The figure - a man whose features Vincent couldn't discern in the dark - crouched down to inspect him.

"You're the only one still alive," the man said in a soft, accented voice. "But not for long. These injuries of yours are quite fatal, I'm afraid."

Vincent tried to respond - to ask for help - but his mouth produced nothing but a wet choking sound. The man reached out and gently swept the hair from Vincent's face, the strands wet with blood and sweat. Those cool fingertips lingered on his forehead; the only thing that didn't hurt.

The man sighed sadly. "Such a waste."

Please, Vincent wanted to say. Please. But his voice was traitorously absent.

There were now wailing sirens in the distance but he knew it was hopeless. He could feel himself fading, the world growing dimmer by the second.

"Although, maybe..." The stranger leaned down, face becoming clearer with proximity. His eyes had an unnatural shine, bright enough for Vincent to see his reflection in them.

Hands slipped beneath Vincent's prone form. As he was lifted from the ground there was a flash of excruciating pained, and he heard his spinal cord snapping before everything below his neck went numb.

"I am sorry," the man now cradling him murmured. "It will be fixed soon."

And then they were moving fast enough to mimic the rollercoaster. Nausea rose, and for a terrifying moment Vincent though that he would choke on his own vomit, but none came up his burning throat.

When the man came to a stop they were no longer near the Surge. Or anything else, for that matter.

In the far distance, Wonderworld's lights gleamed from in between the gaps in the trees. All those lights... They were so pretty. Vincent blinked his heavy lids, vision losing focus. His teeth began to chatter. He was suddenly so cold. 

"All right, child." The man knelt in the earth, still holding Vincent in his arms, and tugged down his right sleeve. Blood bloomed when the man bit into his own wrist. It dribbled over Vincent's lips and chin as the man held it over his face. "Drink now."

Vincent's mind was too foggy to question or resist and so he parted his lips and the man's blood fell into his mouth, mixing with his own. He swallowed it with a grimace.

"Good," the man rumbled. "Take more."

His open wrist pressed against Vincent's lips with insistence, almost smothering him, and being unable to move his head Vincent had no choice but to open his mouth wider and choke as more blood trickled in. It was salty and bitter, but cold instead of heated like blood was supposed to be, and it was doing something to Vincent's body that he couldn't understand. As he drank, an anomalous sensation began to spread and build in intensity.

Confused and frightened, a small whine left Vincent's nose.

"Shhh," the man hushed him softly. "Almost done."

The man pulled his wrist away a moment later, that same hand then slipped beneath Vincent's chin. Helpless, Vincent stared up as his head was tilted back.

The sky was darker here, Dahlia's light pollution less prominent. The trees were black jagged shapes in the foreground. 

It wasn't the worse view. It was quiet nice, actually. Peaceful. Vincent wasn't so worried now. Everything had become fuzzy, the numbness in his limbs allowing him to sink into the inevitable. His life was over, so why bother fighting? 

Then something cool and wet was at his neck, then something razor-sharp was slicing into his flesh. Fresh pain bloomed and a scream tried to escape, but it was halted by a hand clamping down over his mouth.

Fuck, when would this night end? 

There was a nauseating pulling sensation. Tears burned in his eyes and sobs interrupted his hitching breaths until there was no longer the energy for them.

Gradually - or perhaps not gradual at all - what little life he had left was siphoned from him, and he succumbed to the darkness.