The Hunt Begins.

[Dusty Lens]

The door slammed, William rolled over and was quite pleased to find a ledge, over which he was immediately sick. The act of rolling over didnt aid much in the settling of things and vertigo quickly robbed him of any future plans that didnt specifically involve staying very still.

When it seemed like some manner of order had returned to the dark he cautiously moved his hands to his eyes, removing the medical tape holding the lids in place, the sudden intrusion of light through the lids caused a horrendous ache, resulting in another round of violent nausea.

As he laid on the unyielding metal table Will attempted to piece together the path that led him here, it seemed that all would come to mind was maddening day after day of being hopelessly trapped in the cockpit of his broken ship, dying slowly as he drifted amongst blinding shards of ice. His suit had worked to keep him alive, his suit had prevented him from dying. The damn suit wouldnt even let him bite off his own tongue, forcing him to endure day after day of the agonizing purgatory.

At least now he understood the pain in his eyes.

What happened before that He attempted a cautious blink, what resulted was as painful as it was blurry, but it was sight.

He had to contact Captain Richards and the other members of delta squad, damn everything else for the moment. But he wasnt going to stand trial and be turned to plasma to salve Libertys wounds, to that affect he had to avoid finding his way through the upcoming days without ending up in irons.

He sat up and opened his eyes. Today and tomorrow might be dictated by the man to whom, admittedly, he appeared to owe his life. But whos to say in the days after.

Twenty minutes later he stood dressed at the door of the chamber and palmed the touchpad. Another day to keep living.