[ The world tilts a little the way it does sometimes after a bomb goes off. The ringing in his ears is the same, Carver thinks distantly. There’s not even any pain, not right away. Just a strange, ringing stillness, Harold’s voice coming in and out, Harold’s eyes so very wide behind his glasses. This wasn’t part of the game plan, was it?
Carver lowers his hand slowly. His skull throbs. It barely counts as a wound. Dramatics, the commander hisses. Is this what we’ve come to? Sort yourself, son. That’s fucking pathetic. ]
Yes, sir, [ he agrees, half to Harold, mostly to his ghosts. The world’s still tilting. Going soft around the edges like rotting fruit. He’s sinned against the commander and that only ends one way. ] What are my orders?
no subject
Carver lowers his hand slowly. His skull throbs. It barely counts as a wound. Dramatics, the commander hisses. Is this what we’ve come to? Sort yourself, son. That’s fucking pathetic. ]
Yes, sir, [ he agrees, half to Harold, mostly to his ghosts. The world’s still tilting. Going soft around the edges like rotting fruit. He’s sinned against the commander and that only ends one way. ] What are my orders?
[ Please, God, give him an order. ]