His vision blurred, swimming in and out of focus like a broken reel of film as he tried to make sense of the disorienting situation. For a moment, he was sure he was still dying—bleeding out, choking on screams that weren't leaving his throat. Slowly, the world around him sharpened into focus. He wasn't dead anymore. He could feel the hum of the station around him, the clanking of machinery and the soft whir of electronics.
His surroundings came into view: smooth, sterile metallic walls; overhead lights casting a dim glow; and consoles blinking with faintly familiar displays. The faint vibration beneath his feet told him he was somewhere in motion.
Roy blinked rapidly, his hand flying to his chest, then his arms, then his legs. Whole. Not torn apart. No blood. No pain.
"…What?" The word slipped out before he could stop it.
He staggered back a step, staring at the blinking monitors and the sterile lights overhead. On the main display, a black hole loomed in orbit—ESO 243-49, calm, eternal, impossible.
He was in a space station.
His stomach twisted.
No. No, this isn't right.
"I… I'm dead," he whispered. "I died. I remember—"
The axe. The screaming. The pain. His body should still be in that alley, cooling on the pavement.
So what was this?
"Is this… a dream?" The words sounded pathetic, even to him. But nothing else made sense.
The hum of machinery vibrated in his bones. The cold air bit at his skin. His heart slammed in his chest, too real, too steady for a dream.
But wasn't that what dreams always felt like?
Roy clutched the edge of the console, his knuckles white. The more he tried to ground himself, the more unreal everything became. His memories tangled together—his death, his regrets, the witch's smile—and now this.
This world felt solid, yet paper-thin. Real, yet fake.
He laughed weakly, the sound cracked and dry. "Yeah… no kidding."
The silence pressed back against him, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the ship's systems humming around him. He looked at the black hole outside, its spiralling darkness almost mocking him.
"This isn't… resurrection," he muttered, his voice trembling. "It can't be. Then what is it?"
Was he alive again? Was he still dying in that alley, hallucinating his way into madness? Or… was he somewhere else entirely?
The thought struck him like a whisper in the dark. Not resurrection. Not rebirth. Something else.
"Did I cross from one life to another, dragging… everything with me?"
He murmured, "That's stupid; thats all just fantasy and dreams…"
That's it; he must have been dreaming that whole thing up.
The comms panel crackled suddenly, making him jump.
"…Roy?" Kieran's voice. Hesitant. Distant. "Are you… talking to yourself?"
Roy blinked, his mind snapping back to the present, realising how unhinged he must've looked—muttering nonsense, staring at nothing.
"You're kinda freaking me out, man," Kieran added, trying to sound playful but failing to hide the unease.
Roy rubbed a hand over his face, shaking. "Yeah. Sorry. Just… thinking out loud."
Kieran was quiet for a moment, then his voice came softer. "Alright. Just… don't lose it on me, okay? We're already too close to the end."