What: Arrival Where: Near the portal When: This afternoon Warnings: Vague illusion to (canon) suicide, otherwise TBD Status: Closed, Ongoing
One minute he was in the bunker, gun in hand, a million and one thoughts jumbled up and crashing into each other in his head. And then he was outside, in the desert, still holding the gun, too many thoughts running through his head, careening off each other and slamming into the brick wall of shock and confusion. He'd been underground for so long, he didn't even know how long, that the sun burned his eyes. He raised a hand to shield his face, the last shreds of his sanity flittering away on a nonexistant breeze, making him wonder if he had actually gone through with pulling the trigger and this was some kind of manifestation of his dying brain.
The sound of an animal howling somewhere in the distance jerked him back to the present. He started, one foot stepping forward as if to catch himself and maintain his upright posture. He shifted his hand to rest above his eyes, allowing him to look out toward the horizon. A slight turn, and he realised he wasn't alone. "The fuck are you?" he asked. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears because he was exposed to the open, not stuffed in some hole in the ground. There were no walls to contain the sound, and he barely recognised it as his own voice at all.
It didn't help that his hand over his face and the burning brightness of the sun cast the other person into shadow. He felt entirely off balance and disoriented and vulnerable. He shifted his posture, shifted the gun into a more threatening hold. He knew how to use it, he wasn't afraid to fire it.