His vision blurred, swimming in and out of focus like a broken reel of a 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 his own 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 pure white light; and consoles blinking with familiar displays. The faint vibration beneath his feet told him he was somewhere in motion.
Roy blinked, his hand flying to his chest, then arms, then legs. He was whole. Not torn apart. There was no blood or 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, and 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.
IT WAS ALL REAL.
His body should still be in that alley, cooling on the pavement.
But did that all really happen? If all of that really happened, why was he here then?
"Is this… a dream?" The words sounded pathetic, even to him. But nothing else made sense.
Or could it be that it was a dream all along?
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? Actually, I and he don't even remember anymore.
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, and that witch's smile.
And now this.
This world felt solid, or was it that this or that world felt solid? Was this the dream or that the dream? Honestly, Roy was absolutely confused.
This was real, yet fake.
He laughed weakly; the sound was 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 looking back at him, almost mocking him.
Roy then started thinking to himself, 'This can't be resurrection, as I would have to be alive in my own body.' Roy has had this feeling ever since he woke up that this was not his own body.
He felt that his left hand was more dominant than his right, and he had another hairstyle, and everything just felt wrong to him.
If it is not resurrection, then what is it? Was he alive again? Or is this a made-up land of the brain just before it dies? Was Roy actually still dying in that alley, but his mind was just hallucinating his way into madness?
Or … Was he somewhere else entirely?
The thought struck him like a whisper in the dark. It's not resurrection; it's not rebirth; it's something else that can't be named.
"Did I cross from one life to another… Or was I …"
"Ok, that's stupid; thats all just fantasy and dreams…" He murmured.
That's it; he must have been dreaming that whole thing up.
All of that was just a dream, simply put, a nightmare.
The comms panel crackled suddenly, making Roy jump.
"... Roy?" a man's voice. Hesitant. Distant. "Are you… talking to yourself?"
Roy blinked, his mind snapping back to the present, realising how unhinged he must've sounded. Muttering nonsense.
"You're kind of freaking me out, man." The man 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."
The man 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."