The dust and the strange fixed moon had been bad enough. The storm had been worse, freezing rain and water rising around him, and he wasn't afraid, he'd lost the ability to be afraid a long time ago, but the thought of plunging into the dark water, metal bones weighing him down, a slow and painful death as his lungs and heart exploded, healed, exploded again --
Nah.
So he'd headed inside. And then the world had broken.
The stench of reality rotting coats his tongue, the back of his throat, along with the taste of acid bile. He's already retched up what little he'd found to eat, the swooping vertigo and the uneasiness of his healing factor playing his body like a worn-out fiddle.
He isn't so much walking along the corridors as lurching from wall to wall, digging his fingers into the walls to stay upright, clawing out handfuls of splinters and rotten plaster. The sun glints through the windows, fracturing light off of the mirrors that line the halls and spraying it into his eyes, so he has to squint them almost shut.
This isn't hell. He's been to hell. But this must be pretty damn close.
ii. fractures - escape room - open
At first, Logan tries breaking the mirrors, mostly because he can. And because he feels like it. And because it's satisfying to break some part of this maddening reality.
He's tried attacking the walls, flying at them with teeth and claws like a rat in a trap, but the wounds he makes heal up around him. He's starting to realise how annoying that is.
Eventually he subsides, exhausted, mind and body running on empty. He kneels in the middle of the room he's ended up in, hands palm-up on his thighs, and closes his eyes. Tries to scrape up an old meditation technique, imagining Mariko's voice in his ear, telling him to be calm.
LOGAN | MARVEL
The dust and the strange fixed moon had been bad enough. The storm had been worse, freezing rain and water rising around him, and he wasn't afraid, he'd lost the ability to be afraid a long time ago, but the thought of plunging into the dark water, metal bones weighing him down, a slow and painful death as his lungs and heart exploded, healed, exploded again --
Nah.
So he'd headed inside. And then the world had broken.
The stench of reality rotting coats his tongue, the back of his throat, along with the taste of acid bile. He's already retched up what little he'd found to eat, the swooping vertigo and the uneasiness of his healing factor playing his body like a worn-out fiddle.
He isn't so much walking along the corridors as lurching from wall to wall, digging his fingers into the walls to stay upright, clawing out handfuls of splinters and rotten plaster. The sun glints through the windows, fracturing light off of the mirrors that line the halls and spraying it into his eyes, so he has to squint them almost shut.
This isn't hell. He's been to hell. But this must be pretty damn close.
ii. fractures - escape room - open
At first, Logan tries breaking the mirrors, mostly because he can. And because he feels like it. And because it's satisfying to break some part of this maddening reality.
He's tried attacking the walls, flying at them with teeth and claws like a rat in a trap, but the wounds he makes heal up around him. He's starting to realise how annoying that is.
Eventually he subsides, exhausted, mind and body running on empty. He kneels in the middle of the room he's ended up in, hands palm-up on his thighs, and closes his eyes. Tries to scrape up an old meditation technique, imagining Mariko's voice in his ear, telling him to be calm.
Just be calm.