Pain woke him first.Then cold.Then darkness.
Marcus inhaled sharply and instantly regretted it. His chest burned like it had been split open and sewn back together with fire. The air smelled metallic—wet iron and rot—and it clung to his throat like a film he couldn't swallow down. When he tried to move, white-hot agony lanced down his right leg.
"Shit—" The curse came out as a breathless rasp. He barely recognized his own voice.
He blinked. Black. Blinked again.
Faint, flickering green lit the far side of the corridor—if it was even a corridor. The light danced against curved walls, distorted by some kind of fog clinging low to the ground. Was it gas? Smoke? The vapors didn't rise, only hugged the metal floor like something alive.
His comm on his shoulder sparked once and went dead. The familiar static hum vanished. He turned his head slightly and winced as his HUD lens caught the movement, cracked and useless. He tapped it twice.
No signal. No route marker. No name tags.
