Survivor's Burden

The recruits ran their laps with the eagerness of the untested. Caelan had been like that once. Now, watching them only left a bitter taste in his mouth. Donning his full uniform on a hot summer day didn't help his mood. The logical part of him kept reminding him how ridiculous he sounded.

But one can't help with how you feel.

"It's been a while, Professor." By instinct, the young man got to his feet into a salute, making the middle-aged man laugh in his rasp voice. "Last time I checked, you outranked me, Lieutenant."

"With all due respect, sir, you'll always be the Sarge." The man chuckled as he placed the weight of his body on the bench, a sigh of relief coming out of his body.

"Bah, just sit your ass down already." They kept the silence going afterwards, watching as the recruits did a new lap. "Heard you got your first encounter with the freaks in the field. You, Jenkins and… Makarov."

Jaw tensing up, Caelan focused on his breathing. Expressing how he felt wouldn't help anyone. "We did, yes."

"Nothing prepares you for how fucked up the Rot makes everything. Couldn't sleep for three weeks, when I first saw them." Sarge closed his eyes, fingers playing around his infamous coin. "This was days before we lost London to them. I still remember how the Big Ben crashed down when we evacuated the Royal Family."

"Ain't that an 'unfuckable situation' you loved to talk about so much?"

To that, he laughed, before a coughing fit took over his old body. "Damn, these old bones don't even let me have a good laugh." He wiped his mouth, handkerchief coming away stained with crimson. He glanced at it before tucking it away. Like he had done it a hundred times before. "Yeah, you could say that. But ya know the worst part?"

"No sir."

"The letters." The word hit Caelan like a punch to the gut. He'd been avoiding it, pretending the task didn't exist. But Makarov and Jenkins deserved better. "My whole unit got lost. Never felt so hard to scribble on paper as that day."

Caelan thought about how to best convey what weighed on him. "Any advice?"

A touch to the shoulder and a gentle squeeze came from his former trainer. "Don't try and make it sound heroic. Those boys died soiling themselves as the Rot started taking over. Don't give so much detail either. Just be honest and tell how they were."

Makarov, tall and reserved, unless it came to boasting of his little sisters. Jenkins, young and energetic, always had a dirty joke for any situation. They always butted heads during training. Not in the field, though. They were a well-oiled machine—until she watched him get eviscerated. That moment shattered her, and she lost all sense, charging at the horde.

Caelan ran through the words in his head like a mission briefing, but none of them felt right. "Does it ever get easier?"

"If it ever does, do me a favor—put a bullet right here." He then pointed to his own forehead. "At that point, you are no better than our enemies."

-----

Gasping, Caelan sat up from the bed, body covered in sweat. For a moment he expected to be back at the dorm. That the events of the last few hours had been a nightmare.

Instead, his heart sinks into his stomach. For instead of the school dorm, he lied in a double bed.

With a warm presence lying besides him.

"Good morning, Blood Sworn." Sam placed her hand on top of his. It looked so small, like a child's holding on an adult. "Had a nightmare again?"

"You…" His hands gripped at the bedsheets. The pain felt all too real. "How… are you here?"

"Sleeping in my bed?" She threw herself at his lap. Her weight felt just as it did a lifetime ago. "Recovering from what you did to me last night. You should really remember I'm not a superhuman like you." She pinched at his arm, cheeks puffed. The pain too felt too real. "I don't have endless stamina, for Christ's sake!"

She is not real. Even while he told himself that, he held onto her. A bear hug, like the ones Gramps gave. She hesitated for a moment, before wrapping her arms around him.

"Gosh, you want more? You sure are lucky I'm such a good wife, you know?"

The young man battled to keep tears from coming out. "I know. Should have told you that more."

"Then why didn't you?"

Whatever things spoke in that moment made his blood freeze. He turned to look at her, before pushing her away. Instead of Sam, a maggot-infested corpse gave offered a macabre grin.

"You left her alone. Over and over." The thing's voice became distorted, like a radio with static. "To fight all alone. She needed you and you kept running away on your…"

Caelan delivered a swift straight punch to its mouth. It crashed onto the floor like a stringless puppet. Before turning into Sam again, only younger. The same appearance she had right after she got infected. "How could you?"

One look to his hand and Caelan was no longer a seasoned veteran. Instead, only a fifteen years old, all again. He lost control of his breathing, his legs taking him out of bed. He ran, away from that thing and what it represented.

He bumped into Gramps, the impact sending him to the floor. A deep gash at his neck, head almost severed. "I knew I shouldn't have taken you in!"

Turning, he tried to escape the senior man. Only to bump into Andrews, his lower half missing. His intestines used as strings to prop him up to the ceiling. "Why couldn't you save us?"

Behind him, dozens of men and women. Some he fought alongside, others he lead. Once again, Caelan tried to ran away from them all, only to be held in place. Looking down, his stomach swirled as he watched pale hands holding him. They erupted from the ground, marred in the Children's symbols.

They pulled at him, sinking the soldier into the ground. He punched them, trying to free himself. Only made the process faster.

Utter darkness greeted him, where he released soundless screams. It felt like swimming in the deepest abyssal fissure.

He flailed his limbs, unsure if could move. With the urge to take a breath growing ever stronger, he fought. He tried to come up with a plan, a solution. Any sort of fix to all his problems.

You can't fix everything, Caelan.

The voice sounded distant, like spoken from across a river. He turned and turned, half-praying for a salvation he didn't deserve.

Pure purple eyes stared at him, baring his soul before them. I told you I would win in the end, didn't I?

Unable to hold back anymore, he took a deep breath.

-----

Imagine you fall into a mixer, but instead of dough it's filled with rocks. Now, try to picture said rocks weighting 10 kg each.

And even that wouldn't capture Caelan's agony.

Every single fiber of his being hurt. With every breath, a new torment. To think of moving was enough to make his stomach swirl. On top of all that, he had his throat dry as the summer desert.

With a ceiling fan rotating above him, he blinked a few times. To force his mind to work beyond the pain. If it hurts, I'm alive. I hope. Body shaking like a twig in the storm, he gathered his strength to turn his neck.

If he had to use one word to describe his vicinity, it would be "cluttered". Boxes atop boxes from the floor to the ceiling. Broken aethertec objects gathered rust all around too. Feels like Falkner's workshop. Unlike the Master of Creation though, every single thing looked spotless. As if tended with meticulous care.

"Would you look at that?" A male voice came from the other side of the bed. "You ain't as dead anymore."

With a deep breath and all his willpower, Caelan turned. He paused for a moment, his brain processing what he saw. A young man, not much older than Leopold, held a tray and a smirk. Clothes well-worn and patched here and there, but immaculate.

And he had what looked like wolf ears.

A Zoakri! Caelan thought back to his descent, going down into the Wastes. Guess I shouldn't be surprised to see one here. Looks friendly, but better be cautious.

The displaced tried to speak, only to release a hoarse cough. Each convulsion intensified his torment tenfold. "Easy there fella, don't strain yourself." With a gentle touch, he readjusted Caelan's head on the pillow. "Doc said you could be thirsty. Let us solve that pickle before we talk, deal?"

The displaced could only nod. Even that took all his energy, leaving him strained for air.

When the first sip came, Caelan felt like spitting it. A taste of sewage mixed with old socks massacred his mouth. With a chuckle at his grimace, the unknown man kept pouring it. "I only ever broke a bone once, you know? Mighty careful to avoid it. On account of trying to avoid this delightful taste."

"I can feel why…" The patient somehow managed to swallow it all. "Where… am I?"

"Now, that's a funny question." He filled another cup of the horrendous liquid. "I think you topsiders call this place the Wastes. Me? I call it home."

Caelan could feel his limbs going numb, the waves of hurt subsiding. "I take it that you saved me?"

"You very welcome, by the way." The way his green eyes shined when he smiled had Caelan blush. "You are one lucky son of bitch. I only ever go fish so early once a week. If I hadn't, you would be more dead than a piglet at a butcher."

"Thanks…" The bedridden man tried to sit down. His body protested until he gave up on the notion. "I… didn't catch your name?"

"Oh, where're my manners?" He slapped at his forehead, his wolf ears twitching. "I'm Nashoba, but everyone calls me Nas. Nice to meet ya."

"Likewise." The zoakri kept his eyes locked on him, as if expecting something. "Right, my name. I'm L…" The battered man paused, swallowed hard and then continued. "I'm Caelan."

Over the course of the next days, the displaced learned much. First, he had broken several of his bones in the fall. But thanks to the Doc, he seemed to be recovering well. Quite faster than usual, even with his miracle tonics. He did not elaborate on the reasoning when his savior asked.

Also learned the plane fell right at the edge of the closest floating island. The bastard got rid of all the evidence!

On the second day, Caelan couldn't hold back anymore. "You a mechanic?" He pointed towards the rest of the room with his neck.

The question had Nashoba's face go warmer. "Sorry 'bout the mess. Only bed I got is in here, so…"

"Oh, it's fine. My… grandfather had a room just like this one. So I got curious."

His wolf ears perked up. "Ah, yours too?" The young man bombarded the patient with questions. All while explaining how he liked to take things from the junkyard to rebuild. Something in his words clicked with Caelan, who felt at ease. For the first time in months. "Man, been a while since I met someone who gets it."

"I'm sorry?"

He gave a warm smile. "People 'round these parts ain't thinking of fixing junk, ya know? If it can't help with keeping folks warm and fed, it's not worth a damn."

The comment dropped Caelan's body temperature. "Life down here, how hard is it?"

Nashoba shrugged. "Better than topsiders think it is. Worse than it could be."

They did not touch on the subject any further.

By the third day, Caelan could get out of the bed. Albeit, with heavy assistance from his caretaker. Walking around the house after so long stuck in bed lightened his body. Nashoba showed him the rest of the cluttered house, with a warning. "Try not to go out or look out the window during the day."

Alarms bells rang inside Caelan's head. "Why is that?"

His new friend looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Doc's orders. Most Wasters don't take kindly to your people, know what I mean?"

Most of Caelan's unease went away. But not all of it.

When the fourth day rolled around, he could walk by himself. Heart heavy, he made his way to the only mirror in the building. To confirm what he already knew.

His beard looked messy and wild. Couldn't picture when he allowed it to grow so much. Sam always wanted me to grow it. Gramps always drilled the importance of a clean shave.

He had lost weight too. Metabolic stress response had that effect on most people. But the effects were too radical to be only that. Not to mention how his muscles had grown, which shouldn't happen.

The eyes had the clearest signs. Caelan felt dizzy at seeing them, the gold stained by the purple. Now anyone could notice it, with no way to hide it anymore.

He held on the sink to keep himself from falling. Back of the throat ached as he thought back on his world.

Can't run away from it any longer.

Once again, Caelan had Aberrant Degeneration Disorder. With the only other suspected case trying to murder him.

Emotions won't get you out alive. Focus. Assess. Survive.

He thought of the mysterious figure stalking him. Then, you hunt the bastard down. Put him down, this time for good.