The drunk man looks at the gun, seemingly confused, then looks back at me, mouth agape. He drops the gun, turns to run as Bradley hits him hard in the face with the ashtray, sending the muscled moron to the…
Alliterative abilities failing. This isn’t good.
I look down, and the hole in the left of my chest looks…
Knees buckling, legs giving out. Somehow I feel my knees hitting the pavement more than I felt getting shot.
I definitely feel it as I faceplant, my right eye impacting hard on the unyielding ground.
And then I feel nothing.
Which, really, probably isn’t a good sign.
I wake slowly, drifting in and out of consciousness a few times before I realize I’m awake, and even when I’ve figured out that I am, in fact, awake, I lie there, struggling with the thought for a while.
I’m not sure why, but something about being awake is bothering me. Like I shouldn’t be? Like I should be something else.
Right. I got shot. That was unpleasant, I think. I can’t really remember…
Do I even remember getting shot, I wonder as I stare up at the bright white ceiling above me. The panels in the ceiling look familiar, but the grey and white haze that’s floating across my mind, across my vision, it’s making it hard to think, hard to connect thoughts, hard to see, like the neurons in my brain are struggling to fire, struggling to hit their target, but they’re like stormtroopers in Star Wars, completely unable to hit anything.
Well, they seem to be hitting something… I know Star Wars is a thing, but… it’s not a thing I remember? Is it a thing I’ve invented, just now, as I lay in a hospital bed in an Endeavour?
Yes, that’s where I am. I’m… I’m safe. I’m home. No-one’s come to see me yet, not even Penn, but that’s okay. Maybe they think I’m still asleep.
I gag and choke as I try to call out. My mouth is held open, my throat filled with a large feeding tube. It’s…
I can’t breathe. Before I knew it was there, I was fine. Now that I know it, I feel it, feel it invading my throat, feel it choking me.
My arms strain against the restraints as I grasp for leverage, as I try to grab onto the tube that’s violating me so.
I barely even consider that I’m restrained as I manage to get a handhold on a part of the long tube, slowly, agonizingly pull it of my mouth.
I feel it sliding against my trachea, inch by squirming inch; inch by choking inch. And then it’s out, falling to the floor beside the bed I’m in, and I look around. Really look around.
The bed I’m on is small, dirty. Not at all like the clean and sanitized beds of the Endeavour. Bloodstains on the drapes dividing my bed from others are…
I struggle against the restraints, twisting and turning till I manage to tear my left hand through, losing chunks of skin in the process. I undo my right arm, then my legs, and I swing off the side of the hospital bed, aiming to stand, pulling out tubes in my nostrils and arm as I sit, waiting.
I have to take this slow. My mind is barely connecting things right now; my legs aren’t likely to be happy with me.
It takes me full, agonizing minutes to stand, legs wobbling like I were some towering goo construct, some monolith of jello, set to collapse at any second.
I move the bloodied sheets aside slowly, peering out over what should have been the medical pod of an Endeavour.
Instead, it looks more like a morgue. Dozens of bodies, some on beds, some just laying on the ground, all attached to feeder and arm tubes.
Where the hell am I?
Find out more about Dannet’s fate next time, on Endeavour Episode 22, ‘The Other Side of Life’