Shine a Little Light on My Dark Day

[Slam]

((Lincoln Guenther continued from Burning Bright))

So Lincoln could still be knocked out as an orb. That was good to know, he guessed.

He had "awoken" several hours after the blast had sent him hurtling through the air. He had collided with a rock pretty hard, and that was enough to do it. He didn't feel any pain when he regained consciousness. If his orb, or rather himself, was damaged, then he had no way of sensing it. A slight upside, but really a downside, of not having a nervous system anymore. After all, it's not like he could inspect himself for obvious damage. You couldn't see wounds on your own eyeballs. But his vision seemed ok, with no blank spots, so he took that as a positive.

It took him a while to realise what was happening, because he was probably concussed. Or rather, as concussed as you could be without a brain to hit your non-existant skull, so maybe not? He was disoriented though, that much was certain. And it took him a while to get out of his disoriented state enough to realise that his sister had been heading into the compound that had just blown up and sent him fuck knows how far away.

"𝕊ℍ𝕀𝕋!"

He started rushing towards the shadow of the compound on the horizon, or at least what he really hoped was the compound, when the announcement kicked in. He listened.

Mercy wasn't dead. Thank fuck. Had he any lungs still, he would've sighed as much as one could sigh without passing out.

Yeah a bunch of people had died, and that fucking sucked, but his sister wasn't one of them. Right now, that was the main thing on his mind. He had to get back to her, convince her to calm the fuck down, and come up with their plan. He was fucking sick of this desert, even though he realised he didn't really feel hot or cold anymore, and he was sure she would be hating it a lot more than he was. After all, he may have died, but she was cooking from the outside in. Not fun.

Angling himself towards what he assumed was the rubble of the compound, he made tracks. Metaphorically, of course.

((Lincoln Guenther continued in Your Actions Have Consequences))