A Slip

[Namira]

((Mikaela Warner continued from A Generation Lost in Space))

Mikaela could very nearly see the funny side of it.

Probably an odd thought to be thinking as she lay on the boards of the dock, blood seeping between her fingertips as she desperately choked for air.

But it was almost slapstick, and there was perhaps a sense of poetic irony that the first time she'd decided to walk with a weapon in hand, it had conspired to kill her.

A trip. A stupid trip on boards that hadn't been replaced in too long as she stepped onto the dock. The wood beneath her had splintered, sending her down with a shriek, leg trapped in the timbers... her hand had gone out to break her fall, but her motion was off-kilter, she'd fallen forwards... and with a jolt...

...The shuriken had lodged deeply in her throat.

Through some miracle, she'd managed to remove the wicked steel edge, but Mikaela knew that she didn't have long left. This kind of injury... this was survivable, theoretically. But when the only person in the vicinity of this place with any kind of medical knowledge was the one with the injury? With no supplies? Without a doctor? There wasn't a hope.

Mikaela closed her eyes.

If they all could've just... stuck together.

...If people hadn't wandered off, abandoned them...

If they'd stayed to the group...

They could have kept it together... they could have survived... or at least... not died in such a goddamn stupid way.

It would've been... so close.


RED #5: MIKAELA WARNER: DECEASED