Pain.

  He had a ferocious headache.

  Dark.

  ...I'm supposed to be doing something.

  Pause.

  I don't wanna. Gonna take a sick day, Mom.

  Blackness.

  So tired.

  ...not supposed to sleep when you hit your head.

  ...did I hit my head?

  He waited, but no one answered.

  Did I hit my head?

  Still no answer.

  I guess they can't hear me.

  ...I'm really uncomfortable.

  Slowly, he became aware that he was hanging by a couple of straps. He couldn't imagine why. Everything was dark.

  Everything hurts. Why isn't someone coming?

  Wait, was I in a car accident?

  Drowning? No.

  On fire? No.

  Can breathe? I can, but it sucks.

  Oh, good, I don't have to run away from the about-to-explode car like in a movie. No rush, then.

  ...this is really uncomfortable.

  … I think I said that already.

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  Did I say that already?

  ...did I say what already?

  What was I saying?

  His thoughts drifted for a while.

  Don't fall asleep! A part of his brain yelled.

  Too loud, answered the rest.

  Head feels like it's gonna explode. Too much pressure.

  I'm hanging my head down. I should lift my head.

  Stars, fireworks, flashbangs. Vomit.

  A long pause.

  Don't do that again.

  Pause.

  Where am I?

  That question was much too hard, so he left it alone.

  How do I make the explodey pressure in my head stop?

  A vague notion of releasing a seat belt drifted through his mind.

  Am I wearing a seat belt? I'm wearing a seat belt.

  Undo the seat belt.

  Wait.

  What happens when I undo the seat belt?

  I'm gonna fall.

  No. Bad idea. Don't fall.

  Hang onto something.

  The seat belt.

  Wrap it around my arm? No, my arm'll break, that'd hurt.

  Just grip it.

  Vomit.

  Don't be a wuss. Grip it, and undo the seat belt.

  “AAAAAAHHH! FUCK! FUUUCK!”

  It hurt so bad he woke up.

  It turned out he didn't have far to fall. There wasn't much headspace.

  “Fucking shit fuck. Fucking dumbass. Fuck. FUCK this hurts!”

  Nick was lying on something very hard and bumpy. Ow.

  Trying to gather his wits, he thought, well at least I didn't—

  Fireworks. Flashbangs. Pain. Vomit.

  A few minutes later, he thought feebly –hit my head.

  He gathered his strength for a minute.

  Okay, that sucked ore deposits through a garden hose.

  Don't. Move. Nick. You. Dumbass.

  Even thinking that hard was physically painful, as was trying to remember the accident itself. And looking to the left, for that matter.

  Did anybody get the number on that jersey? Or truck?

  ...Wait.

  Where the fuck am I? Why is it pitch black?

  What's the last thing I remember that doesn't hurt to remember?

  Where was I? I was in the middle of something.

  I was gathering element 23.

  Why was I gathering element 23? Petra must have needed it for something...Petra!

  Nick opened his mouth with difficulty, and whispered, “Petra?”

  Silence.

  Oh, this isn't good. This is very not good. This is the veryest notest goodest that ever happened. Thing.

  Fuck, I have a concussion.

  Nick decided to repeat that to himself for a while.

  “I have a concussion. I have a concussion. I have a concussion. I have a concussion.”

  Finally, the thought didn't threaten to go away any more the moment he stopped thinking it.

  Nick woke up.

  Shit. Don't fall asleep, dumbass. He opened his mouth and enunciated carefully. “I have a concussion. Don't fall asleep, dumbass.” He felt proud of making it through two whole sentences.

  He tried to gather his strength. He was not in good shape.

  Okay. What's going on?

  I'm injured. I'm in Rockhunter, I think. It's totally dark, like utterly. Goths would swoon. “God damn, why does even thinking—that word—hurt? Makes no sense.”

  He took a breath. Is it my imagination, or is it getting stuffy in here?