Yeah... maybe. [ Simon falters. ] Look, if this is...
[ He doesn’t like the implication, not that he can fault Hank for making it. But if this is real—
(will this hurt?)
Because the mermen are. They weren’t headed in here to rescue them from an imaginary dimension. What if Astoria was lying? He doesn’t even care that this is after the crash, that even if this is real he has eight weeks to live in it. He could figure something out. There had to be something, something that would go right that didn’t the first time.
(it’s just a scan)
For a moment the chalkboard is in familiar-unfamiliar handwriting
Be quiet! The Proxy listens
(it will hurt just as much)
and the camera flashes.
(as having your picture taken.)
And like Simon, Hank will see horizontal lines tear and dance across his vision, like a tape being rewound. Then he blinks, and everything is different.
The overhead lights flicker unevenly, the whole place reddish, like they're standing in the guts of some sort of cold, industrial creature. The only sounds are the rumbling of turbines and whirring of ventilators. The camera in Hank's hand is gone, and in its place is some sort of handheld computer.
This, after five whole minutes of normalcy. Where he thought that maybe— ]
No—
[ his voice rises, but barely above an incredulous, and then angry, inside voice. ]
—no, no, fuck— God damn it.
[ He should really be holding it together for the guy who's never been here before and is in for the worst acid trip imaginable, but he can’t help lashing out at the ludicrous levels of cruel bullshit that this is. ]
no subject
[ He doesn’t like the implication, not that he can fault Hank for making it. But if this is real—
Because the mermen are. They weren’t headed in here to rescue them from an imaginary dimension. What if Astoria was lying? He doesn’t even care that this is after the crash, that even if this is real he has eight weeks to live in it. He could figure something out. There had to be something, something that would go right that didn’t the first time.
For a moment the chalkboard is in familiar-unfamiliar handwriting
Be quiet!
The Proxy listens
and the camera flashes.
And like Simon, Hank will see horizontal lines tear and dance across his vision, like a tape being rewound. Then he blinks, and everything is different.
The overhead lights flicker unevenly, the whole place reddish, like they're standing in the guts of some sort of cold, industrial creature. The only sounds are the rumbling of turbines and whirring of ventilators. The camera in Hank's hand is gone, and in its place is some sort of handheld computer.
This, after five whole minutes of normalcy. Where he thought that maybe— ]
No—
[ his voice rises, but barely above an incredulous, and then angry, inside voice. ]
—no, no, fuck— God damn it.
[ He should really be holding it together for the guy who's never been here before and is in for the worst acid trip imaginable, but he can’t help lashing out at the ludicrous levels of cruel bullshit that this is. ]