Fire Warrior

Начало книги

Is this real?

Someone, somewhere, is screaming. The world becomes phosphor and ozone; iridescent nebulae fire-bursting across the retina, purple and blue blemishes that gyrate then fade to black. A riot of percussive madness tears at the eardrums: angry chattering that pounds the air. Everything seems alive with its ugly, echoing resonance. Bolter fire.

I can’t feel my legs.

So: gather information. Analyse your surroundings. Commit details to memory. Concentrate.

The mind has been prepared for this. It is a fortress, impregnable and implacable. Use it.

There, directly above: a series of looping coils of ducting, once taut and efficient, now beginning to sag with the weight of years, smeared with desiccated rust, dribbling incontinently from elderly cracks and fissures. To the left, perhaps, something moving. Legs? Maybe. Colours are uncertain — a lifeless melange of pastels and blacks phasing in and out of the pain fog. Shadows and icicles. Metal clothing. Maybe blue.

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