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The Mental Break (Revised)

I took a step towards Private Dominskev as he began to stir again, my footsteps cautious but filled with concern. My boots felt heavy on my feet as though filled with steel, the dim light of the tunnel cast long shadows across us all, emphasizing the weariness we all felt.

“Dominskev, you okay?” I asked, dropping to my knee beside him. His eyes flickered open briefly before rolling back into his head, after a moment his eyes blinked open again, struggling to focus on my face for a moment. A slight trickle of blood fell down his ashen face from where he had collided with the floor. It was clear to me that he was disorientated and likely had a concussion.

He nodded his head weakly and winced in pain. “Yes Commissar, I just…My head hurts a little bit. I should be okay.” I offered him my arm and he took it and pulled him upright sitting on the floor leaning with his back against the wall. The Corporal joined us, fishing a small canteen of what I assumed to be water from his pocket.

He took a sip and we chuckled with amusement as he started coughing on the drink “What is this stuff” he managed to say, spluttering his words as he did so.

“A little surprise that keeps me going!” Rahmam chuckled to himself wryly and took his canteen back.

It was a relief to see that the Private was going to be okay, at least for the moment. He took a few deep breaths and staggered to his feet with a visible effort. Using the wall of the corridor to steady himself, he managed to regain some of his balance. “Take it slow” I warned, reaching out an arm to steady him, the Corporal offered a supportive arm and together we helped keep him balanced. The sounds of battle and chaos still echoed faintly in the distance, another poignant reminder of the situation we found ourselves in. As we moved forward, our determination remained unwavering as we were uncomfortably aware of the figure running around in the corridors with us.

I released my grip on the Private, leaving him in the capable hands of Rahmam. Taking point, my sidearm gripped firmly in my hand. The familiar weight of the weapon felt cool and reassuring to me, giving me renewed confidence as we moved through the dimly lit corridor. We passed a door which seemed to lead somewhere but heard voices on the other side of it. Not wanting to risk stumbling into a group of the corrupted we decided to keep moving.

Each step forward was cautious, a sense of unease tightening in my stomach heightening my senses as I led the way. The floor beneath my soles echoed softly with each footfall, the only sound in this metallic tomb. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, its blood-red illumination striking against any cubby hole or culvert striking terror into my heart whenever we passed one. The shadows around us seemed to shift and dance around us, the air seeming heavy in our lungs with the anticipation and looming danger all around us.

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It was during this time that Dominskev passed out again, whether from pain or still recovering from the lack of oxygen we didn’t know. After much twisting and turning, we came to a door, and I put my ear against it and listened. After a minute or so of hearing no voices I gripped the handle, a momentary hesitation suddenly gripped me. My fingers wouldn’t move, my feet stuck like cement to the floor.

I glanced around, my heart beating in my chest. My jaw dropped in horror. Behind us, bathed in the cruel crimson light of the corridor the figure stood staring. A haunting presence that sent a chill down my spine. The shock wore off quickly, thinking the figure was gone and seeing it here sent a burst of adrenaline through my veins, the ice-cold terror in my chest being replaced by the warm resolve that was comforting.

With great effort I managed to move my other arm, training my sidearm on our unexpected visitor, forcing my finger to rest on the trigger. The metal of the floor seemed to be travelling up my body, my legs unwilling to move. The cold realization hit me, and the fear laced my body. We were in the presence of a Psychic. I mustered all the energy I could and tightened my grip on the trigger feeling the familiar bark of the pistol. Time slowed as the laser split the air, superheated charge slicing through with ease.

The figure seemed to be a distortion of time itself. The corridor seemed to warp and stretch around it, it was as though time itself had become a relentless form of torture, to this day writing this, I’ve fought the enemies of the conclave and it is still one of the worst experiences.

I watched in growing horror, unable to move and frozen to the spot as the figure moved towards us. Each step was deliberate, every movement intentional. Somehow it seemed to exist outside of normal time. The laser continued its streaking path towards the figure, who seemed unfazed by its presence near it.

The laser connected with the figure's shoulder causing the figure to break pace, forcing it to stagger as it recoiled in surprise, its face was covered but I could tell that it wasn’t expecting it to affect them. The grip holding me in place loosened enough for me to send a few more shots its way, Rahmam could do nothing but look on helplessly. His rifle slack on his back with Dominskev arm wrapped around his shoulder. At the other end of the hallway, the figure was struck again, this time in the head and the chest causing them to slump hard on the floor with an audible “Thump” and a metallic clatter. The eerie presence was gone, the corridor felt less torturing in my mind.

As time seemed to return to its normal pace, Dominskev began to stir. His eyes flicked around and I could see the confusion enveloping his barely conscious mind. His gaze landed on the slumped figure at the end of the corridor and flicked back to me, my pistol still pointing at the figure. Understanding began to settle, “What did I miss” he croaked weakly.

The last remaining vestiges of tension began to dissipate from the room, the sounds of combat returning to fill the background noises of the tunnel. Faint explosions and alarms continued around the ship, breaking us from our momentary respite. “No time to explain, we gotta get moving,” I said.