Why the hell was my dead body hanging out, the center of attention, at a secret Introvert lab, in the middle of fucking Hilda's Triangle nowhere? And why the hell hadn't they taken it with them? They obviously cleared out after our battle.

The only sounds were a low hum from the light and my clacking boots as I walked to the middle.

The room was dark, so dark everywhere but the center that it felt even creepier. The hairs stood up on my arms and legs, and not from the cold. Space is always cold. Old abandoned labs on asteroids in deep space are cold. My suit was supposed to keep me warm.

My body was strung up.

Each of the five pillars had three metallic tubes connected to my lower, middle, and upper body, holding it still. These were for support. Each of these tentacles also had five wires protruding from the end, connecting to my body in various places, mostly to my head. 60 of the 75 probes ran to my head. That's where the good stuff was after all.

My chest was blown open.

A pool of blood and bits of my insides lay beneath my body, coupled with bone shards from a shattered ribcage. I looked magnificent and important, hanging there in the darkness, shining dead in the blue light.

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I wanted to cry.

I'm a Wavepilot. I die a lot. But my body normally explodes with the ship, so I don't even think about it. What's important isn't the body - it's the memories.

But seeing myself like that, hoisted up and probed ... I wasn't expecting that. I didn't like it. It made me angry.

"I'll get you down," I said aloud to myself.

I inspected the area where one of the probes connected. I wasn't sure how to disconnect it other than maybe forcefully yanking it out. I gave it a tug, but it wouldn't budge. I sighed. I would probably need help, or I'd have to use the #glen10 and try to shoot the 15 tentacles off one by one. I resigned myself to knowing I would have to ask the others on the #firesquad to help me.

My mind made up, I patted myself (the dead me) on the shoulder.

"First things first," I said, standing on my tippy toes and reaching up for the skull. "Let me get my memory back."

I removed the #memoryshard by pulling on the collection of probes that had connected there, then snapped them off and inspected the chip. It looked fine. I plugged it into my wrist and began a virus scan, still staring up at my face, the sharp features, my stubble of a full beard, my blue-gray eyes looking even bluer in the light.

The shard was clean!

I connected to it, feeling the spark, the feeling of skipping time, as information began to flow. That spark, that flash of memory, seemed to trigger something almost immediately.

I saw them moving in the room before the memories struck me.

We weren't alone.