Massive Disaster III
Docking ramp hydraulics screamed as it extended — the thing was clearly on its last legs and in need of a grain to the dome to put it out of its misery.
A bit much, but the way it set Zedd’s teeth on edge, it really wasn’t enough.
He could feel the vibrations through his boots when the locking mechanism slammed home - the sound practically a gunshot in the recycled air. The crowd of fresh-off-the-boat colonists surged forward eagerly, but Zedd hung back, shoulders loose and stance just as casual as if he was on the way to the corner store as he made his way through the mass of bodies.
Old habits died hard, especially the useful ones.
His first step onto New Abraham hit a whole new type of different. The hum of the engines of the colony vessel Erebus Dawn faded behind him as he walked off, replaced by the heavy thud of his boots against polymer flooring that somehow felt more real than anything had in weeks.
The artificial gravity shifted, a subtle wrongness that made his stomach do backflips for half a second before his body adjusted. Welcome to the colonies, dumbass.
Then the smell bitch-slapped him across the face.
Hot metal and ozone mixed with something sharp enough to make his eyes water - like someone had melted down a thousand plastic toys and decided to perfume the air with toxic nostalgia. Not the sterile nothing of shipboard air, but something raw and alive that screamed Terra Nova. His nose wrinkled even as his brain cataloged every component, breaking down the chemical cocktail purely on reflex.
The spaceport sprawled out ahead, the future on display.
Clearly some architects had OD’d on sci-fi holovids and industrial minimalism before designing the place. Cargo loaders zipped between stacks of shipping containers, their servos whining constant protests that reminded him of that one about-to-die Roomba his mom had refused to replace. Drones buzzed overhead like mechanical mosquitoes on crack, their rotors adding to the symphony of future, future, welcome to the fucking future that assaulted his ears from every direction.
At least three chokepoints between here and processing. Security's understaffed. Those cargo bots could be reprogrammed for crowd control in under five minutes. The tactical assessment came automatically, street instincts meshing with other knowledge he couldn't place. Everything about the place screamed function over form - scuffed walls, dented corners, and enough wear patterns to tell stories about every maintenance shortcut ever taken.
The crowd pressed in behind him, all exhausted faces and overstuffed bags that probably contained everything they couldn't bear to leave behind. Families shuffled forward like extras from a zombie vid, while solo travelers moved with an energy he knew well.
That "nowhere to go but forward" energy that came with burning your bridges and betting everything on a fresh start.
Zedd adjusted the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, barely even noticing the weight of all he owned in the world after weeks of obsessive checks and double-checks. Too many people, too many quick hands. Security herded people toward processing stations with practiced efficiency that screamed they’d done this hundreds of times at least.
No chaos, just controlled urgency - everyone had somewhere to be, and nobody wanted to be the dumbass who held up the line.
Movement caught his eye - some massive holoscreen suspended from the ceiling. Text scrolled past in an endless loop, alternating between standard English and spacer shorthand that seemed not to far off from what would happen if someone had hate-fucked the alphabet:
WELCOME TO NEW ABRAHAM.
COLONY POPULATION: 159,757.
WEATHER: TEMPERATE.
WORK SCHEDULES POSTED DAILY.
The harsh blue glow painted everything in shadows, making the whole scene feel not all too different from a really expensive vid set. His steps slowed as reality finally decided to bitchslap him again. This is it. The colony.
He'd expected something different - less "Detroit in Space" and more "Deadwood with Mass Effect fields." The industrial efficiency of it all seemed to mock his expectations with eagerness and joy, which he could respect, honestly. Still was kinda hoping for more Wild Wild West.
He watched workers muscle crates onto hoverdollies, listened to the rhythmic hiss-thunk of hydraulic doors playing percussion for the chaos-symphony of voices and machinery. A frown creased his features as something else bubbled up through everything else. Why? Why do I remember a Will Smith movie? Why is that relevant?
Shaking off the weirdness, Zedd's attention snagged on a loader bot near the far wall. Something about its movements made his skin crawl - each motion a stop-start that just came off as horribly inefficient and unnecessary. That needs...
Brown eyes narrowed as the machine struggled. Some kind of lubrication, I guess. The thought popped up, half-familiar but frustratingly incomplete. Worse than that, he was pretty sure he was still wrong anyway... which sucked. He pushed the feeling aside with a grimace.
No point playing mechanic when he was still figuring out all the settings on his omni-tool.
The spaceport's pulse grabbed him and pulled him deeper, its rhythm familiar in the way only organized chaos could be. Baltimore's Inner Harbor during peak tourist season came to mind, if someone had replaced all the tacky souvenir shops with prefab metal and desperate hope. The corridor stretched wider ahead, opening into what had to be the station's main hub - a cavernous space that reached up three stories before disappearing into a jungle of pipes and conduits that looked about as organized as his old high school's wiring.
His boots barely made a sound against the mixed polymer flooring, each step swallowed by the industrial din blaring at him from all sides. Tiny little loader bots zipped past like they were auditioning for Fast & Furious 48, all precision movement and cold efficiency as they swerved and bent corners while maintaining their cargo perfectly.
The air hit different here than the first step off the colony ship - still thick with hot metal and synthetic grease, but now carrying hints of what his nose desperately wanted to believe was actual food.
Clusters of colonists huddled along the walkway's edges, their voices a mashup of accents and attitudes that shouldn't work together but somehow did. Commands snapped through the air, mixing with exhausted mutters and laughs that didn’t sound real. The spacer dialect floating around him hit his ears and he half-frowned at it; all sharp edges and dropped syllables that made perfect sense despite having no right to.
A line of prefab kiosks caught his eye, their surfaces wearing more battle scars than his old locker as their vendors hawked their wares with determination and something only described as raw unshakeable focus. They leaned against their counters, haggling with passing colonists and demanding their attention with too much noise.
One customer was deep in it with some poor bastard over what might've been a multi-tool in a previous life, the thing fucked over so badly it could probably just barely manage to function as a wrench just on the side of usable. The vendor just stood there taking it, wearing the kind of patience that came from dealing with either maximum security inmates or kids on sugar highs.
Another loader bot caught his eye, this one making its buddy from earlier look positively graceful. Its left arm spasmed and jerked with the same rhythm as a seizure patient, the crate in its grip swaying to a shitty but inaudible beat. The sound of grinding metal cut through the noise, hitting that perfect pitch that made his back teeth ache. Hm.
The loader bot's herky-jerky movements caught the teenager's attention hard enough to make him stop walking for a good second, his gaze locked on to the thing as he tried to figure it out. The same problem as the other one? The thought wouldn't leave him alone, itching at the back of his mind to the point he felt like reaching into his throat and scratching it himself. A problem with the model design?
His brain spun through a bunch of different options, each one just as likely as the last. Eezo core about to explode?
Okay, well, maybe not each one.
Still, power fluctuations seemed likely - the arm was just moving off in a way that screamed electrical issues had something to do with it. Maybe something had to be off with the alignment too. Or the mass effect fields maybe.
Not that he really understood any of it, but somehow the knowledge sat there in his head anyway, annoyingly incomplete and—from what he could tell— partially wrong, which was even more annoying.
The loader arm finally settled the crate into place where it belonged, metal grinding against metal in a way that made his jaw tighten. The bot shuffled off down its pre-programmed path as if nothing had happened, leaving Zedd with an annoying set of questions of his own and no one to answer them but hi,.
"Hey, spacer kid."
A voice cut through his focus as he turned his head with a forced smile already plastered across his face. "Sir?"
An older man stood not too far away, arms crossed over his chest. Years of colony work had carved deep lines in his face, but his eyes stayed sharp - the kind that noticed everything and liked very little of it.
"You thinkin' of fixing that thing?" Each word rang with bitterness, the man barely getting them out through half-clenched teeth.
Zedd hadn't expected that, his thoughts knocked loose and sideways for a moment by the heat the man seemed to carry as he spoke. A half-second later,he caught himself and nodded slow as a single word left his mouth. "Nah." He kept his stance loose, the way he'd learned to do when cops got too interested back home. "Just watching it work."
The man's response came out halfway between a laugh and a cough. "Right. Another spacer kid with stars in his eyes. This place'll knock that outta you fast."
Something hard and bitter lived in those words. Zedd caught it but didn't chase it, answering only with a slight smirk. He had enough of his own problems without borrowing someone else's.
The spaceport pulled him forward again. A group of techs huddled around a nearby control terminal, their argument over schematics carrying just enough familiar terms to make him think he should understand more than he did. The shapes and numbers on their screens might as well have been abstract art for all the sense they made.
Two militia members held up the far wall, their practiced casualness ruined by the way their eyes never stopped moving. The Avengers at their hips stayed holstered but ready, like they were just waiting for an excuse. The sight triggered something in the back of Zedd's mind - memories of similar looks from Baltimore PD, just with better tech and worse caf.
He didn’t bother to give them a reason as he kept walking. Fragments of conversation from the workers and people milling and moving around hit his ears as he moved:
"—still waiting on that shipment—"
"—damn actuator's fried again—"
"—you hear about that job opening on the orbital station?—"
Each piece of information filed itself away automatically, his mind collecting data as it always did, sorting through what might matter later. The whole place moved with its own rhythm - not smooth, not pretty, but steady in a way he recognized. Like Baltimore's industrial district after dark, when all the suits went home and the real work happened.
The spaceport breathed around him, its pulse heavy with machinery and desperation and possibility. Functional, but not pretty, he thought, watching the flow of people and machines. But there was something else about it too - something solid. Real. The kind of real you couldn't fake with polish and promises.
Zedd caught himself staring at the population display again, bright red numbers hovering there on the wall like they were mocking him. One-hundred-fifty-nine thousand.
The boy tilted his head back slightly, brow furrowing. The number hit different when you really thought about it. A hundred and fifty-nine thousand people, all of them building a life on this patch of dirt about two hundred light-years away from anything familiar. For a split second, his mind drifted, wondering how many of them were just like him...
His jaw tightened, healed knuckles clenched tight, and teeth grinded together as he shook his head. Yeah, probably not. The thought vanished as quickly as it came, pushed back where all the pointless ones belonged. Still, his gaze lingered on those glowing numbers for a moment longer, before he kept walking.
The corridor ahead opened into a massive atrium, the vaulted ceiling stretching upward until it disappeared into a maze of structural beams and conduits. Zedd's eyes traced the paths automatically, marking maintenance access points and possible escape routes without really meaning to. The constant buzz of conversation echoed off the walls, mixing with the clash of metal and synthetic beats pumping from nearby speakers. Some ancient Earth song, probably public domain by now, drifted from a food stall that had attracted quite the crowd.
His nostrils flared slightly as the scent hit him - rich, savory, with an artificial undertone that screamed synth-meat but somehow still made his mouth water. The line stretched back almost twenty people deep, tired-looking miners and laborers waiting for steaming trays of what looked like some kind of stew. Has to be decent if they're willing to stand that long, he thought, watching another customer walk away with a loaded tray.
The emptiness in his stomach made itself known with a low growl. Nah, not yet. After a moment's consideration, Zedd filed the stall's location away for later.
Food could wait until he was settled.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The buzz of the crowd washed over him as he moved through the atrium, each detail adding another piece to the puzzle of New Abraham, the capital city of a colony that was more outpost than anything else. Merchants shouted prices from prefab stalls, their voices competing with the hum of environmental systems and the constant murmur of too many people in too small a space. A kid darted past, laughing as his mother called after him, her voice thick with exhaustion.
Every sight, every sound, every face told a story. Together, they painted a picture of a place trying very hard to feel like home while never quite getting there. The thought almost made him smirk. New Abraham, huh?
He slowed down with a click of his tongue as he approached a row of processing stations, each one staffed by someone who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else but at this exact spot at this exact moment. Their movements were crisp and efficient but their eyes had that glazed look that came from doing the same thing for way too long. Zedd scanned the lines, doing quick mental math before choosing one that looked marginally shorter than the others. Ten minutes instead of fifteen. Progress.
The air felt heavier here, stale and warm from too many bodies packed together. Someone muttered under their breath about the wait, their boots scuffing against the floor in an impatient rhythm. A few stations down, a kid whined about being bored, earning a sharp "ssh" from their parent. The sound grated against Zedd's ears but he kept his expression neutral, body language carefully relaxed even as his attention stayed sharp.
Overhead screens flashed with steady updates, an AI's flat voice calling out numbers in a monotone that somehow cut through the general noise. "Station Seven... Station Twelve... Station Four..."
Finally, the clerk at his station waved him forward with a gesture that screamed I've done this too many times today. Middle-aged woman, graying hair pulled back so tight it had to hurt, thin-rimmed glasses perched low on her nose like she was trying to look over them more than through them. Her uniform might have been pressed this morning but the cuffs were starting to fray, little details that spoke volumes about colony budget priorities. Her nails clicked against the terminal screen as she held out her other hand.
"Placement and housing assignment," she said without bothering to look up, voice pitched somewhere between bored and efficient.
Zedd handed over his ID chip, keeping his movements smooth and deliberate. The terminal chirped as it read the data, lines of green text reflecting off the clerk's glasses as she squinted at the display.
"Victors, Zedd Isaac," she muttered aloud, eyes scanning the information. "Temporary cabin, in Section 17-B. Assigned work: power grid maintenance, Assigned station: the primary Hub. You will be working under Floor Manager Elias Colburn and Shift Leader Connor Maynard."
She glanced up, sharp eyes scanning over him with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd seen thousands pass through her station. "Pay is 2200 credits every two weeks. 100 credits bonus per month for being on time every day. 250 credits every month is docked from that for your housing costs, but 500 will be credited to you for your first month for set-up, food, and other miscellaneous startup purchases. First rotation starts tomorrow, 0600. Late arrivals get docked credits." Her gaze hardened slightly. "That clear?"
Something about that tone had Zedd's mouth curving up slightly. "Yeah... crystal."
Her expression shifted — respect, maybe — though it vanished fast enough that he might have imagined it. Her fingers resumed their rapid-fire assault on the holo-terminal, muscle memory carrying each motion with precision but digits heavy on it all the same.
"Map is uploaded to your omni-tool," she added, her tone losing some of its edge while still staying all business. "Housing’s a step above a bunk, considering you’re working in repair. Still, only a step though. Basic but functional’s all you’re getting."
Her eyes flicked up again, mouth set in a line. "Don't expect much, kid. Ain't exactly the Citadel out here."
"Nah, didn't figure it would be." The words came easy, even as he kept his face calm.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to catch him being a smart-ass. Whatever she found - or didn't - seemed good enough. Without another word, she slid his ID chip across the counter, the metal scraping faintly against the worn surface.
"Next!" The shout came before he'd even grabbed the chip, her attention already locked onto the person behind him.
Zedd pocketed the chip without looking, metal cool against his fingers for a quick second. The spaceport noise wrapped back around him as he moved towards the transport bay, keeping his stride easy, each step measured and unhurried. Clusters of colonists dotted the waiting area, some of them talking in low voices while others just leaned against the walls, arms crossed and faces unreadable behind exhaustion.
A younger guy in a maintenance jumpsuit that hung off him like borrowed clothes stood by one of the transports, voice full of a familiar edge and accent that told Zedd the guy wasn’t far removed from Earth at all. "Yeah, you tell Colburn he can eat my clenched asshole. Already worked double last week and came in on a night shift, I ain't-"
The transport tech just waved him off with the tired gesture of someone who'd heard it all before. Zedd kept moving, feet carrying him past the scene without breaking stride. Still, something about the mention of Colburn stuck in his head, digging in like a splinter he couldn't quite reach. Guess I'll figure out what that's about tomorrow.
The transport platform buzzed with activity as he approached, colonists filing into a rugged vehicle that looked like someone had taken a shipping container and slapped wheels on it. The thing hummed with contained energy, probably running on the same power cells that kept the lights on. Zedd pulled up the map on his omni-tool, holographic display casting a soft blue glow across his dark skin. Section 17-B sat about five clicks out - close enough to civilization to grab food when he needed it but far enough that he wouldn't have to deal with people all hours.
Perfect.
The inside of the transport wasn't much better than the outside suggested, all hard edges and utilitarian design. Zedd found a spot near the back, settling into the worn seat as more people filtered in.
Nobody tried to sit next to him, which was fine by him.
Metal groaned as the doors slid shut with a pneumatic hiss. The low hum shifted into something deeper as they started moving, wheels crunching against loose gravel. Outside the scratched window, pre-fab buildings and empty lots blurred past in an endless pattern. The whole thing felt weirdly familiar, like one of those old videos of planned communities back on Earth, except everything here looked temporary in a way that promised to be permanent.
A jolt ran through the transport as it hit something, the impact sending a shudder through the metal frame that Zedd felt in his teeth. Nobody else seemed to notice, or maybe they were just used to it. The silence held, broken only by the constant vibration beneath them and occasional crunch of wheels grinding against uneven ground.
Zedd leaned back, letting the rhythm work its way under his skin as his mind drifted. A half hour passed in a haze of half-formed thoughts and fragmented memories that refused to stick around long enough to make sense. The transport finally ground to a halt with a whine of protesting metal, power cells cycling down with an electrical hum that faded into nothing.
The door slid open on worn tracks, night air rushing in to replace the stale heat inside. Zedd stepped out onto solid ground, his boots crunching faintly against the gravel path leading toward a cluster of prefab cabins.
Zedd stepped off the transport, boots scuffing against the dusty ground. He took in the colony with a sweeping glance, eyes narrowed against the glare of the setting sun. Efficient, he thought. Real fucking efficient. Each cabin was identical in shape and size, their exteriors painted a dull slate gray. Solar panels lined the tops, glinting in the waning light. Small vents hissed out recycled air, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the generators.
Clean lines, no wasted space... like someone had taken a grid and dropped it neatly into the landscape. Probably designed by some skyhand off the Citadel, Zedd mused, lips twitching into a smirk. Typical.
He followed the path toward his assigned cabin---17-B---glancing around as he walked.
A few colonists moved about, some unloading supplies from nearby transports, others chatting in low voices near the entrances of their own units. Most kept to themselves, their movements brisk and purposeful, like every second had to count for something.
The air smelled faintly of dust and metal, tinged with the acrid bite of recycled ozone from the life-support systems. Zedd wrinkled his nose, the scent both familiar and foreign. Reminded him of the streets back in Baltimore, the way the air tasted when you were running from something... or towards it.
Nah, this ain't Baltimore-Met. The thought came quick, a flash of memory with it. 2014... Mom's garden, fresh-cut grass, barbecue smoke...
He shook his head, jaw tightening. The fuck? Where'd that come from?
He pushed the thought back and shook his head again. This time, he paused, gaze caught on a nearby solar array, it’s panels angled to catch the fading sunlight. He frowned slightly, head tilting as he studied the setup. Tilt's off, he thought, brow furrowing. Not drawing in as much juice as it could. He couldn't say how he knew, but something about the… the angle… it felt... inefficient. Like whoever set it up was just going through the motions, not really thinking about what they were doing.
Fucking amateurs, he snorted, then paused.
Wait, how the hell do I know that? The question hung for a moment, as his frown shifted into a hard scowl for a moment. Fuck. Zedd shook it off with gritted teeth, refocusing his attention forward as he marched over to his cabin. Stupid fucking existential crisis bullshit.
The keypad next to the door glowed faintly, a soft blue light illuminating the numbers. Zedd tapped his ID chip against the panel, and with a faint beep, the door unlocked. He stepped inside, letting it hiss shut behind him.
The cabin was spartan, functional to the point of austerity. Smaller than my cabin on the ship…
That much was true, and the ship cabin was already barely the size of a kid's room.
But this place…
The walls were bare, a uniform pale gray that made the space feel both larger and emptier than it was. A small single bed with a plain metal frame sat against the wall, the mattress thin and seemingly without much warmth to it. Oh, nice. A slagbed. That’s gonna be real fuckin’ comfortable. A small desk with a built-in terminal took up one corner, surface scuffed from previous use. Not even a holo-terminal, cheap fucks. On the far wall from the bed nearest the door, a tall but thin storage unit stood there, revealing a few empty shelves and a single set of spare linens. Fancy.
The air inside was cooler than outside, with a faint hum of climate control filtering through the vents. With a low sigh and a roll of his eyes, the teenager dropped his duffel onto the bed, the thud breaking the otherwise steady rhythm of the air filter as it continued its hum immediately after. He stood there for a moment, taking it all in.
Functional. Efficient... but not cold. It wasn't the Erebus Dawn, with its polished sterility and artificial calm. Less like a hospital, more like...
His mind grasped for the word, coming up blank. A barracks, maybe? A cell? Neither felt quite right, but they were closer than anything else he could think of.
This felt... grounded.
Real, in a way the ship never had.
Like I could actually put down roots here, maybe... The thought trailed off, unfinished. Roots weren't something Zedd had ever really considered. As a teenager on the streets, you learned real quick not to get attached to anything... or anyone.
Kira, Dev, Adele... Their faces flashed through his mind, bringing a twinge of... huh… what, exactly? Regret, maybe? Nah, that ain't it.
Getting to know the three of them had been fun his last few days on the ship. He'd managed to push past his initial edge at the thought of making nice with a bunch of strangers, even enjoyed their company, in the end.
Just wish I'd done it earlier.
He let out a little sigh, the sound barely audible over the cabin's ambient hum.
Sure, he knew he'd find them somewhere in the colony. He had plenty of time and it wasn't like they could just disappear, right? But still... he wished he'd taken their omni-tool numbers before they'd all gotten distracted in the chaos of disembarking.
Would've made things a hell of a lot easier, he thought, shaking his head slightly. Rookie mistake, Z. Real rookie mistake.
Pushing the thought aside, he crossed over to the desk, fingers brushing over the terminal's surface. The screen lit up at his touch, displaying a basic interface with colony updates, work schedules, and personal settings. Out of date, he mused, opening a few tabs just to get a feel for its functionality.
He knew that of course, anything that wasn’t a holo-terminal was years out of date at the least, even with the Neo-Luddite companies still pushing out solid-state tech every now and again.
Nothing flashy, but nothing I can’t make up with my omni-tool. His eyes flicked over the lines of text, skimming the details without really absorbing them. Truthfully, he doubted there was little he would need that his omni couldn’t really handle. The Serrice Civitech X4a was a high-grade omnitool, even for being a couple years out of date.
Off-the-rack and mid-tier now, sure, but mid-tier had a high range and he was at least nearing the higher end of it. It helped that he had gotten it for a steal.
Heh. A faint creak from the ceiling vent forced his attention up high, eyes narrowing as he tried to lock on to what made the sound. Probably just the system adjusting to the shift in airflow, he reasoned, but even as the thought formed, his mind flicked briefly to the possibility of loose screws or wear in the filters. Gonna have to keep an eye on that. Last thing I need is that crapping out on me.
Zedd sat down on the edge of the bed, the frame creaking softly under his weight. The mattress was firm, but not uncomfortable - a far cry from the ratty old couch he'd called a bed back in Baltimore. Definitely an upgrade, he thought, lips twitching into a smirk. Might even be able to get a decent night's sleep for once.
His thoughts wandered back to the terminal, still remembering what he'd seen on that board back at the spaceport. The digits had been updating even as he'd stepped off the ship, the population count ticking steadily upward with each new arrival. 159,757 people, he mused, the number etching itself into his mind. Maybe 160,000 by now.
And that was just for this one capital city of the planet.
There were four others to the North, South, East and West of New Abraham. 160k.
He let the figure settle in his thoughts for a moment, the weight of it pressing lightly against his consciousness. It was a far cry from the tens of millions that had crowded the streets of Baltimore, the endless sea of faces and bodies that had threatened to swallow him whole. This is better, he decided, nodding slightly to himself. So much better.
The hum of the colony surrounded him, not just from the cabin's systems but from the world outside - the distant whir of machinery, the muffled voices of nearby colonists, the occasional thud of a transport docking at the local hub. It was a symphony of activity, a constant reminder that he was part of something larger now. A fresh start, he thought, the idea bringing a flicker of something that felt like hope. A chance to actually make something of myself, maybe.
Zedd leaned back, hands braced on the edge of the mattress as he let his senses adjust to the rhythm of the place. New Abraham wasn't polished or comfortable - not yet, anyway - but it had its own kind of authenticity that felt oddly familiar. Kinda reminds me of home, he mused, the thought bringing a pang of something he couldn't quite name. Just without all the bullshit and bangin’ and backstabbers.
His lips curved into a faint humorless smirk as he shifted to lie back on the bed, one arm draped over his eyes. The mattress yielded beneath him, the sheets cool and crisp against his skin. Yeah, he thought, the word echoing softly in his mind. I can work with this.
As his eyes fluttered closed behind his arm, the world around him fading into a soft, distant hum, Zedd felt a strange sensation tugging at the back of his mind. It was like a whisper, a half-remembered fragment of something he couldn't quite grasp. He tried to focus on it, to bring it into sharper clarity, but the harder he tried, the more it seemed to slip away.
Probably just tired, he told himself, the thought already blurring at the edges as exhaustion began to claim him. Been a long day. A long... everything, really.
The tug came again, more insistent this time, but Zedd was already drifting, his consciousness unraveling like a spool of thread. He barely felt it as a gentle snore left his mouth, his body finally surrendering to the pull of sleep.
The young man barely felt the pull at the back of his mind as a gentle snore left his mouth.