Chapter Text
The very first thing that the Drifter felt was pain. It radiated behind their eyes like someone had taken a Grineer arc welder to the inside of their skull and from their fist... Oh, right. They had done that, hadn't they? Punched reality itself in the face. Smart move, Drifter. Real brilliant.
Their eyelids were heavy, weighted down like they'd been dipped in cement and left to dry. They tried to pry them open, immediately regretting their decision as light—too much light, why was there always so much light after resetting—stabbed through their retinas.
"Ugh," they groaned, letting their eyes fall shut again. "Maybe it would have been better if I let Entrati kill me. At least then I'd be dead and numb. Probably wouldn't have this migraine from hell either."
The Drifter lay there for a moment, taking inventory. Arms? Still attached. Legs? Present. That gnawing sensation in their gut that told them they'd just ripped a hole in causality and stitched it back together with their bare hands? Oh yeah, that was there too. Fantastic.
They were just starting to contemplate whether they could get away with staying horizontal for the next few hours when a sudden, sharp gasp to their left made them startle so hard they nearly transferred on instinct.
"Shit—" The Drifter turned slowly, carefully, as to not make their head throb any harder than it already was. "Easy, easy..."
"Holy shit," Amir had sat bolt—heh, bolt, good one—upright, his eyes wide as dinner plates. His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon. "Holy shit. I was dead. I was—I felt it, I felt my heart stop, I felt the electricity—"
"Then you weren't," the Drifter said, their voice rough and dry. They needed water. Or maybe something stronger. "Welcome to my life. Population: me and whoever I drag along for the ride."
Amir's hand was gripping over his chest, fingers splayed wide, likely due to the aching echoes that were bound to linger. The phantom pain of death didn't just disappear because you'd been yanked back from the edge. The Drifter knew that better than anyone.
"This is—this is nuts!" Amir's voice pitched higher, that familiar excitement creeping in even through the trauma. "We were dead with a capital D! We were weren't we or was that the craziest nightmare I've had since that one where I showed up to geometry naked and—"
"Amir," Arthur's voice groaned from somewhere to the Drifter's right. The sound was pained, exhausted, and thoroughly done with everything. "Glad you're alive, truly, but can we pump the brakes for a moment? I still feel like my skin is being burned off. Slowly."
"Oh! Right, sorry," a flush crept up the protoframe's cheeks. Amir had the decency to look embarrassed, at least. "Are you okay? Well, obviously not okay, but are you—"
"I'm alive," Arthur cut him off, though his tone was marginally softer. "That's more than I can say for a few minutes ago. I think."
"Thank you," Arthur said with the air of someone trying very hard to maintain military discipline while every nerve ending screamed. "Now can I get a sound off? Need to know everyone's status."
There was a beat of silence. Then:
"Fuck off."
"Thank you, Quincy," Arthur said dryly, holding up four fingers in some kind of count. "Appreciate the confirmation that you're alive and as charming as ever."
"¿No podría simplemente quedarme muerto?," Lettie muttered, and the Drifter could practically hear the eye roll in her voice. "Así tendría menos trabajo."
A soft groan came from nearby, followed by an echo inside their heads, 'My mouth hurts.'
Arthur held up two more fingers, his count continuing.
"Ow," Aoi groaned, the sound muffled like she were talking through a split lip. Which, knowing what they'd just been through, was probably accurate.
"Close," the Drifter chuckled, then immediately regretted it when their head throbbed in protest. "But you're missing the 'E' sound. It's 'ow-E.' You know, like 'owie. You should know this.'"
"Not the time, Drifter," Aoi shot back, but there was no real heat in it.
"Fair point," the Drifter conceded, pressing the heel of their palm against their forehead. "My bad. Humor's a coping mechanism. Sue me."
"Now that we're all accounted for," Arthur said, and the Drifter could hear the rustle of fabric as he gingerly sat up. When they cracked one eye open, they could see him looking at the group with that particular expression he got when he was trying to be the responsible one. The leader. "Marty, explain. Now."
The Drifter sighed. They'd known this was coming. Hell, they'd have been more surprised if Arthur hadn't demanded an explanation. But that didn't make it any easier.
"Did I not mention my ability to reset and create time loops?" they asked, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere around 'exhausted and evasive.'
Arthur stared at them. Just... stared. The silence stretched out for a long, uncomfortable moment.
"No," Arthur said finally, his voice very, very controlled. "You did not."
"Oh," the Drifter said, examining their bruised knuckles with sudden interest. "Well. I can reset and create time loops."
"Smartass," Arthur squinted at them, and the Drifter caught Quincy chuckling and trying to disguise it as a cough. "We're going to need a better explanation than that. A significantly better explanation. Starting with how, why, and what the hell just happened."
The Drifter sat up slowly, wincing as their body protested the movement. Everything hurt. Everything always hurt after a reset, like their atoms had been scattered across the Void and hastily reassembled in approximately the right order.
"Right," they said, running a hand through their hair. "Well, that's a long story. But it seems we've got some time on our hands."
'Too soon. But funny,' Eleanor's voice drifted over, and despite everything, the Drifter felt a small surge of satisfaction. At least someone appreciated their sense of humor.
"Right," the Drifter repeated, looking around at the group. At these people they'd just dragged back from death itself. "Would you like me to start with the Void or the Man in the Wall? Because both are relevant, and both are going to sound absolutely insane, but I promise you it's all true."
Amir's eyes lit up like someone had just offered him access to an Orokin archive. "The Man in the Wall? Is that a person or a metaphor or—"
"Amir," Arthur said, holding up a hand. "Let them talk. Please."
The Drifter took a breath. Here went nothing.
"So," they began, "funny story about how I ended up with the ability to tell causality to go screw itself..."