Craft 154

James realized there was a lot more to life. A lot more thrill and terror that he did not know existed on this plane. When, in the past, his old self, was coffee idling on a round table and slipped his elbow off the corner, nearly though, not quite, his heart did pound, or skip? Which ever one was worse, that one. This was the most exciting time. Now though, his new self, in his regurgitated mind, merely moments from the blinding lights of mother's birth, staring rehabilitation in the face. His epiphany was pure and current.

Fight it, he said inside. His body ran, full force from the echo of approaching manic machinery, crashing his way. It was fast.

James knew he could not out run the Servernt, so he turned, gazing at the hellish grey-skinned wreck that howled electronically in a spiral of poor code. It broke apart and vanished.

Stumbling slightly, he raised his Fixer, his left arm outright; the green glow of light energetically bounced off of the small dark room, alas he could not locate the rogue Servernt.

Navigating the unnecessarily complex communications menu on his Fixer, he sent a template emergency assistance alert to all nearby stations, or seemed to.

He repeatedly mashed the confirmation slider; to SEND ALL. But no noise came through, nothing.

Something fell with a loud clank and James placed his back against the wall, desperately trying to slow his breathing.

For a second, an image of the Head Fixer flashed against his retina, he was laughing.

"Don't need your mask? Just a routine check?" James heard him shout.

He held his gloved hand over his mouth and let out a muffled chuckle in-kind, it was a little funny.