In my hands, a gun.
People are running….Why am I only walking?
…I’m shooting them, they fall, one for every shot, though some shots aren’t mine.
They come from the others….
I recognize them?
…They were in the pods before me…
It’s their expected results, their younger selves. No wonder I didn’t feel the arthritis in my ankle as I walked.
But what were we doing here? Why did we all have guns and everyone was running from us? Why weren’t we in the tanks in the lab?
I try to stop, or turn my head, gain a better understanding of the situation, if that’s even possible, but to no avail. I continue in the same uniform step as my fellow podders.
…I suppose that’s for the best, as no matter what is going on here, I know one thing:
I shouldn’t be awake for it.