Pain.
All he knew was pain.
All that was in the void was himself and the void.
And then it was cold as he slammed into a hard surface, shaking violently against the ground while fighting it to regain himself.
He blinked at the light, eyes burning as they tried to adjust to the harsh light of the system, fighting to ignore the burning in his lungs as cold air touched a throat that had screamed raw.
With a gasp he forced himself to relax as best his system could, and the shaking slowed save for the occasional, violent spasm.
As his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, he looked down at the bleeding gouges in his palms where his own nails had torn skin.
"Where?" he managed to rasp a moment later while glancing about his new surroundings.
"Subjects current location is the medical bay of facility zero-one-epsilon."
He jerked at the response.
The voice was odd, a strange mix of metallic tones with a female voice while carrying a complete lack of emotion in the statement.
"Who said that?"
"I am the programmed personality of this facility."
"Do you have a name?"
"I do not possess such a designator, for all intents and purposes, I am the facility."
"Alright," he managed to mumble a moment later, "How did I get here?"
"Sensors detected subjects bioreadings in the dimensional void and began retrieval procedures," the voice responded, "Subject was a primary match for the creators, and without a current commander, I was permitted to attempt recovery."
"Well," he managed to get out after piecing together what the answer was, "Is there a way to return to my point of origin?"
"Without the dimensional coordinates of your origin point, the answer is a negative barring probability of discovery via search."
"Well, it beats where I would have ended up."
"Emergency retrieval of a subject in transit tends to leave a wake that disrupts the traceable patterns for origin and destination, is an apology needed?"
"No," he stated while finally crawling to his feet, "You said something about a creator?"
All he knew was pain.
All that was in the void was himself and the void.
And then it was cold as he slammed into a hard surface, shaking violently against the ground while fighting it to regain himself.
He blinked at the light, eyes burning as they tried to adjust to the harsh light of the system, fighting to ignore the burning in his lungs as cold air touched a throat that had screamed raw.
With a gasp he forced himself to relax as best his system could, and the shaking slowed save for the occasional, violent spasm.
As his eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, he looked down at the bleeding gouges in his palms where his own nails had torn skin.
"Where?" he managed to rasp a moment later while glancing about his new surroundings.
"Subjects current location is the medical bay of facility zero-one-epsilon."
He jerked at the response.
The voice was odd, a strange mix of metallic tones with a female voice while carrying a complete lack of emotion in the statement.
"Who said that?"
"I am the programmed personality of this facility."
"Do you have a name?"
"I do not possess such a designator, for all intents and purposes, I am the facility."
"Alright," he managed to mumble a moment later, "How did I get here?"
"Sensors detected subjects bioreadings in the dimensional void and began retrieval procedures," the voice responded, "Subject was a primary match for the creators, and without a current commander, I was permitted to attempt recovery."
"Well," he managed to get out after piecing together what the answer was, "Is there a way to return to my point of origin?"
"Without the dimensional coordinates of your origin point, the answer is a negative barring probability of discovery via search."
"Well, it beats where I would have ended up."
"Emergency retrieval of a subject in transit tends to leave a wake that disrupts the traceable patterns for origin and destination, is an apology needed?"
"No," he stated while finally crawling to his feet, "You said something about a creator?"
