From the authors of; Stars & Constellations & Woman and Machine, we bring to you, the official collab of these two fanfictions.
Y/N from S&C is known as Willow / Dawn here.
Koda from W&M is still the same, good ol' Koda.
Brought to you by: @Meadowfe...
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I knew nothing more than the continuous bubbling of the liquid around me, dulling my senses, dragging my mind into deep boredom. Every once in a while I'd gain the energy to pull myself out of the boredom, the sleepiness, and open my eyes.
Every time I did, some bot would walk over and say something, but the bubbling of the liquid around me stopped me from understanding them, as their voices were nothing more than a whisper.
I didn't know how long it had been since I got kidnapped by these... monsters. I didn't know how long it had been since Marshal almost killed me... part of me knew... I was already dead, instead reborn into this body, that I could not even see.
My head was pinned by a few thick wires, holding me in place. I knew I could move if I had the energy to... but every second my eyes were open, would be another second of less and less energy.
I closed my eyes, the dull boring room that I was in, just when I had arrived, had long been checked over out of boredom.
I had the time to boringly stare at the room, discovering each and every little detail. Occasionally, I'd hear a soft voice in my head, begging for help, begging to escape this prison.
After the several days I must have spent here, the whispering of that small, gentle and sweet voice grew stronger, all the more begging. Begging to escape. Begging to be free. Begging to escape the agony we were in.
The first few hours were so painful, I had to fight to push myself to go on, to not go gentle into that good night.
I remembered the poem from that movie, Interstellar. It was about humanity, years after this time, when the earth grew sick, becoming blight-infested, and corn was the only thing that survived.
Humanity needed a new home.
I remember the poem, and let out a deep bubbling sigh as I thought of it.
"Do not go gentle, into that good night.
Old age should burn, and rave at close of day.
Rage, rage against the dying light.
Do not go gentle, into that good night.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, come on it the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
