Everything burned. Your eyes seemed to water at the intensity of the sting, even behind closed lids and a set of black-rimmed glasses, and your throat itched terribly, yearning desperately for cool water to assuage the empty, arid feeling within. Your right arm twitched slightly, reacting to your brain's urgent desire to have whatever was hindering the well-being of your viridian orbs removed with the swipe of a small hand, but like every other part of your body, it felt almost too heavy to move.

Where exactly am I? You pondered; intellectual gears grinding at a sluggish pace. Why does everything hurt? Why can't I move? Why isn't anyone helping me? The unspoken questions seemed to increase at an alarming rate, and along with it, your fear. You considering screaming, howling out for someone's assistance, but thought better of it due to the assumption that your weak vocal chords might not be up to it. You knew resolutely that you were helpless when you couldn't even cry for someone – anyone at all. This would probably be the end of you and you had already begun to accept that fact.

Mom, dad…Your mind began to reel, granting you with the clichéd life-flashback, a well-known symptom of approaching death, but your thoughts tended to focus on the mother and father you would now never be able to fully satisfy. They had given you one task, and one task only, and you had failed.

"We're much too busy chasing the big league babes to focus solely on a bunch of adolescent superheroes, Geo, so I'll need you to get the Japan scoop in our stead. Make us proud, baby~"

Your mind was consumed by the hauntingly sweet image of a bleach-blonde woman with crystal blue eyes, smiling down at you from the pedestal that her shiny black stilletos created. This image was then swiftly followed by that of the judgmental, pursed lips and scrutinizing glance of a dazzling brunette man with dark chocolate eyeballs.

"You can accomplish this, can't you, Georgiana?"

You couldn't…

At least not now when you were on the verge of eternal sleep. Your brow furrowed painfully as an epiphany ensued; the verge – just the verge. You weren't dead yet.

But youwill.

An overwhelming rush of determination flowed through your veins, coupled with something that seemed to serve as a would-be anesthesia: sweet, sweet adrenaline. Although it appeared to smolder sorely, you forced the aching muscles of your right hand to cooperate. You clenched it, and at the forced movement you immediately felt the odd sensation of something liquid and rather sticky being callously caressed in the battered palm of your hand. The smell of it then made full contact with your poor nostrils and you nearly vomited from its severity. It was a familiar, bitter stench that you were quite familiar with. It had been the thing to bring you back to consciousness, an undesired smelling-salt of sorts, but you had been too distracted by a mingled sense of loss and aching to detect it sooner.

Whatever it was – it was everywhere, and you seemed to be submerged in it. This was made quite apparent upon trying to move your hand further, resulting in it touching something sticky at every pitiful go. You knew now that you had to get out of here – out of it.

"Mmn…" You groaned, swallowing what you perceived to be the metaphorical lump in your throat that had been brought on by distressing survival-mode emotions. Once the action had been completed, however, you soon realized that lump to be real. Coughing loudly, you attempted to project the searing black liquid out of your precious inner organs. It had not been so obvious to you before, but you now understood your lungs to be drowning in it. It was the source of the burn. It had invaded your lungs as well as both your esophagus and your wind-pipe; this certainly explained the new-found, relentlessly nauseous lurching in your stomach. Utilizing what little energy you had left; you obliged the utilization of a feral lament.

"HELP ME!" gurgled out your lungs in a faded entreaty as you began to lose all will and self-awareness; surely things would have faded to black if they had not already been to begin with.

The last remaining actions you were capable of perceiving before you conked out were simply sounds, although blessed in their significance.

Against all odds, a faint acknowledgement of your existence reached your coveting ears, followed promptly by both a forceful tug on your throbbing shoulders and a pitter-patter of rain that you could actually feel.

"HEY, DUDES! I found something over here, and it's still breathing…"

Had you been capable of opening your eyes, you might have been startled by the decisive flash of green fur.