He draws in a shaky breath, hoping to even partially regain his composure. He fails. The tears sting at his eyes, salting the wound in more ways than one and anger burns in his throat, choked fire desperately trying to escape.

The explosion still rings in his ears, and the lifeless figures, illuminated by the horrific light of fiery sparks, are all he can see. Their silhouettes cannot penetrate the unsearchable darkness of his vision, but they relentlessly haunt his mind.

Every detail is in its cruel and perfect place in his memory: the fuse, the malfunction, the warning shout, uttered too late to prevent him from coming forward; the unexpected detonation, the burning as a thousand sparks hit him all at once, and the quickness with which the curtains were drawn on his eyesight.

Not so quickly, however, that he didn't know he was the only one left.

The pinpricks the sparks left behind still bite, as burns so often tend to, and his whole face throbs, but there's no way he would even dare think of crying out in pain. After all, what right has he? He's still alive; blind and burned, but alive.

And he'd go through any hell a thousand times over for them to be in his place.

Suddenly he hears a door slam, followed by rapid footsteps. He closes his eyes as they come nearer, though it doesn't make any difference.

The footfalls cease and he feels a presence beside him. It speaks, revealing itself to be Colonel Hogan.

"Newkirk? Newkirk, can you hear me?"

Everything balances on his response to that question. Does he live, and accept the fate he's been handed or curl up and die, alone in his world of darkness and memories, trying to resurrect what can't be brought back?

He shudders, wishing the decision weren't such a hard one to make, while at the same time acknowledging that it wouldn't carry the same weight otherwise.

Finally a hoarse, detached voice that he barely recognizes as his own answers.

"Yes Guvner. I can hear you."