Survival instinct was an amazing thing, even in someone who so rarely listened to it. For once it had its say, forcing Kirk out of darkness, bringing everything into painful clarity. He wondered if this was what being born felt like, this rush of sensation, the knowledge that everything safe and warm and good had been torn from you. The world was a cruel place, his body crueler.

Weakly he smacked at the hands fumbling at his neck, tried to roll away but everything hurt to much. Fire arched through is side, breathing an impossibility for several heart beats. Suddenly, his mask felt constricting, not protective, suffocating. Air, not enough air. He slapped at his own neck, found the catch release, shoving the helmet away so hard it rolled halfway across the room. Slumping, blue eyes stared up at a near starless sky, chest heaving even though each breath was agony.

"What-?" he coughed, a fresh torture. "Where am I?"