Death had been certain this time, there was no denying that. He'd been too aware as it came over him, as he felt himself slipping away. Even once darkness engulfed him, he faded. After that, everything was a blur. Memories or dreams, he couldn't quite be sure. He remembered sun on his face, the flash of something red, a clock. But it all slipped through his fingers until there was nothing.

How long was there nothing? Minutes? Days? Years? Reality came back to him pieces. The first piece was different from the rest. Warm, pleasant, somewhere he wanted to stay. He felt good. But then all was darkness again. And his knees hurt. His back ached. The darkness wasn't from death or sleep any longer. He could feel the cloth on his face. He tried to shake it off. He tried to move. And suddenly his reality slammed back into him.

The meeting! He tired to fight his bonds, tried to see what was going on. He doubled his efforts hearing those footsteps. Briggs! Why couldn't he have just let the mission burn? Because Briggs didn't give up, and Mike had led him into a trap trying to save his own skin.

He screamed, as loud and as hard as he could behind the tape. It trailed off into something like a sob. He paused only long enough to draw in enough breath to try again. He'd burn himself, if he had to. Blow his cover and let that monster have him, so long as it meant no one else got hurt.

That monster thing was just part of being dead, right? His memories warped with the stress of everything.