Blacktop, parked cars, skyline, and street lamps. Buildings, sky, cement swirled through his wavering vision back and forth as if he was at sea though he could feel the hard ground with every forced step he took, beckoning to just give up and drop. It wasn't a serious injury. It couldn't be. Just a hit to the head, but as he held the side of his face, fingers curled around the oversized bow he tore off as a makeshift bandage, he felt a panic following behind him like a shadow, waiting to take hold and tell him that something was very wrong here. He hadn't been shot, torn limb from limb, or stabbed, yet there was blood and the instinctual worry that told him he had to get help – soon!

Help however was a good many city blocks away and while his Nega-powers gave him the ability to leap and jump easily through the city, it was no use to him when he could barely keep himself steady. Powering down could work, but he couldn't gage how far he was from the senshi he left behind. From what he saw, he knew that being killed was clearly a possibility. It was only luck that he managed to slink away and even then, he wondered how long it would last. Whatever was keeping him alive was enough for him to gain whatever distance he could away from any possible senshi that might still be tracking him.

I can't believe how stupid I was… That had been no normal senshi, and no wonder. If the Princess had been around then that would mean they would not entrust just any sailor with her. The wings should have tipped him off, but such a ridiculous outfit only came off as just as silly as all the others. He should have been expecting the worse. He shouldn't have been so cocky – but he had backup. A fellow Lieutenant. A youma.

Both of which were now dead.

He clenched the unraveled bow in his hand, feeling blood squeeze from between his fingers and travel down his arm. How many times did he see someone on his side die? He should be more careful and more on guard, yet he got cocky, over-ambitious, and just STUPID!

Stupid. STUPID! STUPID!

And there wasn't enough luck in the world to save him from the consequences of stupid actions. He used all his dumb luck up ages ago and it has saved his hide more than once.

He should have known better, but – he hadn't expected the attack.

It was too fresh at the moment to recall with any real clarity, and his mind was too fogged, ringing in his ears and feeling swollen and hot to deal with recollections just yet. Running on auto-pilot, he staggered, administering clumsy first aid and walking like a adolescent drunkard before he had to lean for the millionth time against the wall of a nearby building.

Self-loathing stepped aside for a breather to let worry regarding welfare take the reins. Wiseman had shown him that dead was a very real and gruesome possibility when he transformed into Wolframite. The treat was just as real with more and more senshi killing off their numbers. Was he going to die and was he willing, if he survived, to continue his second life? Current events and spilt blood was making him reconsider his options – but he remembered the list.

His family, spit up as they were. His friends, as few as he did have but just as valued. The world in general, even if it wasn't perfect. They all needed protection. All those Negaversers, the comrades he barely knew and had never met, who died before. What was it saying that he wasn't willing ot put his life on the line? What did it say if he stepped down when it got tough? It meant he didn't believe what they died for was worth fighting for and protecting.

There was no jumping off the train at this point. If he died, he died doing something more important than having a longer life and getting some run-of-the-mill job till he was 80 something and dying of something commonplace. Heart disease or the flu. He just wished he wasn't dying of a blow to the head and while in the mist of battle instead of staggering off to some remote alleyway to die. It wasn't the glorious end he envisioned and he wondered how many noble, great Negas had to die in such an undignified manner.

He remembered he unmarked graves of team Tra-la. They deserved better.

Cold sweat made his uniform stick to his back, and he felt breathing was harder. Just a knock on the head. Nothing major. A bruised eye. Maybe a concussion. You still remember who you are. The date and year. No memory loss. You're conscious. Just some blood. Maybe it will leave a nice scar. Won't that be cool? He gave a nervous laugh that betrayed his hopes. The blood soaking his sleeve and the odd color of something else made his mind whisper to him. You're not that lucky. Not this time around.

This was answered by the flash of red and blue on the sidewalk, flashing against his pants. Heaving his head up to look, he noticed the patrolling cop car creeping his way. Too far to notice him for what he was, but it wouldn't last for long. He couldn't run. He could barely take a step anymore. His head was pounding and he wanted to lay on the ground and take a moment. The only thing stopping him was the idea that closing his eye for one minute might really end him.

Breathing deep, he let his uniform melt away and he slide down against the wall to sit. Without the bow, his eye was bleeding freely and he tried not to move. It hurt too much and it felt like his body was under a furnace despite how cold his bones felt.

He closed his eye and breathed deep, the lights flashing behind his eyelids. The squeak of the car's breaks and the clack of authority as the officer's boots move up onto the sidewalk. "Hey kid. What are you doing?" A moment passed and their footfalls were quick to come to him. "Hey kid. Are you okay? Mike. Get on the radio and call for an ambulance." A hand touched his shoulder and he opened his eye. It was a fuzzy face at best, and he felt his eyelids flutter up to look at the sky above the crown of his head.

"Everything is going to be okay. We're calling the ambulance. I'm officer Daniels. What's your name?"

"Wol…." He licked his lips. Dry. "…..La-don."

"Okay Ladon. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Anywhere else? It was clear he noticed his face, and the professionalism the officer was trying to keep was ruined by his worried expression. A expression that said, 'Oh sh--! I don't want to see a kid die.'

"No…………. Maybe? ………..I can't …tell anymore." He did get hurt in the scuffle during the fight. A punch landed here and there, but were they really important enough to mention now.

There were more questions. Mike said something, a question by the inflection, but he couldn't tell what he said or if it was even directed at him. He didn't care for small talk even if it was meant to keep him calm and conscious. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and while Daniel persisted, he only offered him a small grunt as a response to show he was still awake and was listening. The flashing red and blue against his eyelids were hypnotic, and he breathed deep before he went lax. If he let go, it would be simple. Dying felt easy. Staying alive – that was the bit--.