(no subject)

( Thy Kingdom Come. )

Atton jolts awake with a sharp cry that may be equal parts pain, frustration and despair. He clutches his shoulder, smoke rising through his fingers as he stumbles out of bed. He notes, distantly, that he's sweating, and that his eyes are wet. He wipes them with the back of his hand.

He lifts his hand away from his shoulder, sinking down to the floor and leaning back against the wall, peering at the wound. It's a burn from a blaster, all charred and torn flesh, and it hurts more than it should.