Defying The Alliance: ERUPTION (Novokin Alliance Invasion 3) by Bobbi Ross Page A

crawling the Protectorate back to its former glory. I just wish I knew where in the eight infernos I was.
    Oooouch!
    I winced as my stupid senses started to go online one by one. I didn't need to know anything. Seriously, I was just kidding. As if deliberately ignoring my quest, my nose was immediately assailed by the scent of ammonia – some kind of heavy cleaning solvent maybe. I licked at my dry lips, and was forced to wonder when they replaced my tongue with a razor blade. The world tuned out again.
    I don't know how long I was out this time, or how my hands had found their way up to my face. They clumsily palpated at my split and swollen lips. However, the pain in my face a mere ChuChu buzzfly annoyance compared to the sharp spear-like sensations that assaulted my left side with each breath. I'd like to believe I howled in fury, but I'm pretty sure I moaned like a birthing pink Bivonium plow cow.
    Genius that I was, I deduced two solid truths from my situation: one, I wasn't dead. Well, I couldn't be dead. After all, I hurt too much to be dead. There was no way on the Goddess's green Astoria that there could even be this much pain after death. Two, I wished I were dead.
    I briefly wondered if I could find a light panel. I recalled there was light in here the first time I woke up. Then my fingers brushed over the soft skin covering my eyeballs. Hey! Another revelation! My eyes were closed. Opening them was akin to the same joy as going to the Toothtist after five years of eating Grinolium mud worms and not brushing your teeth. Blinking the world into existence brought with it a new cascade of sensations. This time a bright white thunderous headache boomed in my ears like a mad conductor and his disjointed symphony. Hopefully, it blocked out any girly whimpering I may or may not have let slip.
    "Whoa there Captain, take it easy," a female voice pleaded in low tones.
    Soft hands took hold of my shoulders, and gently coaxed me into a sitting position. I was too weak and it was too darn painful to fight back, so I let the hands take control. That is, I tried to help but the symbol players in the orchestra started crashing their part of the concerto in my head.
    "Here this will help," said the familiar but hard to place voice.
    I winced as the smooth, cold edge of a cup was pressed against the cut on my lower lip. A brackish water trickled out. I greedily tried to gulp down what I'd been given, regardless the stale, metallic taste and the faint odor of decay. I’d pay for treating my body to the foul liquid later.
    A blurry figure with its head on fire smiled down at me. My reply was less than kind.
    "Julie, what the prak are you doing here?"
    She didn't answer right away. Instead she took the cup over to a small broken pipe jutting out of the wall. She crouched next to it, maneuvering the cup under its dripping mouth.
    The air was fetid and thick. It churned my gag reflex and bile burned my throat. I appeared to be in some kind of holding cell. Big surprise there. The walls were all black, welded metal made evident by mismatched seems and chaotic rivets. Rusted in some places and stained with something I chose not to focus on in others. There was no bed, cot or even a blanket. The only other thing of note in the room besides Julie and me was a small chiseled out hole in the middle of the floor, which appeared to be for waste products. Situated way too close to the dripping pipe Julie collected water from.
    My stomach roiled again, just as Julie was coming back to sit next to me. She presented me with a cup and a halfhearted smile. My stomach went into Vertusian Olympica backflips.
    "I like to get the lay of the land wherever I’m at." She rubbed my back while I retched between sips. Obviously this wasn't going to be a quick story so I settled in. "Periodically I liked to walk the corridors of the Razor, so I'd know where everything was in an emergency without having to think about it. Reflex reaction rather than panic. At