A tomb spyder found the fallen necron lying still. It's ocular was dead and lifeless. The spyder approached and lifted the corpse. Scarabs were directed, looking for what had happened to the body.

  The body was strained. Damage was seen in most areas. The only positive was that most of it was but skin deep. The scarabs scuttled along the body, fixing the damage as they went.

  When the repairs were done, the spyder took the corpse to the open coffin, and began to lay it back to rest. A hand twitched.

  The spyder stopped to observe the phenomenon, and the hand twitched again. The spyder carefully lowered the necron to the floor and watched to make sure no more damage was sustained.

  My ocular flared to life suddenly. I could see, why could I see? I could feel, why am I feeling so little? I should be panicking. Why am I not screaming?

  Everything was wrong. My hands were- I lifted my hands up, looking at the necrodermis. This was right. Wrong. What...

  I stopped. Things were... wrong. I was not breathing. I couldn't feel my heart beat. I couldn't feel my eyes move. I-I-I-I-I-

  I stop. I sit up, and cross my legs. I shift my hands into the familiar meditation pose I know so well, and begin to still my mind. Only in calm contemplation, in objective thought, could one move forward properly.

  I hum a tune I know, ironically named 'Help me', and I focus on the words. I focus on the beat, the rhythm. I move to the beat, and slowly I begin to relax my thoughts.

  Something was wrong with me. Everything felt wrong, but entirely right. The conflicting thoughts nearly caused a panic attack earlier. So, the only thing to do was to examine why. Slowly.

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  I had been in innumerable life or death situations before. In none of them, not even my blooding, did I panic so badly. But... I hadn't been in life or death situations? But I had. I knew this to be true. A fault, a crack.

  I examined the thought. Had I actually fought to the death before? I looked through my memories, and there the problem was. There were conflicting memories, both screaming to my body that they were true.

  That... was an issue. A very odd issue. My hand started to shake, and I refocused on meditating. After an indeterminate amount of time, I continued examining the thought and associated memories. I poked, I teased. I nudged and pulled, until something came loose.

  I recall my body. Even in my peak of health, my body was ill. But so was everyone else's. From the highborn to the slum rat she was, all were ill and would eventually fall to the cancer that ate our race.

  I was... small, 8 or 9. I had a knife... it was long, but no longer heavy. The guild(?) Had sent me... to kill... someone? Who was not clear. But the battle...

  I creeped through a building. I avoided people, and eventually found the person. She... I stabbed her from behind... in the throat? Yes... things go fuzzy... and... and...

  My head hurts, my memory ends abruptly. Not like a natural ending, where detail fades and all after is forgotten in non-importance. This... was jagged. Ripped. Something was horribly wrong...

  My body convulsed as another memory came to me. I was being dragged. My throat closed by a metal arm... a necrons... it was saying words. I was crying, I could tell. I was panicked! I fought desperately as it arrived at where I feared to go! My body ripped, and fell, my soul was-!

  I screamed, convulsing on the hard ground. I was so afraid. I was dead. I knew this. I could feel it. My body dying, disintegrating. My soul being eaten by... by...

  Cruel not-eyes stared down on us as we walked forwards. It's malevolent glee sickened me even as the emotionless memories played through me. I sobbed audibly. My body heaving even as I couldn't cry.

  An indeterminate time later, I refocused slightly. My hands were gripped on my ribs, I was in a fetal ball, rocking and mewling in old fear and pain. I had died badly, and the memory was proving that vividly.

  I unbleached my hands, and I could feel the indentations on my metal ribs. I wish I had my dog... she would help calm me...

  Dog? Wait... I calm down, now confused. Conflicting thoughts once again drawing my attention as I slowly return to my meditation pose. I hum a new tuneless song, and relax again.

  Dog... Dog... What is... Oh...

  A dog. My dog... A short, chunky pit bull mixed with... something. She was... clueless?

  The memory plays, showing the chunky ball of flood rolling upside down with a toy in her mouth. I crouch down, and pat it with my hand(?). Words play, but they're... unintelligible. Her tail wags happily, taking joy from my mere presence.

  My body lightens, as the memory plays. Dog... yes. I had a dog... she was... silly. Cute... I try to smile, but fail. In this moment, I do not mind. I am... happy.

  But... this memory wasn't... from me. Or... was it? I looked different. My hands were different colors. They were different shapes. The voices were different pitches...

  As I sat, I pondered. What... was I?