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[b]Badlands, Central City[/b]

Blood. There was dried blood in his mouth. The Silver Surfer tried to drag himself to his feet slowly but felt his feet give out beneath him. How long had he been unconscious? It was impossible to tell. The ringing in his ears was so loud he could barely hear himself think. What had happened to him? The last thing he remembered was having the Kryptonian in his grasp. Then what? The Surfer gritted his teeth, trying to piece together his memories, but found the scattershot images, incomplete and blurry, little to no help. Whatever had hit him, the Surfer couldn't remember [i]ever[/i] being struck that hard before. 

He couldn't remember very much.

In the distance, the Surfer spotted his board. It had cracks all along it. From the ground, he extended a hand towards it and tried to beckoned it to him. It inched along the ground slightly but for all of the Surfer's efforts seemed incapable of much more. The Surfer let out a groan and let his face slide to the ground in frustration.

Above the ringing, the sound of a rotors approaching broke the Surfer from his despondency. A SHIELD helicarrier was creeping its way across Central City towards the herald. It was still several minutes out from the look it. There was still time for the Surfer to make his escape. But escape to where? Why was he on Earth? What had brought him there? The Surfer wasn't sure anymore. He had come there for a purpose, that much was clear, but the force of the blow had made him forget it.

He had forgotten himself.

Out of the corner of his eye the Surfer spotted Superman sprawled out over some debris. What was it that the Kryptonian had called him? "Norrin Radd," he remembered, as he searched his jumbled memories for some meaning in the name. Was that who he was? Had he been something [i]before[/i] he'd entered his master's service? It was all too much. He dug his elbows into the ground and force himself to his feet.

As the Surfer stood he noticed that one of his hands had lost its silver coating. Beneath it a pinkish, fleshy hand was exposed. He noticed two distinct scars across the hand that resembled claw marks. For a half second a memory flashed through the Surfer's mind of a far-flung planet. It was unlike Earth. A paradise, of sorts, where knowledge was sovereign. He saw the world consumed by flames and heard screams that rattled through him like nails on a chalkboard.

What was happening to him?

He staggered forwards a few paces. The helicarrier drew closer by the second. He needed to move. His master would be displeased with him if he failed to report back to him. Galactus? No, that wasn't right. [i]Nothing[/i] about this situation was right. The Surfer glanced down at his forearms again and this time noticed the Silver had crept all the way back to his biceps. He let out a gasp and kept limping forwards.

At his feet was Iris West. She was unconscious – or so the Surfer hoped. He found himself kneeling before her and placing his fingers against her neck. He wasn't sure why. He felt a faint pulse against his fingers and with it a sense of relief rushed over him for the first time. Compassion? The feeling took him aback. He shook his head, rejecting the notion, and climbed to his feet weakly again.

With each step towards his board he felt the strength leaving his limbs. He needed only make it there. Once he was aboard it, he would be free of this world, his master's will could be done. One memory after another flashed before his eyes as he struggled towards the board. Screaming, then serenity, followed by more screaming. His world in ruins and the Surfer unable to defend them.

Zenn-La?

The name sounded foreign to him. This was all foreign to him. The helicarrier was within a minute from him now and his board was still out of reach. He had to escape. He [i]always[/i] escaped. With one last push of his beaten, broken body, the Surfer extended towards his board. 

He fell to the ground in a heap still metres short of it.

His breathing laboured, the Surfer stretched out a desperate hand towards what he thought was his board, but proved instead to be a piece of shrapnel that must have been knocked loose by the impact of whatever had hit him. He dragged it towards him as he heard the sound of the SHIELD helicarrier touching down. There were agents disembarking it in the distance as his weary arms brought the shrapnel to eye level. 

The silver coating that had once adorned the Surfer's face had crept away to reveal his [i]true[/i] face. It had been so long since he had seen it that he'd almost forgotten what he looked like. As his tortured, tired eyes rested on his features, his memories came flooding back to him.

[hider=My Hider][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/jlz1Mf8.png[/img][/center]
It wasn't Zenn-La that the Surfer had made the ultimate sacrifice for, it was New Genesis. His name wasn't Norrin Radd, it was Scott Free. And all of the horrors of Granny's orphanages were as to nothing compared to what he'd done since climbing aboard that surfboard all those years ago. Whole worlds destroyed, billions of lives taken, all to fulfil his master's whims. What had he become?[/hider]
As soon as the revelation had entered into his mind, he felt his master's hold over him tighten. Even from a distance, he could feel the tendrils sliding across his brain, rending his memories away once more, as the silver coating began to creep over his arms and legs again. He fought against it – tried to break free from his master's control – but couldn't muster the strength.

Instead the Surfer crumpled, the sound of SHIELD agents making their way across the Badlands in the air as he drifted out of consciousness.