Archive of Our Own

Saturn peered up from his laptop at the digital clock on the laboratory desk. It was one of the only lights on in the room, other than the assortment of tiny green and red bulbs from different electronics, as well as the brightness from he and his boss’ screens. 

2:47

He stared at Cyrus for a moment, who was too enthralled in the report he was mulling over to notice. That white light washed him out, made him look more dastardly and pallid than usual. Accentuated the dark circles into which his eyes recessed, and the sharp, narrow structure of his face.

The young man, who imagined he was made similarly unappealing in the glow of his own computer, could not help but feel sympathy for his leader. He must be so tired… The two had only known each other for a little over a year, Saturn having been the very first recruit of Team Galactic. It hadn’t been easy. They’ve suffered many setbacks. Despite their massive financial successes, one thing or another served to stand in their way of fully realizing Cyrus’ goals. They were just lucky that the team’s enthusiasm only grew with the passing of time. Everyone believed in Cyrus. Most of all Saturn. His life before Team Galactic was so far behind him now, the memories of who he used to be muddled by the slow, but sure realization of who he could, with Cyrus’ guiding hand, become. Of how he could make himself useful to his master. How, together, with their brilliance, and with their fierce, unwavering determination, they would become bigger than themselves… a consciousness that required no needs of the flesh, that lacked individuality and yet was all things at once.

At least, that was the silent prayer in the back of Saturn’s mind whenever he thought of Cyrus. He wasn’t quite sure what it was exactly that Cyrus was after, but he had a vague understanding. These concepts his boss would rave about, when he was in one of his states, were something Saturn could only grasp strands of. That confusion just inspired the young man even more. Cyrus was elevated to a god-like status in his mind, and in the minds of his many followers, all of whom revolved around the sagely man as if he were the sun, and they were the few bits of stardust who were lucky enough to bask in his warmth.

Those who didn’t know him well enough thought Cyrus to be a cold, unsettling presence. Saturn felt great pride in his position, being so close to the man to know how much fire lay beneath his rock-hard exterior. Still, he longed to be closer. Cyrus, and the things he knew, were an enigma to him. From his earliest conversations with Cyrus, he immediately felt like he was in the presence of someone who had, within his mind, at least, witnessed the essence of life, and was able to break it down to its bare bones to understand it in its full depth. Team Galactic was his attempt to break it back down again - not inside his head, but in the planes of time and space - and rearrange it in a way that pleased him. No one knew what the world would look like once Cyrus got his hands on it, and everybody seemed to have their own concept. Grunts argued incessantly over the finer details, but Saturn couldn’t care less. He trusted Cyrus with every fiber of his being. He was fully prepared to let that man break apart his soul. Knowing he would be remade in Cyrus’ grand image was enough for him. 

He never told his boss, but Saturn got high often. He’d been doing it ever since he was a kid. Part of what drew so many people to Team Galactic was a strong dissatisfaction with their own lives, Saturn included. He drank, but wasn’t as big of a drinker as some of the other members, and he did smoke with Mars and Jupiter on occasion (he tried not to make a habit out of weed, because he knew it negatively affected his work ethic.) His most dastardly vice, however, was the chemical dextromethorphan. Saturn was the worst offender in the building when it came to those murky drinks everyone enjoyed - many different concoctions were favored, but his poison was a vile mixture of coffee, zero sugar Red Bull, diet orange vanilla Coke, a very generous shot of vodka, and, depending on what kind of day he was planning on having, either a nip or a full bottle of cough syrup was added. He happened to have a thermos containing the beverage next to him as he sat with his boss. He was sure Cyrus had caught on that he was often under the influence while on the clock. Saturn was sure Cyrus toyed with the very same substances himself, from time to time. Still, when it came to this, Galactic was very laissez-faire. So long as he wasn’t visibly off his ass, no one would say a thing. 

A very small man, Saturn was easily incapacitated by a full bottle of syrup. He only dared to consume such a great amount in private, locked away in his quarters, suffering alone. He laid on his bed, unable to move, eyes lazily viewing the projection of stars on his white ceiling. The stars weren’t necessary after a certain point. Saturn became a star himself, a star travelling lightyears to distances beyond comprehension, to a place where words were of total obsolescence. These trips to the most astral realms of his own mind granted him with a fleeting sense of true bliss. The first time he went there, just months before he met Cyrus, it was completely accidental. Saturn was a young kid, he was only trying to have some fun. 

During that fateful trip, he was terribly sick. He thought he had died and found himself in some sort of hell, until he broke through to the other side and understood what it meant to be alive. When at first he came out of it, he was so grateful to be back. He looked outside at the trees, the little children playing, and took great solace in the notion that he did not die after all, and was right back where he had been before, where everything was familiar. How silly he was to have nearly accepted death’s embrace, no matter how much strife there was in his life.

Months passed, however, and Saturn wasn’t the same. He grew fearful of the world he inhabited - the reality he had been experiencing, up until that point, seemed foreign. Distant. He knew universal harmony was possible. He knew it because he was in it, he was up there, one with everyone else, blanketed in white light and warmth. Saturn tried to recoil from pain, from suffering, but the suffering was all around him, in everything he did. Desperately, he tried to occupy himself with simple tasks, but always found himself overwhelmingly angry at the mundane, depressing quality of his life. For months, he stagnated in the dark pools of fear and pain in his head. 

That was, until a hand reached to him from above the surface of those murky depths, offering absolution. A way out from whatever cosmic dance his soul was stuck performing. There was no way to know for sure what would become of sentience after their work was done. Saturn, though, was desperate. He clung to Cyrus, lapped up his words like he was starving, because it was the first time since that horrible experience happened that anything made sense to him.

Saturn had been nursing his thermos for hours now. It was his third round since the day began, and he was turned off from the beverage at this point. Although it was heavily caffeinated, the amount of vodka and cough syrup in his system were making him awfully sleepy. And it was very late. Silently, he set his laptop aside and stood up. Cyrus was roused from his reading, but by no means startled. He was never startled. Saturn, on the other hand, grew flustered now that Cyrus was looking at him, fumbling as he picked up the thermos and avoided making eye contact with his boss.

“I’m off to make a pot of coffee. Should I bring you a cup?” Saturn’s voice cracked, his mouth dry. It just dawned on him that they’d been sitting in total silence for hours. In a way, the notion comforted him. He hoped that in Cyrus’ new world, there would be no need for words. Everything to know would be known by everyone.. everything to be said, would have already been said, and wholly understood.

The boss merely nodded, and returned his attention to the report.

Saturn glided down the basement hall to the kitchen. His footsteps were silent. He often scared his teammates that way, sneaking up on them in a most feline manner.

He derived a sense of personal pride from it.

This time, however, he was the one who was startled - having already prepped the coffee machine, he turned to stow his thermos in the fridge, (because he definitely didn’t need any more of that) , when he saw Charon’s slumbering figure. Saturn was so tired and out of it, he hadn’t even noticed him when he walked in. The aging scientist was reclined in a plastic chair, scuffed loafers propped up on the kitchen table, among a devoured feast of take-out boxes. 

Saturn scowled. He always felt disdain for that man, and it was scenes like this that further fostered that resentment. No doubt passed out from too much drink, evident by the bottle of scotch and the flask on the table that Charon had taken no interest in hiding. Geez. What a greasy old creep.

Looking at the scraps of food and grease-rimmed containers made his own stomach growl. He thought hard, but his convoluted mind could not, for the life of him, remember when he ate last. Or what. Probably cereal that he stashed away and munched on. He checked the inside pocket of his vest for a zip-loc of cheerios… and found nothing.

Wait. He did find a sugar-free Werther’s original. Score.

Unwrapping the hard candy and depositing the wrapper on the table with the other garbage, he opened the fridge, squinting from the brightness. It contained three quarts of simple murky beverage, stored in plastic take-out containers, a bottle of spicy brown mustard, a Chinese food box that he’s sure has been there since last April, a rotting pear, and a can of tuna. Ugh. He hated tuna.

The commander slammed the door shut in frustration, the fridge rattling. Of course he wasn’t going to find anything good in the basement kitchen. His eyes shot over to Charon, who snorted, shifted a little, and then settled. Saturn snatched the man’s bottle of scotch off the table, dropped the cap on the floor, and took a hearty swig, still sucking on the candy. He felt he fit in well at Galactic. He was among schemers and thieves, just like himself. He decided to finish the bottle. It’s not like Charon left much, anyway. Truthfully, a good part of Saturn’s hatred for him was because Charon was so damn greedy - a trait which Saturn tried miserably to repress in himself. He was raised in a world where one takes only what they require… and even then, they should feel shameful for it. Some people have nothing. He was painfully envious of those who could indulge happily, without a care or second thought, and the envy, colluding with his vast, unfulfilled pit of desire, contorted itself into hatred for everyone happier than he.

Everything belongs to Team Galactic…

Saturn was miserable. He knew that already. He knew he was an insufferable jerk, too vain, and yet too filled with fear to make something worthwhile with the life he was given. That was why he sought to destroy it. For as long as he could remember he was driven to self-destruction. Cyrus was so very dear to him, because he gave Saturn the hope that, rather than crash and burn like everyone else who ever hated themselves, he would be given the chance to completely deconstruct the self. To boil it down so fiercely that the bubbles of air scream as they press against the bottom of the pot, leaving behind only dry metal, hotter than the sun itself. Only after Cyrus frees them from the most carnal sins, only when he is free of desire, of hunger , will he be able to experience that bliss he’s been chasing. They say addicts are always chasing the feeling of that first high. The one that opened their eyes, knocked their socks off. Getting high just isn’t good enough for an overachiever like Saturn. Soon, when their work is finished, he will be free of that great emptiness. He will be free of pain! He will be free of his soul. 

Look beyond the world… 

The commander blinked. His face was red hot. He was so consumed in thought and in his intoxication that he only now realized his eyes were leaking fat, salty tears. Fiercely, he tugged down his sleeve and rubbed his face dry with it. The coffee had been done for minutes. He had just been standing there. Charon was still dead to the world, gut rising and falling as he slept. A dark look overtook Saturn’s reddened, swollen face.

He took the man’s flask, too, stowing it in his vest.

With shaky hands, he poured two mugs of coffee, one for him, and one for his boss, both black. Self-hatred was always in style at Team Galactic. Creamer was for pussies. Turning sharply on his heel, the commander strode militantly back down the hall. The candy in his mouth was crunched to smithereens, and he regained his stoic demeanor. Heaven fucking forbid his boss found out he was crying in the kitchen over nothing . He’d be past the point of self-hatred… he’d really have to off himself then.

“Master Cyrus,” he breathed out, putting down the mugs too hard, slamming them down quite audibly. The steely man raised a brow at his subordinate.

“You smell like alcohol.” the boss’ voice made Saturn prickle up, adrenaline coursing through his body. He must have spilled some on himself in his fervor to swallow it all.

Already drunk, he folded his hands behind his back. A wave of manic energy overtook him. “Do you want some?”

The boss said nothing. Saturn grumbled, rolled his eyes, and heavily threw himself into his chair. Nice going, dumbass , he thought scornfully. Now Cyrus thinks you’re an alcoholic, and a smart ass, too.

Saturn was frustrated. He was at his wit’s end. Starving, exhausted, and having just cried a little, he was absolutely not going to be reading any more reports tonight. But it would be in poor taste to turn in for the night before the boss. He gulped down coffee, spilling some on his collar.

His stomach gurgled, a loud protest at being tortured with nothing but acidic drinks, medicine, and booze. Cyrus looked up again, looking at his right hand man with an expression that was incomprehensible to the young commander.

“Saturn, you require more fuel than coffee .”

The boy looked away quickly. He was mortified, not knowing how to react to another human being acknowledging his very human needs. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Saturn swallowed hard. He was nearing his breaking point. He thought back to Charon, satisfied, content and full of food and drink, and decided that, if only for just tonight, he would have what he wanted.

He worked hard. He deserved it.

“I’ll order something. What are you in the mood for?” he pulled out his phone.

“A bowl of rice will suffice, Saturn, thank you.”

Again, that wave of fury came over him. The only possible thing worse than people indulging themselves, were people who were just fine with having simplicity, and in fact, preferred it. It made him feel like a ravenous beast, because he was never satiated. He either took everything, or nothing at all.

“Boss, hey, it’s my treat!” he leaned forward, grinning. “C’mon, you gotta get more than that.” he rapped on the table with his knuckles, while Cyrus simply stared at him. “We’re working hard over here! We deserve it, don’t ya think?”

“If you so insist…” Cyrus loosened, just a smidge, and crossed his arms, thinking for a moment. “Frankly, I would be content if we were to share a pizza.”

Saturn narrowed his eyes, rubbing his hands. Fucking Cyrus! ‘ CONTENT…’ ‘SHARE…’ It was as if his boss was reading his mind and saying exactly what would get a rise out of him. Saturn wouldn’t have it.

“...Gotcha.” he swivelled in his chair, scrolling through the Domino’s website. The young man ordered not just pizza (one for each of them, because he’d be damned if he had to do the whole ‘who’s gonna have the last slice?’ bullshit), but garlic twists as well. And cinnamon twists, with extra icing. And one of those chocolate cakes. And a liter of diet coke, because he’s supposed to be on a ‘diet’. Whatever that means at this point.

Meanwhile, as the pair waited for their delivery, Cyrus was scanning not just his laptop, but a tablet now, as well. Saturn couldn’t be bothered to pretend to work anymore. He finished his cup of coffee at the windowsill, puffing idly on a Parliament. He had to smoke with the window open, because Cyrus didn’t approve of the vice. Saturn couldn’t care less what Cyrus approved of at the moment. On most days, he excused himself from Cyrus’ company, but his head was racing, cursing his drunken mind for condemning himself to a night spent binging on cheap pizza.

He watched the delivery car pull up in front of their ominous headquarters. What a great power it is, to be able to use a device to wordlessly contact another person, and tell them to not only make you a pizza, but bestow it upon you as if you were a king. The splendors of money and technology amazed him, and he smiled to himself.

Tonight, only tonight, he would let himself slip. Funny, because he was sure he’d told himself that same thing a week ago. Living up to the rigid standards of not only himself, but those of Team Galactic, and by extension, Cyrus, were soul-crushing to the young man. He was only 20. Only 20, and readily selling his soul to Cyrus, in exchange for a taste of a world that existed only in their heads.

“ How stupid,” he muttered to himself.

He shrunk into himself at once, and whipped back around to see Cyrus, who seemed to have not heard him. Perfect, hard-working, man-of-steel Cyrus. With his strong, handsome face, his broad shoulders, effortlessly lean physique, unfaltering expression of stone… Saturn had none of that. He was so effeminate, so small and skittish, soft in the most embarrassing places. Even his voice was so awfully girly. He cursed his genes, and prayed that in the new world, gender would cease to exist.

His self-loathing was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. Domino’s. He didn’t bother to answer the call, getting up and going straight to the door to receive the order. He made the walk of shame back to the lab with five boxes and a soda, knowing that Cyrus would judge him. The boss never ate sweets, at least, as far as Saturn knew. His cheeks flushed, thinking of how and if they might meet in their reconstructed world. When the time came for them to be broken down, would Cyrus see his sickly sweet, sugar coated guts? Who would let a soul as rotten and spoiled as his into a place so sacred? If Cyrus knew what Saturn was, in the confines of his broken, flighty spirit, would he sneer in disgust, and turn him away? Or would he bathe him in his forgiving light, and make him pure, whole, and strong… like him…

Saturn set the boxes down on the table. There they sat, under cold fluorescent light, dividing the room between the two men. He sat down, bringing his feet up onto the chair and crossing his legs. He played with his sleeves silently.

“Thank you, Saturn.” Cyrus, of course, did not address the extra food. He was more than used to the personal failings of his underlings. If he complained about each of them, he’d surely drive himself mad. They were all faulty and impure, not just Saturn.

The boss opened a box, removed a slice of pizza, and bit into it, calmly returning his attention to the tablet laying on the table. He didn’t care what Saturn did. He certainly wasn’t watching him, either. So why was the younger man so paralyzed by shame?

“Erm… Master Cyrus?” he spoke up, pausing to observe Cyrus’ face. His master waited, cooly, for the young subordinate to continue.

“Do you… uh… is it okay if… I mean…” Saturn fumbled with his words, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but not knowing how to bare the ugly truth of his poor, struggling heart to the man he revered so passionately. “Am I being weak for giving in to hunger? I… I mean… It’s such a foolish thing, to crave something that I don’t necessarily need, you know, nutritionally… uhm… especially because other people don’t get to enjoy what I enjoy. It makes me feel, I dunno… greedy? Because I’m supposed to be setting an example, you know? If the second in command can’t even control himself, then what’s to say for the rest of us, right? What’s the point? We’re all lacking , and… and… oh, I… I don’t know, Master Cyrus. I’m terribly, terribly sorry… I shouldn’t have fucking said anything.”

Cyrus kept watching him with those cold, expressionless eyes, waiting very patiently until he was sure the young man was done with his drunken rambling. Those words, all of his insecurity, hung in the air with a thick, heavy stench. Saturn gulped, unable to keep his eyes from brimming with tears.

“You need not try and conceal your weakness from me, Saturn.” Cyrus began, clearing his throat after having swallowed the last bite of his pizza slice. “I already am perfectly aware of your emotional instability. You are wholly incomplete, and bursting at the seams with spirit of the most vacuous, insipid kind.”

Saturn buried his face in his sleeves, slathering them with tears and snot. He couldn’t handle this. He felt like he was buried, suffocating in a trench of his own shit, hearing Cyrus’ words booming from above like the judgement of God himself, so, so very far away. He pulled out Charon’s flask, struggled to uncap it, and guzzled down the entire thing. Anything to relieve the excruciating pain. He’d already made a fool of himself. It didn’t matter anymore.

“And still, you, Saturn, my commander ,” the man was having trouble convincingly describing this blubbering heap of a boy that sat before him, with such a heavy, powerful title, but he knew he must. He knew even an ounce of flattery would go a long way with Saturn, who so obviously adored him. Saturn, gagging on liquor, looked back up at him, eyes already sparkling. “You are my most valuable asset. This is why you are lieutenant commander. Not Jupiter. Not Mars. You .” he could almost laugh. Cyrus cared nothing for fancy titles. The promotion was just a tool to make Saturn work harder, to invest himself further into their cause.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t care what you do. You are human, just like everyone else here. If that serves as a sore spot for you, then so be it. So long as you are aware of your faults as a human being, you are free to indulge in whatever delight or vice you please. This world is teeming with hedonism. You are no better than anyone else for pretending you don’t want to eat. You only have this short while to enjoy yourself, before our goals are achieved. Besides… I would much rather you destroy yourself with…” he paused, peering into one of the boxes, lifting a brow, and tossing it aside carelessly, returning his harsh gaze to Saturn. “...Chocolate cake… and liquor, than waste away and become a pathetic monument to your own suffering. At least you will have the energy to work hard and propel us to our future, where none of these trivial emotions will be a concern.”

Saturn took this shallow offering, these droplets of exoneration, and absorbed them with a huge grin across his blotchy face. “Master… Master Cyrus… thank you!! From the- UURP- bot… bottom of my heart, I am so grateful to you.” he started to cry again, that freakish grin still plastered on. He rushed over to his leader’s side, collapsing to his knees and taking his hands. Cyrus, ice cold, dared not recoil, though his hands were now being covered in mucus, as well. If this is what Saturn’s weak, broken soul needed to get over this emotional hurdle, he would not interfere.

…Space will become Team Galactic’s!

“You… uuurp… you saved me, Master. I’ll do anything for you. I love you. I love you.” the boy pawed at Cyrus’ clothes, grasping viciously, as if he was trying to climb inside the man. He hung his head back, hardly able to keep his eyes open, but refusing to shut them, so that he could keep drinking up the sight of his savior. “I’m yours. Eternally. You can do whatever you want with me, Cyrus, I… I’d let you destroy me, if you wanted. Anything to please you. I’m shit without you.” still crying, he swung his head forward, nearly toppling Cyrus to the floor as he buried his face in the man’s pants. “I’m filth. I’ve been filth since the beginning of time, you know that? And yet you see something in me. Y-You’re giving me the chance to be clean… eeuurp. I loooove you … love you… master…”

In this fragment of time and space, Saturn felt truly freed, free from the impurities and insignificance of his soul, in his shackling to his master. Cyrus would heal him. Cyrus, his sun, would surely save him from an existence so vile, painful, and worthless, doomed to degrade for all of eternity, caught in an endless cycle of fighting and the fruitless licking of wounds. He could grow to be what Cyrus intended, to be whatever Cyrus needed and desired him to be, and he would finally be content…

Saturn smiled. He nuzzled Cyrus’ leg, his grip loosening. He let out another burp, and then a little laugh. He felt so warm… he was warm all over. Even in the coldest recesses of his soul. He tried to speak, but what came out was intangible. Cyrus groaned, but Saturn didn’t hear it. He didn’t bother trying to speak again, for he knew Cyrus must understand how he felt. Cyrus understood all. Enveloped in his light, Saturn felt the bliss he craved so strongly. He indulged himself in it, allowed himself to melt into it and feel its sweet, forgiving peace.

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The boy crumpled to Cyrus’ feet, out cold. Cyrus scoffed, kicking him to the side and leaving the room. He went to the kitchen to wash his hands, where he found Charon, also passed out. A sense of great disgust rose in him. His commanders were pathetic. How long would he have to cater to their foolish whims, to stroke their egos, and pretend they’re going to get anything out of him? Cyrus only needed these vile people to bring himself absolute peace. Briefly, he allowed himself to revel in the fact that, soon, they will all cease to be. The only thing left would be him. Only then, would he know peace.